I (Faith, here!) remember the first time I heard Jesus’ Divine Mercy described as an “ocean”.

“Immerse us in the ocean of your mercy, Lord” I have prayed fervently, time and time again, whether beseeching this grace for the betterment of my little family or that of the entire human race. It has always made sense to me, the idea of God’s mercy being an ocean. The ocean is vast, its depths fathomless.

It seems it would be only fitting to liken God’s mercy to such as the sea.

I was thinking this same thing as I admired the beautiful ocean stretched out to the horizon while standing ashore Crystal Beach in Destin, Florida just a week ago, my son excitedly clutching my hand next to me.

One of the greatest joys of that trip to Destin was being able to introduce him to the ocean for the very first time. As most toddlers, he is quite repetitive. Give him a snack, and he’ll undoubtedly ask for “more”, even after eating the entire bag of teddy grahams. Tickle his belly in a way that leaves his little body shaking with laughter and he will, without fail, beg through his giggles “again.” That is one of his favorite words in fact, one he will impart when something which sends wonder through him happens.

He hears/sees a plane in the sky? A clap of thunder resounds? We drive past a bridge (his current obsession)?

Without missing a beat, he’ll turn to me, his eyes wide, and beseech “Again?”

And so it was with much joy (and satisfaction) that, as he stood in the surf for the first time, grinning from ear to ear as a wave washed past his knees and looked up to joyfully ask “again?”, that I was able to say “Yes, sweetie. Again. It will happen again. And again. And again. You’ve only to stand there and let it hit you.”                                                              

And then it hit me…to the right, the sun was setting behind a string of condos and buildings, smearing the sky into a pink and orange covered canvas… to the left stretched miles and miles of sand, the whitest I’ve ever seen… and in front of me, the ocean moved and breathed and danced—her tide hurling itself upon my toes, receding seconds later, only to return once again.

Over and over (and over) again, this happened.

I realized in that moment that it is not just the seeming endlessness of the ocean that makes it comparable to God’s mercy. It’s also its rhythm. It’s motion.

It returns.

Without fail.

Every time.

That is the movement of God’s mercy. It is a tide that will only ever return to beckon us Home, no matter how many times we fail.

It is as present to us in the moments that we doubt it as in the moments we seek it.

It is always there, always coming back to us, calling out to us. Just like grace, it is a gift given freely…just like grace, it is one which we must accept in order for it to accomplish its work in our lives.

I’d like to imagine that God, in His infinite goodness, saw us as we are, people subject to living within minutes and seconds and hours, people ever changing, growing- always in motion- and knew that we would need His Mercy  to be the same way in order for it to reach us where we are, at any given moment.

Perhaps that’s why Scripture tells us that God’s mercies for us are new every morning.

Just as the waves of the sea continually wash upon the shore, changing its composition a little at a time, so, too, is the Lord’s mercy ,thrusting itself against the sands of our hearts, ready to erode away the parts of our lives that are not for our good or His greater glory—to make us new.

To make us whole.

Zero.

It’s a number that usually indicates absence. But for me, at the end of my Camino, the number zero represented a fullness I had never experienced before in my life. It was not only the end of a long and arduous journey, it was also the beginning of a new walk for me – the uniting of my own life’s pilgrimage and the Camino de Santiago beyond the hills (or mountains!) of Spain.

When I started the adventure almost a week prior, the tall Camino markers read 114 km to Santiago. In true newbie zeal, I’m pretty sure I stopped to take a picture with that first route marker. (Okay. Maybe I stopped for the first twenty markers!) Pilgrims on their 23rd day walking from Saint Jean chuckled as they walked past me, saying, “That energy! We need to remember that energy!” I was like a kid in a candy shop. I was on the Camino de Santiago de Compostela and wasn’t about to let the experience escape my eye – or my camera.

While the zeal for the markers definitely escaped my notice in the miles to come (when all I wanted to see was the sign of civilization or a patch of flat ground!) my interest in these route markers and the knowledge of my place on the map only increased. Each one was designed specifically for the region of Galacia and contained a scallop shell (the official symbol of the Camino), a yellow arrow pointing the direction of the route, and the number of kilometers left to reach Santiago. 

The route markers were positioned at almost every major roadway crossing. When I saw one, I knew that I was on the right track. And I also knew I wasn’t alone. Millions of pilgrims had the same steps before me for hundreds of years. And millions of pilgrims behind me were preparing to take these same steps, still yet to come.

But no matter where I was in the journey, the route markers that came into sight were like a little high-fives from the ancient trail – reminders of just how far I had walked and of how much more I still had to go.

Sometimes that number was a surprise. “Wow! We’re in the 60’s now? Only 60 kilometers left until Santiago? Let’s DO this thing!”

Other times, that number was a surprise in a different way, “I’ve been walking for an hour and I’ve only gone 1.5 kilometers? Didn’t I just see that tree awhile ago? Wait. Am I walking in circles?… Am I still in Spain?”

As I approached Santiago, and noticed the single digit countdown, my heart battled the excitement of nearing the prize with the sadness of leaving behind more than a roadway, but a way of life.

I had learned to embrace the journey (a story for another time!) and every single experience that came with each step. From the minute I began counting down from 114, I had accepted an invitation to surrender my will and my way to The Way, physically, emotionally, and spiritually. To me, each route marker on the Camino de Santiago was a link to the past, present, and the future.  As numbers of the kilometers decreased, my love for them and the lessons learned on the Way increased.

Zero.

It was the official “end” to my walking. But for me, it was a “reset” to the way I walk through my own life. Because I don’t know about you, but I do not want to mindlessly count down the kilometers of each day in hast, desperation, or ignorance. No way!

I want to look ahead of me and know that there’s a Santiago – a Heaven – waiting for me at the end.

I want to look behind me and see a mountain range of little victories over sufferings endured.

I want to look before me and see the here and the now, appreciating this moment as an valuable gift that will never come my way again.

Instead of counting kilometers, I want to count graces from God, virtues learned, and lessons practiced.

My life’s Camino reset at zero on that day in late June with 114 kilometers behind me. Ahead of me lies a journey of uncounted kilometers  – however many He sees fit. May I walk them in the same stride as I did on the Camino de Santiago.