More in Number Than the Sand

I remember the day I realized that the world didn't revolve around me. 

Of course I knew in my head that I wasn't the center of the universe. I knew that only a tiny number of people on earth even knew of my existence. But somehow I viewed my life on center stage, with the spotlight on me, with my dreams, my griefs, my plans in the forefront and everyone else circling around me.

On that day, I was shopping and looked at the many people, and realized that, just like me, their lives were consumed by their dreams, their griefs, their plans. I wondered if others also had a ridulous sense of self-importance. Maybe each person I saw, and all the billions of other people in the world, also viewed their life as in the spotlight on center stage, with all other people as the extras of the set. Maybe we are all self-centered and wake each morning with our dreams, griefs, and plans as the most important thing in the universe. 

I am responsible for my thoughts, motives, words, and actions, so these things are necessarily important to me. But ever since that day, I've often looked at those I pass on the street, the driver of the car beside me, the strangers I elbow in a crowd and feel small. My dreams and plans, which feel so big to me, are unknown and unimportant to them. As one of the billions, my life is tiny.

Earlier this month we spent a week at the Outer Banks, North Carolina. Each morning I woke at my normal hour, peeked at the alarm clock, and considered my options. I was on vacation and could roll over and sleep a few more hours. But how can a person lay asleep at sunrise on the beach? 

I scrambled into clothes, grabbed my Bible, and headed to the top deck of our rental house, where the ocean was just barely visible. But the pounding of the waves continued to pull me. I popped in my earbuds, turned on my audio Bible, slipped on my sandals, and spent the next hour walking along the surf as the sky was painted pink and orange by the rising sun. 

I'm in awe of the power of the rhythmic waves. They are consistent, persistent, unrelenting. It didn't matter if I was watching or lying in bed. All over the world, day and night, year after year, the waves crash on the shore, moving methodically up and down with tide schedules so dependable they can be made years in advance. 

Sandpipers on twig-like legs, dance along the shore, always staying one step ahead of the wave, poking their beaks into the sand for some morsel. Three large birds (pelicans?) skim in silent procession just above the crest of the wave, disapearing in a silent dive then suddenly reappearing to skim the waves again. Crabs watch me warily, then scuttle into their holes. Each creature is consumed with its life, its survival. In each tiny brain, the spotlight is turned on it. Its life the most important existence in its universe. 

All over the world these motions are echoed - waves, birds, crabs - with a stunning sunrise as the backdrop. Usually no one watches; no one applauds. The astonishing colors exist without help from humans. The creatures follow their created instict with no orders, no recognition.

In the extravagance of the sunrise and the power of the waves, I feel tiny, miniscule, inconsequential. Just as when I was shopping and suddenly knew that each of the billions of people on earth had dreams, griefs, and plans just like me, I feel insignificant.

I believe God created this splendour, the amazing world of sunrises and sandpipers, pelicans and crabs. I believe He created the billions of people who walk this planet. The vastness of the universe and God's power overwhelms me. 

But I'm even more astounded when I read that God knows each sparrow and numbers my hair. (Matthew 10:29-31) He knew me before I was born and His thoughts of me are more than the number of the sand. (Psalm 139:14-18)  I'm only one of the billions, but I'm known.

I walk the shore, gazing at the glory of His creation, and want to weep at the glory of being a daughter of this God. 

***

Here are links to two old posts, both shared when I felt overwhelmed by current events in my own life and in the world. It is a little startling to see how much my children have grown in just a few years. It is also comforting to remember that God is still on His throne. In each post I shared a meaningful hymn.

November 2020 - Dear Lord and Father of Mankind

March 2022 - O Who Is Like Jehovah God