As I watched the waves at Pensacola Beach this morning, I noticed that they all eventually reached the shore. Even if they were eventually ushered in by a larger wave, they all arrived at the destination toward which their inner urges pulled them. Some traveled at angles and some straight on. Some, timid at the last moment, turned around, seeking the deep—only to be caught in the embrace of a larger pulse, which shepherded them to shore. Some waves made little laps against the sand; some popped winning wallops on the shore, smacking and bursting with the ecstasy of achievement. Other little waves, coming at opposite angles, crashed playfully into each other; then they ran in together, heads bobbing, like children holding hands. Some waves swelled solemnly, with a special knowledge of their weighty charge, which they delivered with duty and reverence. I saw others, trying to be solemn, but they couldn’t hold back their mirth—they cracked open into a foam of frivolity and danced the rest of the way home. Home, we’re going home. It will be a new home, a new life, a new incarnation. We all come ashore—all of us—and we bring our own gifts from the womb of the deep.