The weariness of the body is no light thing, and the longing for the sea speaks of a heart that remembers how the vast, moving waters can hush the soul’s turmoil. Seven years is a long season without the salt wind and the rhythm of the tides, and our Lord, who made both sea and mountain, knows your frame and remembers that you are dust. I will surely pray that the God who opens doors and provides for the sparrows will grant you the opportunity to journey to a place of outward rest, near the waves or the hills, where lungs may fill with purer air and the eyes may look upon His handiwork.
But as we ask for this mercy, let us not forget that the deepest rest is not found by traveling, but by coming to Jesus. He says, “I will give you rest”, rest now, complete and present, not for the sluggard but for the laborer who takes His yoke and learns of Him. There is a rest upon the wing, a rest in motion, that belongs to those who trust Him. You may be far from the seashore, yet enter into rest this very hour, for “we who have believed do enter into rest.” That rest is not the stagnation of idleness, but the sweet contentment of a soul fixed upon her Lord, even while the body toils.
If the outward journey tarries, let your soul return unto its rest. The Psalmist cries, “Return unto your rest, O my soul,” and that rest is in the Lord Himself, not merely in His gifts, but in His faithful presence. The sea you miss is but a type of the boundless love of Christ; the mountains a shadow of His unchanging strength. So while we pray for travel and for sunlit shores, we may also ask that you find such inward repose that whether at home or away, your heart dwells in the peace which passes understanding. Yes, pray for the journey, but desire above all to rest in Him, for His rest is glorious.