If I had to choose a coast, I’d choose the West Coast every time. Living in a landlocked, flat state has made me deeply appreciate the beauty of towering trees, majestic mountains, and the crashing waves of the Pacific Ocean. I know the East Coast offers similar wonders, but as someone with curly hair, the humidity and heat of the Atlantic are not for me. So when I vacation, I choose the Pacific, almost without fail.

For the past four years, the ocean has become my sacred retreat. It’s where I walk barefoot in the sand, feel the mist on my face, and let the roar of the waves quiet the noise in my soul. I can sit for hours, mesmerized by the rise and fall of the sea — its power, its rhythm, its voice that cannot be silenced. There’s something about the water that awakens all my senses to a kind of shalom I can’t put into words. It feels like a release, a holy exhale, even if only for a moment. Sometimes, it seems as though when the tide pulls the sand back into the ocean, it takes my worries with it.

The ocean has become therapy for my soul — so I keep going back.

This year, I noticed something different. The waves were higher. The shoreline had shifted. The landscape no longer looked like it did on my first visit. And in that moment, I was reminded: everything changes. The ocean changes. I change. Everything in creation is subject to change — except God.

God is not created. He is Creator. He is the one constant, the unchanging anchor in a world of shifting tides.

“For I the Lord do not change…” (Malachi 3:6 ESV)

“Jesus Christ is the same yesterday, today, and forever.” (Hebrews 13:8 ESV)

“The grass withers, the flower fades, but the word of our God will stand forever.” (Isaiah 40:8 ESV)

Throughout Scripture, we are reminded of these truths that steady our faith: God is faithful. He is constant. His Word is unchanging, even when everything around — and within — us is in motion. God doesn’t change, even in the midst of a fickle and fading world.

As I stood on the shoreline, I realized how much I’ve changed since that first visit. My body has changed with age. My mind is still healing from the burnout of being a healthcare worker. My soul has stretched and matured in ways I didn’t expect. Most of these changes weren’t ones I chose — they were hard, unwelcome, even resisted. But they came anyway. Because change is inevitable.

Earlier that morning, I stood in front of the mirror and criticized the sun spots spreading across my face. I cursed the weight clinging to my thighs and belly. I cried looking at old photos — where my hair was straightened — remembering when I felt prettier. I joked with friends about the brain fog and aches brought on by perimenopause. But deep down, I was grieving.

Maybe it’s the filtered images on social media. Maybe it’s the unattainable beauty standards or our culture’s obsession with staying forever young. Somewhere along the way, I forgot: Change is not failure. It’s part of being alive.

And yet, the ocean isn’t trying to hide its changes. It still roars. It still draws people from all over the world to come and stare into its depths — and find peace. The ocean doesn’t apologize for how it’s changed — and neither should I. Neither should you.

I have changed. And that’s okay.

Who I am at the core remains unchanged: I am a child of God. My purpose endures — to glorify Him with my life. I can roar like the ocean. I can take up space, even with all the ways I’ve shifted and grown.

When my high school friends wrote “Don’t ever change” in my yearbook, they had no idea how deeply I’d internalize that message. But everything created is meant to change. The temptation is to resist it. But instead of wrestling, I’m learning to cling to the One who never changes — and to trust His promises, because they never fail.

On that shore, God gently reminded me: He doesn’t love the past version of me. He doesn’t love the future version of me. He loves me — just as I am today.

So I don’t need to criticize, curse, or cry over the changes I’ve experienced or will walk through in the seasons to come. I can learn to be present. I can learn to cherish the woman in the mirror.

Because everything is supposed to change.

And maybe you need that reminder too. Friend, instead of mourning who you used to be — or striving for a version of yourself that doesn’t exist yet, I pray that you will be reminded that God hasn’t changed, and neither has His love for you. Let His constancy anchor you. Let His love settle you.

 

Listen to Simi’s devotion here or on your favorite podcast app!

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