Let Go and Let God

My attention was arrested by a kite-surfer as he harnessed the pure energy of the fierce wind.  The kiter flew to a curling wave, dropped in, carved up and down the face, and then soared up and out.  He escaped back into the sky as the wave slammed shut, the curtain closed.  Envy pumped through my veins as I got pummeled by the volatile whitewater from a wave.  I paddled and duck dived to survive in the hectic blown-out surf.  I wished I could fly to any wave like the kite-boarders, and then escape the brunt of the waves’ explosion.  Instead, I fought with the ocean and grew fatigued working hard for every wave I rode.  I collapsed on the beach and stared at the superhero-like kiters who decorated the sky and sea on the horizon; entranced and intrigued.  I wasn’t content to stay on the sidelines watching for long.  

The kite danced through the sky as I grasped the handle and guided it above my head.  The sun stung my eyes, and I was careful not to make any sudden big movements.  I was learning to kitesurf, and learning to manage the power of the mighty wind.  I had learned how to generate power by lowering the kite into the power window and then moving it in a figure eight.  

A kiter glided over the water and launched 40 feet into air and then did a complete flip before landing smoothly.  I watched, jealous it would be ages before I could launch myself like that.   A strong gust of wind blew and tugged at my kite.  Suddenly, the kite was alive in the power zone, and as I kept the figure eight pattern, the kite powered up and pulled me out into the water.  I sailed over the water and instinctually pulled the handle toward myself wanting to stop and regain control.  This did the opposite of what I wanted to accomplish, and the kite powered up more and pulled me harder until I slammed down face first into the water.  Finally I surrendered and let go of the handle.  I was released from the power and the kite fell from the air to the river.  

Romans 5:3-4, “We can rejoice, too, when we run into problems and trials, for we know that they are good for us- they help us learn to endure.  And endurance develops strength of character in us, and character strengthens our confident expectation of salvation.”

While I knew to release the power I was supposed to let go, in the most crucial moment I pulled the handle towards me to try to regain control.  However that was the worst thing I could do.  I was embarrassed and frustrated, because even though I knew not to pull in and power up, I did it anyway.  

I sat on the shore recovering from the high speed face plant, and realized how much this lesson related to my life and greater issues with control.  Sometimes I want something so much, that I hold on to it too tight, or I try to manipulate situations to get my way.  Usually the more I try to control the situation or try to get what I want, I become frustrated because I am reaching and pulling in my own power.  I realize that the more I put my hands on it, the more disappointed I get when things don’t go the way I want.  After I am exhausted and discouraged from trying to do things in my own power, I realize I need to rest in the promises of the Lord- that he has a perfect plan and perfect timing.  All I need to do is relinquish the control and power I think I have and just let go.  

“Be still and know that I am God.” – Psalm 46:10

God is always in control, and His plans will always prevail.  Even knowing this, sometimes the hardest thing to do is just be still.  With clenched hands I try to grasp what I think I need or want.  I am learning over and over again to let go and submit to what God wants.  When I open my hands in surrender that he knows what is best for me, I find rest, the deepest freedom, and peace.  And it is only with open hands I am open to receive all that he has for me. 

Surf & Serve No Matter the Conditions

For the first time in my surfing life, I stopped allowing surfing to be my priority with everything else finding its place around it.  I started my career and new life as a flight attendant.   I had learned that there was more to life than surfing, yet it was still deep in the fabric of my being.

During training I endured ten to twelve hour classes and tests daily.  Failing a test meant packing up and heading home, so the stakes were high.  I clung to God through it all, and when I could squeeze in a surf session I sped to the beach.  I didn’t check the surf report to see if the wind was blowing hard on-shore, or clean and off-shore, or the waves were big or small.  I craved the board under my skin, the sun on my back, and vowed to surf no matter what.  As the saltwater washed over me, God spoke to my heart about serving him.

Matthew 20:28, “For even the Son of Man came not to be served, but to serve others and to give his life as a ransom for many.”

The core of Christ’s purpose was to serve, and in the Bible it is stated countless times in countless ways that as Christ imitators we are called to serve and love other people for him.  Surfers check the waves and surf reports frequently to contemplate if the conditions merit a session.  If there is too much wind and the waves aren’t perfect, surfers wonder if it is even worth paddling out.  God showed me a similar trend with serving, where at times if the conditions weren’t just right in my life, I struggled in helping others. 

 

In Philippians 4:11 Paul wrote that he learned to be content in whatever situation life found him in.  I am challenged by this and realized that sometimes I get so far into my own situation, which is never going to be perfect, and become overwhelmed by emotions and feelings attached to the junk.  As a result, I have sometimes been guilty of feeling too empty and too tired to care about others.  The voice of the enemy is eager to steal any joy he can and whispers, “Is it even worth serving when you are sad?  You should be the one that should be served.”

But I know I am not called to be controlled by my fluctuating feelings, and I have never regretted helping someone in need.  No matter what is going on with me, the moment I leave my situations and feelings behind to serve someone else, I feel better.  I have always found joy in putting someone else’s needs above my own.  It can even be therapeutic, as I cannot count the number of times that volunteering has put my trials into perspective.  David penned in the book of Psalms that “The mountains melt like wax before the Lord,” just as when I serve my own troubles melt away. 

And like serving, regardless of the conditions, I have never been sorry I paddled out, because the scent of foaming, salty sea spray mixed with sunshine and the breeze is impossible to bottle up and replicate.  No matter what the conditions of the waves, this elusive scent exists, and the only way to experience its refreshing effects is to be there, in the water, paddling and duck-diving, skimming along on the surface of the sea.  No matter how much time has passed since I last rode a wave, and no matter how tormented I find the state of the ocean to be in, its grip on my heart and soul remain, and there I am always at peace; at home enveloped in the pockets of the water. 

I will surf no matter the conditions, and serve God no matter the conditions.

The Road to Playgrounds: Nicaragua

“For it is by grace you have been saved; through faith and this is not from yourselves, it is a gift of God.” -Ephesians 2:8

If it is by faith alone that we are saved, then how important is our faith?  I spent a few minutes meditating on this simple but crucial fact while I sipped Nicaraguan coffee and roosters crowed.  I prayed God would increase my faith and for it to always grow.

We were four surf sisters, and these were the days of our lives.  Down to our last few mornings in this wild country it was time to explore in the Hilux, a trusty four-wheel drive Toyota.  Megan was our driver, Bailey rode shotgun as the co-pilot, and Stephanie and I shared the backseat.  She quietly observed while I was a full on back-seat driver. 

We picked up our first hitchhiker, an old, round Nicaraguan woman.  We dropped her off in her village and after spying tiny waves there we decided to venture on down the dirt road.  None of us knew what was ahead of us, but we were committed to explore.  A wooden sign on the side of the road read ‘Chococente’ marking another dirt road, and I remembered my friends said it was a fun beach break.  I told Megan to follow that way hoping we would find the beach.

The road forked, and we stayed to the right only to end up in an overgrown field surrounded by jungle.  As we turned around, a boy ran up to the truck shouting, “Playgrounds, Playgrounds!”  On a boat trip we had caught multiple peaks at the reef break known as Playgrounds and though we had heard a rumor about a road to the spot, we never heard of anyone driving there.

 

 

Wedged between Stephanie and myself Jonathan, the boy, and I chatted about our arrangement.  He said his parents would not be worried because they knew what he was doing.  He asked for money to buy school clothes, and I said if he worked we would pay him at the end.  He nodded and told me this was his job; he would guide us to Playgrounds and guard the truck while we surfed.  There was never a debate.  In fact, it was the quickest decision we made.  Hungry for waves and to surf the reef again, we accepted this boy’s proposal.  I was impressed by the young entrepreneur and liked the way he invented work for himself.

The excursion began with crossing through a small river.  Next we ascended a small hill, and the road grew very narrow and there was a steep cliff to the left.  It was clear that after this point there was no turning back.  There was no space to turn around, and the only way back would be to drive the narrow track in reverse.  Because of heavy rainfall the night before the road to Playgrounds was a muddy mess, and the consistency of the mud changed as we weaved through the jungle.  The road was a mystery as we traveled up and down hills covered in giant pot holes and puddles.  Over the years of surf adventures in remote areas I never witnessed a road so dangerous. 

As we forged on into the unknown I realized how close I felt to God, because I was aware of my utter and total reliance on him.  I had absolutely zero control, and part of me wanted to panic.  Between prayers Bailey kept repeating don’t drink the water, save the water, and don’t eat anymore Pringles.  Stephanie sat there stunned and speechless.

I prayed and prayed.  Please God, keep us safe, direct us, protect and surround this truck with your angels.  Please make this puddle be shallower than it looks.  Please help us down this steep hill in Jesus name!  I thanked God for making Megan a little bit of a redneck because she was the only one capable of maneuvering this.  I asked him to allow the Holy Spirit to operate through her.  He gave me peace of mind because he promised me he would take care of us.  We were his girls.  I told him over and over if we made it out of this mess it would be only because of him, and he would get all the glory for it. 

Megan drove on, attempting to stay on the higher contours of the road, but fish tailed into the ditches.  Somehow she remained calm and kept driving because she knew that turning back was not an option.  It was scary to realize how much we were not in control.  How often do we live under the illusion that we are in control?  It is when we reach a crucial point, when our faith is tested, that we realize we are not, nor have ever been in control at all.  That is when our faith saves us, as we have nothing else but to trust in his mighty hands; the very hands that created the heavens and the earth, the author of salvation. 

As we inched closer to our destination we were excited when we passed two different thatched roof homes.  After being so deep in the desolate jungle, evidence of human life brought twinges of hope.  An old man peered at us from the doorway of his house with his forehead all crinkled up; a look of pure shock and confusion.  When we passed the second home a family gathered at the doorway to watch us pass.  Apparently, travelers were not a common sight.

Finally the road grew wider and the soft mud mixed with sand to create firm ground, and Jonathan pointed where to park.  We hiked through the trees and vines with the sound of the ocean easing our pounding hearts.  The ocean glistened in the sunlight and though we reached our goal, Playgrounds, we didn’t find the waves we remembered because it was dead low tide.  The shift in tides is so dramatic in Nicaragua that the waves we surfed at high tide on the boat trip did not even exist now.  We floated around in a tide pool to cool off and decompress before the return journey.

 

 

We knew that we couldn’t focus on the past, because at this moment we needed to stay focused on the path to come.  We could only use the past to learn from and to make our path forward better than the past.

As I prayed the word traction came to focus.  I realized that if our tires could not grip the road we would not make it up the steep muddy sections.  I told Megan to stop the truck as soon as we found a safe flat spot.  I got out and dug the layers of caked mud off the tires.  Every twenty yards or so I would ask Megan how her control felt, and when she felt no grip we would get out and again dig the mud out.  We worked under the hot sun while howler monkeys mocked us and howled down from the highest summits of verdant gum trees and various palms.

Rosa, a spiritual woman we met in the north, said that butterflies were a sign of the Holy Spirit’s presence.  Groups of them danced in improvised flutters as we peeled the mud away and carried on down the road.

When we got back to our hostel spackled in dirt the others couldn’t believe we took that road.  Even the locals don’t drive there, especially in the rainy season!

We relied on our faith to get us through, and gave God all the glory.  We were like the small white butterflies that hovered and swarmed around thick mud; happy, wild, and free bursting forth into the sunlight and oppressing humidity as if being born of the mud and emerging only after the rain.

A Spacious Place: Peru

A miracle exists where the desert sand ends and the sea begins in Puerto Malabrigo.  The wind howls offshore as the clouds circulate in constant motion just like the sea, and a legend in surfing, Chicama, the longest left in the world, mechanically delivers dreamy eternal lefts.  Somehow, the wave is a minor piece of the miracle, because I miss the smiles and laughter from the local kids more than the surf. 

My journey started with an invite to join the Share the Stoke Foundation (STSF) on a surf mission in Peru with the objective of donating surfboards to share that magical flavor of a wave with the local children.  Joan Bergmans traveled from Bocas del Toro, Panama to meet Kelly Kingston, the president of STSF, and I on a layover in Bogota, Columbia.  We were three surf bums united with more in common than surfing and our sun-bleached hair.  We shared a passion to not just surf but to use surfing to make the world a better place by impacting the lives of children; the future.

Upon arrival, we squeezed into wetsuits in time to discover a wave that reeled and peeled.  We rode the longest rides of our lives next to a sinking sun.  After our second session the next day I wondered why there were no local rippers in the line-up.  I met surfers from Brazil, Canada, Australia, a guy from California, but no locals. 

“In Peru the ocean is not seen as a playground, but more like a resource for life.  One can work there to find food or also use it to dump waste,” a Peruvian replied. 

And I agreed the sea was a valuable natural resource, especially in the sleepy fishing village of Puerto Malabrigo.  Because of the strong current, I read Chicama could happily host 100 surfers, and after surfing there I understood how.  As vast and spacious as the desert was, so was the sea.  I learned waves broke as a reflection of what was under them, but here it seemed the waves mirrored the desert next to them.  All the space made me feel so small.  The point break worked freakishly well.  I could catch a wave and when my legs gave out and I fell, another wave would break right where I had been dropped off, ready to taxi me on.  The waves were playful, easy to surf, and if small, perfect for kids.  Especially for the kids who lived on the chilly, overcast street that led to the sea with one of the best waves the world offered.

In an atmosphere like Chicama, this project was necessary.  Surfboards are the primary necessity for surfing and a wetsuit secondary.  Not only by donating surfboards could the foundation unlock a new world and hobby for the kids, but possibly also a future income based on this natural resource.  Serious surfers from all over the world make the pilgrimage there, opening up a market based on surfing.  Jobs as surf guides, boat drivers, surf instructors, surf shop owners, shapers, surf photographers, and more are created.

The beach day we planned was scheduled from 12to 3.  The local Peru crew we teamed up with consisted of the Chicama Surf Resort, Zorro’s Surf School, and volunteers with the Peace Corps.  Carlhey Boltz, a Peace Corps volunteer who coordinated the event reminded us, “In this culture people often turn up late.”  When I got out of the water at 10:30 I saw kids already milling around on the beach waiting.  Thirty minutes later we were deep into an improvised football preparty.  The goals were marked by rocks on the beach, and each moment brought more bright smiles and children from the pueblo.  The sun even made a guest appearance and decided to stick around for the afternoon.

At noon we divided the kids into groups and explained the goals of the beach clean-up.  We sifted through the sand between dry seal bones that mingled with washed up rubber shoes and bottle caps.  We collected the trash in black plastic bags for an hour and then met back at Zorro’s surf school for the bar-b-q.  Once lined up for food, we counted around 100 children, making this the biggest STSF event to date. 

I didn’t expect even half the kids to participate in the surf lessons due to the cold water.  While we brought some wetsuits to donate, we didn’t have even close enough for everyone.  The kids’ enthusiastic energy and laughter trumped my expectations when they were all excited to brave the frigid ocean.  A celebration of surfing transpired with ecstatic, shouting kids matched by words of encouragement and coaching from the instructors and supporters on the beach.  The kids shivered, surfed, and smiled.  I felt spoiled and ashamed that I had been cold in a 4:3 wetsuit. 

 

 

As in many cultures around the world, we noticed that women had less opportunity.   We talked about it with Carlhey, and decided to set aside two of the boards to start a small revolution; a girls surf club.  Carlhey was willing to head the club and would schedule meetings for the girls. They could surf with her or go to her to check out a board.  Carlhey described other projects she did with the youth in the community, and she inspired us with the impact she made.  I thought about joining the Peace Crops before, and then it occurred to me that the STSF was the Peace Corps of surfing. 

Three different professional surfers were in on this project at one point, but as plans can differ from reality, each had to cancel.  Although we were excited to meet them and work with them, the project was a success without them.

Between our sessions, we explored the streets in state of intrigue; this place unlike anywhere we’d ever been. We marveled at the smart street dogs, the interesting produce, and the sweet taste of the yellow Inca Kola, the whole time being stared at by curious locals.  To them, we were the novelty.  We again ventured through the pueblo on our final night, and witnessed a festival for their scared virgin saint.  When we spotted some of the kids we knew from the beach event, the true immersion began.  They wanted to hang with us.  I was secretly dying to jump on an encaged giant trampoline with inflatable balls that was one of the festival games.  With local kids as playmates I was granted to access.  I jumped and threw balls at the kids that were as big as them.  No longer outsiders looking in, the kids followed us through the streets and chatted with us. 

 

I remembered my welcome from them the day we met.  They embraced me with both arms and each one gave me a kiss on the cheek.  It occurred to me then that the pros were more for you and me.  They were for people who buy magazines because they see a professional surfers name gaping across a headline, or buy clothes because the pros are wearing them.  But the kids in Puerto Malabrigo don’t know who the pros are and they don’t care about any of that.  To them, we were pros, and in the end, that was all that mattered. 

One of our last days in Peru we drove to surf another wave about an hour away.  Rusty sand mountains filled the horizon next to a cloudy, grey sky and dust danced in wild tornadoes energized by howling winds.   The hum of roof racks set the soundtrack to our conversation about car accidents.  We discussed how traveling on the road among strangers we trusted our lives with was the most dangerous thing humans did every day.  Joan recalled a story about when she believed her life was over when she and some friends barely avoided a head-on collision with a semi-truck in Norway.  Five minutes later, our lives were spared by our driver’s quick reflexes when a semi-truck overtook another semi-truck and greedily stole every inch of our lane.  Right at the last moment, our driver pulled into the desert avoiding the collision as the huge truck stormed past, and we were reminded of our mortality.

 

It is my own mortality that begged me to consider the spiritual realm, and I found answers in nature all around me.  My favorite verses in the Bible talk about how God revealed himself through nature.  There are countless verses where God is personified by the powerful sea and my favorite verse is the second verse in the Bible, Genesis 1:2.  “And the spirit of God was hovering over surface of the waters.”  And I heard God’s voice whisper and thunder over the waves.  Most surfers were halfway there, because one of the first things you learn and have to accept is that you are operating in a natural force much stronger than yourself.  Surfers are deeply connected with nature and the ocean, and most would agree that surfing is a spiritual experience.  Surfing naturally suggests a spiritual quest.

 

“He brought me out into a spacious place; he rescued me because he delighted in me.” – 2 Samuel 22:20.  He rescued me time and again and drew me close through the waves, his liquid arms, and I felt his love pursuing all those around me. 

I am thankful for my time in that spacious place.  I treasured the unexpected and intimate surprises that are unforgettable in travel like the flock of wild pink flamingoes that soared past us in the line-up followed by a traditional Peruvian canoe emerging from the foggy horizon.  The man steered the canoe with one tall paddle and maneuvered around the waves with ease confronting the frigid water and equally cold air without a shirt.  Surprises like when the restaurant spilled onto the street to greet a human-sized swordfish with gouging, massive eyes that made it look like a cartoon character and surfing alone with two of my best friends while perfect lefts rolled by untouched.

 

 

Some of the photos were provided by Joan Bergmans.

Sunset Soul Surfers II: Cocoa Beach, FL

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Sunset Soul Surfers is a “feel good” series capturing some of my most memorable sessions set during the golden hour when the endless ocean horizon swallows the sun and the sky is God’s canvas.  When we wait and watch the waves curl towards the shore.  We select the ones we will dance across, the ones we will share, and the ones we let pass, all the while witnessing God’s artistic genius unravel across the ever-changing backdrop.

“Oh, how sweet the light of day, And how wonderful to live in the sunshine!  Even if you live a long time, don’t take a single day for granted.  Take delight in each light-filled hour, remembering that there will also be many dark days.” – Ecclesiastes 11:7-8 (Message Bible)

My life in Florida goes fast, as I filled my hours with work.  The lack of quality waves motivated me to spend as many as 70 hours a week between three jobs.  Money earned equals waves to ride and a ticket to fresh worlds to see.  So I went to work on a Saturday night in December, but a cold front sent a chilly draft through an outside section of the restaurant and sent me and another server home and free from work that evening. 

Megan was about to close up the surf school that I passed on my way home, so I decided to stop by.  I intercepted Bailey, Patrick, and Kit, other fellow instructors who were returning from the boardwalk to report fun-looking lines on the surface of the Atlantic.

Spontaneous and free, two elements of surfing I adore, we all made the consecutive decision to paddle out for a sunset surf.  None of us had our own surfboards, and I didn’t even have a swimsuit or my wetsuit.  The surf school offered plenty of foam longboards that we used for surf lessons.  And I didn’t let the fact that I didn’t have a swimsuit or wetsuit hold me back and changed into one of the surf school’s wetsuits.

We walked into the crisp water, and the board meeting commenced with laughter and sightings of metallic dolphins whose silver sails and bodies shone as they launched their entire bodies out of the sea like I had never seen before.  The offshore wind groomed the waves into clean, long walls that we liberally rode solo and together.  Rainbow spray and hoots and hollers from friends on foamies filled the salty air as the sun sank.  Together we improvised in pure, soul surfer fashion as the surprise surf celebration ensued until the darkness made the waves fade from our vision.

 It is interesting how when I have high expectations for the surf I am easily let down, but when I don’t expect anything, I am more than satisfied.  Surprise sessions like this are my most enjoyed because I wasn’t even expecting to get wet.  I didn’t spend the prior week anticipating the flawless waves forecasted by the surf report or even a thought.  The session we dropped into was like one of those ‘just because’ gifts.  My life in Florida goes fast, but I don’t mind slowing down the time and trading money for waves and memories like this.  Life after all, is about living and breathing in the beauty of the present.

 

Love One Another Even in the Line-up: Bocas del Toro, Panama

The clouds filtered the first rays of light as we stepped onto the boat that morning.  We flew over the crystal, translucent sea to the point and leapt into the line-up at 6:36am. 

In the saltwater I was fully awake and fully alive, witnessing the magic of a six foot, ten second period swell.  The left reeled, connecting in perfect precision with a barrel section.  We joined five others in the water who I had shared waves with before, and I knew all their names.  I cheered for Hannes, as he took off deep, got barreled, and rode the wave to its full potential disappearing deep inside where the reef got shallow.

I lined up with the waterfall and the next set wave broke wider; the peak chasing me.  Joan and Juan David shouted for me to take it.  I did.  I rode the fast, pitching wave all the way as if in a trance.  It felt like a dream when the moment I paddled back to the line-up another perfect peak came right to me.  I took it again in the same state of nirvana.  It seemed too good to be true when the same happened after I paddled back again to meet another seamless, overhead wave that offered two barrels!  It was 6:52, and it was already the best day of my life. 

My heart, soul, and mind thanked God for the gift of surfing, and I watched my friends catch waves as I awaited another.  I admired the love birds that filled the sky in Bocas del Toro, Panama.  They chose a mate for life, and soared in pairs between the clouds and bright beams of light.  They flew free, sharing the joy of gliding along through paradise.  I felt a connection to them as I soared, flying free down the face of a wave.  In those pure moments nothing mattered as I glided over the surface of the sea and returned to smiles and laughter of friends.

Then a boat of four surfers pulled up.  They jumped into the water and sat all around me.  A set rolled in, and I saw panic in the eyes of one of the girls.  I couldn’t go for any of the waves because I was surrounded by them and would have run them over. 

The next boat carried five surfers who paddled straight to the peak.  The entire vibe in the water changed.  The celebration of tube riding and wave gliding with friends transformed into war in a matter of minutes and a few boats.  For every wave, at least five surfers paddled for it and someone dropped in on someone else.  The next boat arrived, and four more surfers jumped in and sat right next to me.  When the next wave came my direction and I was in the peak, and a guy paddled around me and snaked me, putting me right under the lip of the next wave of the set.  I almost got hit with the boards of all the other scrambling surfers around me.

It was 7:15 when the next boat arrived dropping another five surfers into the water, and I moaned and shouted to Joan, “Seriously?  Noooooo!”  I was annoyed with each new surfer. 

I managed to catch more waves while I was out there, and miraculously dodged numerous collisions with the other surfers fighting for waves.  By 8:30, when our boat arrived, I was happy to leave the water.  There were at least 40 people in the water by then.

I realized as I sat in the water, aggravated with every new surfer entering the sea, I was forgetting the most important thing I am called to do as a follower of Christ.  Love one Another.

Matthew 22:35-39, “One of them, an expert in religious law, tried to trap him with this question, “Teacher, which is the most important commandment in the law of Moses?”

Jesus replied, “You must love the Lord your God with all your heart, all your soul, and all your mind.  This is the first and greatest commandment.  A second is equally important: ‘Love your neighbor as yourself.’

This is known as the greatest command.  The Bible even says that there is nothing special about loving your friends, because everyone does that.  The true challenge is to love others, not just your friends, and even takes it further, but to even love your enemies.  Christ teaches us to love in an extreme manner; revolutionary style.

Normally, when I translate God’s commandments to my life I think I’m doing pretty well.  I’m a pretty loving person, and I truly do love people for the most part.  That day I realized that in the thing I love the most; surfing, is where I am the most tested. 

Of course this is a good commandment, imagine how harmonious the line-up would be if everyone acted as if they loved one another?  People would take turns, and there would be no such thing as dropping in or snaking.  Just imagine!

Photos by Martijn van Hoek