James C. Denison
Late last week I was privileged to speak at a theological conference in Corpus Christi. A friend allowed me the use of his condo on the beach, where I watched the sun come up over the ocean. I have always been a beach person, from the first time my family took me to Galveston as a kid. There’s something about the ocean which speaks to my soul. If there were two of me, one would be a pastor in Dallas and one would be a beach bum somewhere. I don’t know a more amazing sight than a seaside sunrise, or a more powerful sound that the ocean washing ashore.
But in the midst of that beautiful morning scene, there was a nagging, gnawing sense inside me that there must be more than this. As spectacular as that sunrise was, it’s not enough. There’s something else, something greater, something more. I’m not the first to have such a sensation.
You know the feeling, don’t you? A mountain covered with snow, or a crystal clear trout stream, or a rolling meadow. A concert by your favorite band, or your favorite movie of the year, or the chance to stand before the painting you had always wanted to see. You’re finally there, but it’s not enough. There’s something more.