Tonight, depression hit me hard. I came down off a wave of anxiety, and I just plummeted. Not like I-feel-a-bit-down sort of depressed, but like my-last-shred-of-hope-is-gone sort of depressed. At half past ten, my Mum put me in the car, and took me to the beach. We stepped out onto the sand, and I said to her that I didn’t know how to cope anymore. That I didn’t think I could bear a tomorrow.
And as soon as the words left my mouth, I saw a flash of green on the water. I thought I imagined it, like maybe my mind was just done now and I was seeing lights where there weren’t any?! – but then it happened again, and I was looking right at it. As the waves came crashing in, they were glowing a neon green. The water was filled with phosphorus. I was awestruck. No sooner had these words of hopelessness left my mouth, than I was granted this radiant thing of beauty.
Mum and I walked and jumped along the sand, creating patches of fluorescence where our feet hit the ground. We marvelled at the lit up waves. We went home to get Dad and went back. I waded into the freezing winter sea and made it glow by running through the water.
I live a few minutes down the road from this beach, and I visit it almost every single day. It’s been “my” beach since I was a baby. And I had never seen this before. I love how my favourite place, a place I know like the back of my hand, can still surprise me; how the world never runs out of new wonders. How you can run right into hope when you least expect it. Tonight, standing mesmerised on my beach, I could feel God there alongside me, marvelling at his creation. I think he was saying “Here. Here’s some hope. Just hold on. I am with you.”