There was water all around. No land in sight on any horizon. 

So small and insignificant in the sea, the cork was lost and floating aimlessly. Disconnected from her original purpose. Identity gone. Afraid. Alone. Without hope of rescue.

Suddenly a wall of water loomed in the distance, racing forward, a formidable tsunami wave that would certainly be the end of it all.

The force of the wave shoved the cork, flipping and swirling, to the bottom of the ocean and the overwhelming despair and fear accompanying it became far greater than the violence of the water itself. Instant panic seized her. She could never survive. Not this time.

The swirling current subsided and the cork drifted to the top, exhausted and disoriented. Just when a moment of relief came to the great sea, another wall of water appeared, sending her to the bottom of fear and loss again, this cycle continuing in never ending successions.

In slow agonizing increments, the waves eventually pushed the cork toward shore. She tumbled back and forth in the swirling breakers until she was finally left lying for days, with little energy to care, in the sand.

On a bright sunny day a woman and her child walked the beach looking for treasures to fill their plastic pail. They found the cork, took her home, washed her and made her part of a useful and beautiful display in their home. The cork had come through the deep, dark waters and found purpose. New, different, even foreign, but a purpose just the same.

In my deepest despair I asked God for something, anything, to reassure me I would survive the devastating death of my husband. He gave me this dream. 

I am the cork. 

Can new life be restored after such loss? Can the thing meant to destroy, become the catalyst for rescue and new meaning? Can the waters of dark despair bring forth renewed hope?

God promises I will not drown. Hope, like a cork, rises again. 

It’s true, life will never go back to what it was. I will never be the same. There are moments, hours, days, nights when I hate the reality of this truth, but I long for the time when I‘m excited about living, when I finally wash up on the shore of hope and find new joy, new purpose.

As each reoccurring wave continues to bury me in the depths, I hang on to Jesus, my life preserver.

Until hope floats again. 

“Do not fear, for I have redeemed you, I have called you by name; you are Mine! When you pass through the waters, I will be with you; and through the rivers, they will not overflow you.” Isaiah 43:1-2

“And now, O Lord, for what do I wait? My hope is in you.” Psalm 39:7