Driving along West Bay Street, I glanced left and caught sight of a menacing storm building on the horizon. The clouds were dark, heavy, and ominous, and I knew that if it came ashore, it would be intense.
My car pulled over almost automatically, and I found myself roadside, camera in hand, trying to capture the beauty sprawled before me. What struck me wasn’t just the storm, but the contrast. The sea in front of me was calm, glasslike, so clear you could see straight through the surface. Brooding clouds in the background, and crystal clarity right in front of my camera. Wrath and peace in the same frame. How does any camera do a scene like this justice?
I call this piece Unending Grace. The storm that was poised to pummel us but never actually hit. It passed offshore, leaving us with calm instead of chaos. This scene mirrors grace itself; what should have fallen on us never did, because of Jesus’ sacrifice.
This is the kind of piece I imagine hanging in a space meant for reflection, gratitude, and inspiration. A space where viewers can get lost in awe.
This is one of my favorite captures because it doesn’t just show a storm, it shows the mercy of what didn’t happen.
I tried to pen my feelings about this capture in a brief poem:
Dark clouds gather, heavy with might,
Yet the sea lies calm, clear in the light.
Wrath on the horizon, mercy at bay—
The storm that should strike drifts quietly away.
Not by chance, but by love undeserved,
Grace unending, through Christ preserved.
Power. Beauty. Awe intertwined,
Through an act of mercy, death now unwinds.
