Marga came back from her first real kayak trip on Loch Melfort practically shouting. “I saw jellyfish! Thousands of them!” Of course I was jealous. I hadn’t even thought to look down into the water when I was out kayaking. Across it, yes. But not down into it. I had to go.
As soon as the moment offered itself, the two of us suited up and headed out. The water wasn’t as still as it had been on Marga’s trek, but as we shot out onto the lake, we looked down and to our delight saw the translucent disks of a myriad of Moon jellyfish. I was filled with elation. They were delicate, alien and beautiful, and some were so close to the surface I was afraid my paddle might hit them if I was careless. Beyond them were more jellyfish, deeper, as deep as the light could penetrate.
“There were more yesterday when I was out here,” Marga called across the water.
We paddled further out on the loch. The water wasn’t calm, but it wasn’t ferocious either. Rippling waves reflected the light and dark of the sky and the hills around us, offering peeks at the even darker depths beneath. Then I saw it out of the corner of my eye, something that didn’t move with the waves, a dark shape on the surface of the water. I turned my head to look straight at it, to try and identify what it might be, but it was gone.
There was some spray from the sea on my glasses, so I doubted myself, but I called out to Marga anyway. “I think there’s something out here,” I said.
And then we saw it. Low in the water, hiding amongst the flickering waves, flared the whiskered nose of a seal. Marga called out, “A seal!” but she was pointing elsewhere. I looked, and to my surprise, a second seal had popped its head up to observe us. It vanished, but another face appeared a short distance off. We held our paddles and coasted, swiveling our heads frantically to glimpse them as they popped up around us and ducked back into hiding in the water.
It was eerie and wonderful all at once. They moved effortlessly between our world and another, shifting as it pleased them. We knew from the bubbles they left behind that they moved under and around us, curious and cautious, but we could only glimpse them. Our ability to see them was almost entirely at their whim, since they can hold their breath for well over an hour and dive to the bottom of the loch with ease. I found myself grateful that they are not aggressive toward kayakers. In the end, it was us who had to turn around and head home, and they watched us go. You can imagine how excited we were to share this with the girls!
The idea of seeing seals out there on the ocean is one of the things that keeps me going back to my kayak. On calm days, when the water is glass, they are easy to spot, but when there is wind or chop it can be much more difficult. Every dark wave looks like a seal, then, and my eyes grow weary of leaping from false alert to false alert. But I still look. Even a glimpse is enough to change the journey.
I find looking for God to be a lot like looking for seals. If you have encountered God along your journey, you probably know how wonderful and eerie such an experience can be. My encounters with God are usually little more than a glimpse of something that doesn’t move the way this world does, yet even those encounters are enough to keep me seeking for more.
Just as it is when looking for seals, I find it easier to catch glimpses of God when I am able to be quiet and at peace. For me, being out in nature (and in my kayak) engages my body and soothes my mind so I can focus on seeking God. They take my phone out of my hands and my eyes off a screen as well. I know that being in nature isn’t always possible (or have the same impact for everyone), but the principles of being still, and setting aside distractions still help.
When I don’t have the luxury of being still, when there are a myriad of voices from inside and outside of myself that pull me in different directions, I can still encounter God. But I have to be cautious here. It is all too easy to mistake a reflection of the world around me for a glimpse of the real deal and head in the entirely wrong direction. To combat this, it is important to remember what God actually looks like. When Moses asked to see God’s face, the Almighty announced His presence with the following words: “The Lord God, the compassionate and gracious God, slow to anger, abounding in love and faithfulness, maintaining love to thousands, and forgiving wickedness, rebellion and sin.” (God adds a caveat that these gentle characteristics don’t mean injustice gets a free hand, however.) Jesus describes himself as “Gentle and humble in heart.” When I am uncertain of what I’m seeing, these characteristics are as tell-tale as whiskers and big eyes.
I’m sure there is more that could be unpacked here, but as I write this, I can’t help wonder if I am as deliberate about seeking God as I am about seeking seals. I certainly know that God is more deliberate about seeking you and me out than the seals are, and it is more than a cautious curiosity with which he regards you and me. This week I want to be better about keeping my eyes open for those moments of intersection between the Kingdom of Heaven and the chaos of this world.