Beneath the Surface

The lake was still today.

Not silent. There were birds, distant movement, the gentle rhythm of water brushing against the shore. But still in the way that makes you pause. The kind of stillness that doesn’t demand anything from you. It just holds you.

“Be still, and know that I am God.” — Psalm 46:10

I went there heavy.

Not with just one thing, but many. The kind of weight that doesn’t separate neatly. Heartache on one side, uncertainty on the other, and somewhere in between, the quiet exhaustion of trying to carry both at once.

So I sat. And I watched.

Two geese moved across the water together. Steady. In sync. Close, but not crowding each other. There was no urgency in them, no confusion. Just a quiet knowing of where they were going, and who they were going with.

And I felt it.

That longing. Not just for love, but for something steady. Something that reflects the kind of love God calls good. Faithful. Enduring. Secure.

Then there was another bird. Alone.
Not abandoned. Not frantic. Just alone. Moving through the water at its own pace.

Existing without apology.

And I realized something I didn’t want to admit.

Being alone doesn’t always mean something is wrong.

Sometimes it means God is doing something personal. Something intentional.

But the one that stayed with me the most was the one that disappeared.

It would dive beneath the surface, completely gone. For a moment, you would wonder where it went. You would look for it, try to track it, but there was nothing to follow.

And then, suddenly, it would rise again. Somewhere else. Somewhere unexpected.
And it hit me in a way I didn’t expect.

Because that is what some seasons feel like.

Like something has gone under the surface.

Like clarity has disappeared.

Like everything that once felt certain is now hidden.

“For we walk by faith, not by sight.” — 2 Corinthians 5:7

But just because we cannot see it, does not mean God is not working.

It just means it is happening somewhere deeper.

I did not leave the lake with answers.

The questions are still there.
The weight has not fully lifted.
The heart is still tender.

But something shifted.

Not everything has to be understood right now.

Not everything has to be fixed today.

Some things are allowed to be unseen for a while.

And maybe, just maybe, what feels like disappearing is not the end of something,
but the quiet beginning of something God is preparing beneath the surface.

~~*~~

Lord,
You see what I cannot. You understand what I do not. When everything feels uncertain, help me trust that You are still certain.
When I cannot see what You are doing, remind me that You never stop working. Hold my heart in the waiting. Give me peace in the unknown. And help me believe that what You are doing beneath the surface is good, purposeful, and from You.
In Jesus name I pray,
Amen.