The piece of concrete is just large enough to sit on as it tries hard not to slide down the Huntington Beach cliffs. It has been blocked off for years by weathered railing that guards the bike trail from the forty foot drop to the sand. It is a place I use to frequent at times such as these. Many times lately, I've pondered making the drive out to that very rock. The lifeguards never seemed to care much at all that I sat staring out at the relentless waves roaring as they rolled toward the shore. I would just sit, listening to the wind blow up the cliffs and drown all the other sounds out. A place where I would be quick to listen and slow to speak.
There is something about having a spot like that. A spot where I could rest in the shadow of his wing. A spot where there is a stillness. A spot that no one knows to look for me except him. It is my Gethsemane.
Find your Matthew 6:6 spot.
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