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For me, God is in the ocean that surrounds us all. As a child, being raised on an island, it transported me, literally and figuratively. I swam in its warm waves as early as I could walk. My home floated on it, for a time, and it provided my family's income. My father, the sailor, taught me to understand its tides and depths. I learned how to stay afloat on its surface and what lived in its depths below. He was married to it, somehow, and when his union with my mother ended, it was to the ocean that he returned to live, testament perhaps to his first true love. As I grew older, and moved from it, the mere picture of it reminded me of its omnipresence and endurance. I returned to it whenever I could, standing on its edge, eyes closed, recharging my soul with its smell and sound. I took my children to it, bathed them in its salty brine, teaching them to trust, love and respect it. We spent hours watching it froth with fury one day only to be crystalline calm the next. Ultimately, it claimed my father for its own, pulling him to its depths. It made sense somehow that he would become one with the sea, embraced eternally by her strength and beauty. I was not angry with it, because he loved the sea and so I released him to her care. When I stand on the shore now, it is with a deeper sense of understanding about the ebb and flow of the divine.