I giggle the moment I see it. Disappearing behind the concrete metropolis, my car descends down a paved slope leading to corridors. The pale blue horizon meets with the dark blue of the Pacific in the distance. These ocean shores become treadmills for scenery, a pedestrian hiatus for tranquility. A broken hourglass shatters the confines of time.
I spend countless hours here…alone. The smell; the sounds; the feel; the locale allows me to revisit deep impressions upon my soul. I have walked miles upon this Pacific seaboard throughout the years leaving indentations. I stroll through my corridors. The chapters of my individual journey unfold, some trailing behind me, while others are still a work in progress. Those waves rush in. And that thunderous noise soundproofs any intruding dialogue from people passing by, setting the stage for my commune with God. A breeze wraps itself around me. Seagulls swirl overheard. A soul is protected, calming a heart that might suggest otherwise.
“I wander through fiction to look for the truth buried beneath all the lies”, begins a song played by the band the Goo Goo Dolls, written and voiced by its singer, Johnny Rzeznik. I always applaud lyrists who coin a phrase that cannot easily be shaken from my mind. This one is certainly no different. I often reflect upon this particular lyric from the song entitled, Before It’s Too Late, first recalling it without even trying. It describes the depths of me. Perhaps, it encompasses everyone on some small scale or another. It is a well thought out, methodical lyric, that will always tickle my intrigue. It reemerges like a revolving door…and then vanishes only later to reappear. I wander the seashore time and time again searching, longing, and wondering if there may be something I’m missing. I wait in anticipation for something more that could happen: a blessing; a miracle, a reprieve, freedom realized. Do I believe?
What is God up to? Jesus came to save my soul from sin, dying a gruesome death upon a cross. Words come up empty every time I attempt to describe the crucifixion. I have eternal life through this wonderful gift that was never meant for me to repay. The forgiveness of sins and a connection with an Almighty God destroys that dividing barrier of separation. It happened all because of love. It is all due because of His holiness. God emulated grace in bodily form. It came in and through His son, Jesus Christ. Indeed, I know these truths. They have set me free.
The stirring doesn’t cease. I think I’m missing something. For example, what did Jesus truly imply when he told the woman at the well, “but whoever drinks the water I give him will never thirst” (John 4:14)? Or when Jesus declares, “then you will know the truth, and the truth will set you free” (John 8:32)? Is this why in Ephesians 6 the belt of truth is specified first in the articles making up the armor of God? Is this knowing of such truth absolutely essential in order for me to be free, to live? But do I fully know such freedom? Am I living it out completely? Am I wandering through a world allowing its societal messages to convince me of a truth when really it is just burying me further into its lies?
I realize that this song by the Goo Goo Dolls is in reference to a love relationship, but isn’t that also my relationship with my Maker. He loves me. So, with this inquiry into truth, what does it mean to never thirst? Or more specifically, Jesus says, “I have come that they may have life, and have it to the full” (John 10:10). How is that lived out? After all, the wisest man that ever lived penned “utterly meaningless! Everything is meaningless” (Ecclesiastes 1:2). Everything is just a chasing after the wind. So in my current world, like that of King Solomon, there must be more in how I am to be used? There must be more in how I relate to God? Is there more to this life? Is there more to my relationship with Jesus Christ? What does full, abundant life truly mean?
I will keep walking this connecting perimeter with my Lord. The ocean, for whatever reason, has become that line…I wait, I search, I yearn. “As the deer pants for streams of water, so my soul pants for you, O God” (Psalm 42:1). The beach has become my hallowed ground, my fragrance, extending limbs reaching. Those crashing waves pounding the seaboard make the Pacific the noisiest of places, and yet one of the quietest of pathways I will ever know. So, I will walk. The ocean sands have become corridors of exploration. My pressures of life take on a revised, refreshed meaning. The experience is always a resemblance to freedom, mirroring an image of peace.
I will never know the answers. I am meant for the sea. It is my place of true worship. If people know me, they understand this. Nature’s seascape has its way with me. I am home. I reside in the depths of solitude. It leads me to my corridors. It is a stroll of mediation. It is a jaunt filled with conversation with my Lord. It is a treadmill that gives life. The act of being caught up in doing Christian things retreats with the tide, and the heart of simply being a Christian fills any fictitious space. I wander searching for truth down my corridors that represent my life chapters, my individual journey.
I don’t want my life to be buried in lies shadowed behind a world that subjects itself to protocol, routine, all the while apostatizing through the guise of a silver lining. Am I born again Christian who lives life by the apostle’s creed? I know truth, Jesus Christ, God’s risen Son. My life is transformed because of it. I am in a career that proclaims it upon mountaintops. It has certainly set my free. This I know. But do I truly know what it means to never thirst? Do I understand this possession of abundant life to the fullest? Or, and quite unbeknownst to me, am I just wandering through a fictitious worldly paradigm that has buried me in lies?
My corridors catapult me into yet another chapter! “Blessed is the man who listens to me, watching daily at my doors, waiting at my doorway” (Proverbs 8:34). Truth is speaking!

It reminded me of being in a gigantic aquarium.
I tasted the metallic prongs on the microphone.
I sat confined in a maroon motorized wheelchair.
My skin plastered itself to the vinyl seat.
“Jimmy!”
School lockers slammed latching to metal.
Beads of water plummeted down the windshield.
Rows of vineyards passed us by like still frames swiftly moving in succession, pages of caricature figures rapidly turning.
I remember the first time I grieved.