We walked along the ocean with the water on our right. At first, on the left, were sand dunes. The beach thinned, the shoreline became rocky, and the dunes gave way to a series of low cliffs. The strip continued to narrow, and the cliffs became sheer. The only way forward was a narrow bridge of stones that separated a tidal pool from the ocean.
The stones were wet and slippery. If it were not low tide, they would not have been visible at all. The water on the landward side continually ebbed and flowed, splashing strongly against the cliff at one moment, and washing back over the bridge at another.
My friend went first, and was leading the way across, when a small wave washed over my feet and I slipped into the pool. I was quickly pushed to the center by the movement of the water.
My friend made it to the far end, so I attempted to swim there. But for each stroke, the water pushed me back an equal amount. My friend moved along the bridge, but no matter which direction I swam, the water worked continuously to keep me in the center of the pool.
Again I swam toward Him, but the water pushed me away.
He encouraged me, but the water pushed me away.
I redoubled my efforts, but the water pushed me away.
He lent me strength, but the water pushed me away.
I swim toward him now, but the water pushes me away.
I can see His eyes. He loves me. And the water pushes me away.
I am desperate to reach Him, and the water pushes me away.
He waits patiently and tirelessly, and the water pushes me away.
I am weary, and the water pushes me away.
He will never leave until I am safe, and the water pushes me away.
Somehow, no matter what, I will reach Him, and the water pushes me away.