Thanks to the King of the Sea for its sun-gilt waves, creaking ships at anchor, my cheeks stung with spray, seabirds that wheel, mewling, into nor'easters. Thanks to Him who said "be still" for the calm before and after storms.
Praise to Him who draws close to us as the tide, bringing gifts, and thanks to Him when the tide goes out, the gifts with it, and yet He lingers.
Glory to the Son of Glory who glories in weak and broken things; moonlight on snow, worn out zeal, mistaken promises, forgotten purpose, selfish longings, old fears, silent tears, and me.
Praise to the High Priest, His Holiness, who makes us holy, Who was Broken and makes us whole.