I now empathize with the notorious Edna Pontelier when she filled her pockets with rocks, walked into the sea, and submitted her life to its waves: experiencing my best friend’s death, losing my great-grandmother, reminiscing of past losses, and struggling each day to know whether or not my brother has made it through the night. The past 365 days have taught me that the waves flow calmer than they appear, that life berates me more than it seems, and that escapism plagues a nation of plummeting addicts.

The waves tranquilize when you’re beneath them; they rage when you’re surfacing and tumbling through them, but they gently rock you when you dive below them.  It’s a gentle sway, almost like a cradle.  Perhaps that’s why we enjoy the water.  Its beats return us to the calming rhythms of childhood: before the loss, before the heartache, before the destitution. 

In literature, the ocean symbolizes innocence, danger, sexuality, and complexity—numerous in its expressive nature.  Innocence in that its tranquility brings peace.  Dangerous in that its murky waves captivate.  Sexually in a matter of mystery and addiction: complexity in its many forms.

We see it in our own lives—the ocean that took my beloved friend’s breath away is the same ocean that I cling to when my own thoughts become tumultuous.  It surmises me.  How can I look upon the waves that robbed me with such joy and solitude?  How can I trust them not to carry me down as well?

It’s the resiliency of the human spirit, gifted through God’s mercy.  He allows us to endure and strengthens us to persist despite the weight of the world looming at our shoulders and under our feet.  

I’m so weary, I’d love to submit to the waves.  To give up the fight is to be truly free, isn’t it?  That’s the lie Edna Pontelier, a pioneering feminist icon, perpetuates in her iconic death.  

But death and escape aren’t freedom. Death finitely robs us of all possibility of freedom, and escape imprisons us from experiencing freedom; attractive as their appeals appear, its their lies that rush us to ultimate despair. Once we begin listening to the lie that to die is to escape and to be free, we begin to give up on the hope that things can change.

Things do change, everyday, and that is why we must remember it is truth that sets us free, not death.  Christ said, “and you will know the truth, and the truth will set you free,” to Jewish believers in John 8:35.

That is exactly why I started my blog—to share with others with little truths that God revealed to me.  I began my blog based on Ephesians 5:13-14: “But when anything is exposed to the light, it becomes visible, for anything that becomes visible is light.  Therefore it says, ‘Awake, O sleeper, / and arise from the dead, / and Christ will shine on you.’” 

Death and escape are not freedom.  Truth is freedom.  “Who the Son sets free is free indeed,” John 8:36.  This life is horrifically hard, but that was promised: “I have said these things to you, that in Me you may have peace.  In the world you will have tribulation,” John 16:33a.  Christ does not conclude on a sorrowful word; instead, He adds, “But take heart, because I have overcome the world,” reminding us of the steadfastness of truth and of God’s faithfulness.