I have stood on the crest of the bluffs north of Bodega Bay and gazed at the expanse of the Pacific Ocean. From high on the bluff, you can see the waves crashing on the rocks below, and the endlessness of the water that meets the horizon.
The prospective is different on the sandy beaches below the bluff. There is no distance to the horizon, and the waves roll in relentlessly to the shore, sweeping all within it's wake:
PRESS ON
HOW GREAT THE HANDS THAT BORE
THIS VAST HORIZON OF ENDLESS BLUES;
BLACK WHERE IT MEETS THE CLOUDLESS SKY;
GENTLY FADING AS IT COMES NEARER
UNTIL SHADES OF GREEN OVERTAKE
THE BLUES AND LEAD TO WHITE SOAPY
FROTH, THAT FREEZES THE TOES OF THOSE
WHO FROLIC ON THE SHORE, MINUSCULE
AGAINST THE GREATNESS OF THE SEA.
THEN, ONCE THE STEEP BLUFF DESCENDED,
YOUR TOES FINALLY TOUCH THAT SAND,
AND SANS SHOES, YOU MAKE YOUR WAY
TO WATER'S EDGE, AND FEEL THE COOLNESS
BETWEEN YOUR TOES AND THE BREEZE
BLOW FREELY THROUGH THE TRESSES OF YOUR HAIR,
AND THE SUN IS WARM WHILE THE BREEZE IS COOL,
AND ALL THESE CONTRADICTIONS COME TO BARE.
THE CRASHING WAVES ROLL ON RELENTLESSLY
AND THE UNDERTOW COULD PULL YOU SAFELY
FROM THE SHORE AND SEND YOU TUMBLING
HELTER-SKELTER THROUGH LIFE'S TERRIBLE CHOICES;
YET, YOU ENDURE. FOR YOUR GREAT HOPE IS BUILT ON NOTHING LESS THAN THE LOVE THAT HAS BEEN
OFFERED YOU. SO YOU PRESS ON, RESOLVING TO
ALWAYS PUT YOUR SAVIOR FIRST AND TRY TO
STRIVE TO BE ALL THAT HE HAS SEEN IN YOU.
FOR YOU KNOW THAT THE FEELINGS ON THE SHORE AND THE FEELINGS ON THE BLUFF ARE DIFFERENT.
AND YET, SOMEHOW, THEY MEET AND BECOME
THE TOTAL OF THAT CREATION. AND YOU ARE A PART OF THAT GREAT CREATION. AND SO, AS A
PART OF THE WHOLE, YOU ARE FREE TO PRESS ON.
PRESS ON TOWARD THE MARK.
PRESS ON TOWARD THE LORD.
PRESS ON TOWARD THE HOPE.
PRESS ON TOWARD THE LOVE.
PRESS ON.