Have you ever felt guilty about a prayer uttered from your lips? I have. 
I recently asked God to get me out of a jam I had gotten myself into. 
On top of that, the prayer involved a moral dilemma of which I was ashamed. 
I was the “bad” person in this situation, and yet I was asking God for help. 
I simply threw my hands up with a petition that sounded more like a yelp or cry. 
I was willing to face the consequences; let the chips fall where they may, even if those chips fell into a dark abyss. 
But after several months I was miraculously delivered, and this was part of God’s response to me: I love you. I do not want you to suffer so. I understand the strange constraints you are under. Do not mistake this for approval — simply understanding.
God is merciful.
Photos © Sondra Sula.
Take a walk with me by reading my daily devotional book, Meditations on Mendocino by Sondra Sula. Available on Amazon in paperback or Kindle versions.
If you’d prefer a daily river walk, Reflections on the Fox River and Beyond by Sondra Sula, might just be the book for you.
I often feel tiny when confronted with the majesty of creation. And when my husband, Rob, and I visited Hedge Creek Falls in Dunsmuir, California, the feeling came on strong. 
This wood has seen many years and weathered many storms. Its bark has worn away to reveal complex grains and textures.
Do you ever feel like you’re operating at a snail’s pace? I do.
Not only is everything in slow motion, but I feel as though I’m dragging a burden along. It remains stuck to me as I travel through my day.
When I finally let go, I feel so much lighter.
I can cross rocky paths much more easily.
I can even navigate around obstacles. My brokenness begins to heal.
And there I find God—waiting for me to reach out and connect. When I do, I feel a sense of peace that surpasses all understanding.
I have never seen wood look so red in the wild. I jump across the stream that enters the beach as a trickling waterfall dropping off the headlands. The water is absolutely clear. I am grateful for that which is still pristine.
A bulb kelp presented on a painterly log resembles a snake eating its tail. It creates a never-ending loop. God, how do I become whole? How do I touch Your Infinity without being consumed?
An ochre stone rests in the groove of driftwood. Help me, God, to rest in Your everlasting arms.
I come across a washed-up tree trunk. On one end I see two “eyes,” one of which is covered by sand. I must first remove the sand from my own eye so I can clearly see how to help remove the speck from another’s eye.
On the other end I see another set of “eyes,” but one of them is just a pucker, as if squinted closed. God, how do I perceive Your depth without both eyes wide open?
Seaweed encircles a log, clasped shut like a necklace. I must allow myself to be embraced by beauty, by God.
I pass a trunk that looks pocked, wounded. God, heal what disfigures me.
Near it, a smooth stick rests against hole-ridden sand. Beach creatures have probably dug these holes to breathe, eat or hide. How do I find holy ground? How do I breathe the breath of Spirit?
A small piece of driftwood has been carved by wind and water. What parts of myself need to be carved away and sent adrift?
As I pass a seaweed pod, I feel its aloneness on the vastness of the beach. And yet, I am never alone.
Friends, family, neighbors, God—they are all with me, supporting me through thick and thin. Holding me up.
I glanced down to see the bottom of a tree trunk encircled in a profusion of tiny yellow daisies, and another complemented at its base with purple companion plants. I decided to focus my camera and my mind on the place where a tree’s foundational support meets the soil. A mystery of root webs concealed from view keeps the trees grounded and nourished. I must remain rooted in God for balance, support and nourishment.
Other trunks let a few of their roots show, displaying their connection to the earth. Lord, let me know the right times to publicly demonstrate my devotion to You, and when to allow its intuitive interpretation.
I passed a tree’s base that was split, yet intertwined. When I differ in opinion with another, let me remember our greater bond of oneness, inextricably uniting us.
Diverse color and texture abounded: peeling, paper-thin rusty orange bark, gray lichen-encrusted trunks, even young bark that was red on one side and olive-gold on the other. We may look different on the outside, but our life-sustaining “sap” still comes from the same Wellspring.
Lastly, I zeroed in on a large tree’s undulating bark. It flowed down vertically in rivulets of green-tinted gray over a reddish-brown backdrop. A single eye had formed where a branch had been severed. The healed wound offered insight: We are all in the flow. We can fight it and seek to drag ourselves to dry land or we can float effortlessly to The Source and join all others who have gathered there for fellowship. I choose the easy channel to companionship.
All photos © Sondra Sula.
What do the plants have to say today? Come hither are the first words I hear. I am layer upon layer of color, texture, beauty, just like you. Me? Yes, you.
We prostrate ourselves. Why? Reverence for our creator.
Look closer. Impressions are left upon our tender selves. Understand that you leave impressions on others.
Lose yourself in the twirl as the dervish do. Spin on your center and you will never fall. Be transparent.
Practice joy. Practice it? Yes, joy is intentional.
Have a solid core. My faith? Yes. Have faith that your strength can bear the weight of your beauty. This is true for all souls.
Make a joyful sound with your voice—sing! The vibration from your vocal chords—your breath—heals creation. Let go! Let glory be!
Sondra Sula's Blog: The Nature of Spirituality 