Letter from the Editor
As I prepared to write this letter, I suddenly remembered that paper has always been the traditional gift given by couples on their first anniversary. Paper is said to represent both the vulnerability of that first year of marriage and also the blank slate of the couple’s future together. Though not all newlyweds may compose an elaborate poem, I think most can easily jot down a few tender lines for their beloved.
Now I don’t blame you if you’re feeling confused. I know—this issue is about “sailing,” not “paper,” “marriage,” or “anniversaries.” However, I promise this tangent is relevant. You see, I just remembered that this month marks one year since Trivium’s inaugural issue last July. We’ve successfully made it through our first full cycle of quarterly issues, and, like newlyweds, we have sure discovered a lot!
This past year has brought pleasant surprises (realizing people actually want to read Trivium!), lessons learned (always triple check for typos—unless you want to end up with “magzine” in the footer of every page), and countless blessings (from moments of laughter during late night design sessions to impromptu photoshoots at the local coffee shop). But we never would have made it to our first anniversary without all of you, our dear readers and contributors. There may have been times I expressed my gratitude to you in the past, but this time it’s special. This time it’s part of a little anniversary note. A little anniversary note on paper. But before I get too sentimental, I’ll adjust course and steer towards our main topic today. That’s right, it’s time to discuss this issue’s “sailing” theme.
Though you can technically go sailing in any season, the blisteringly hot days of summer seem particularly apt to carry our thoughts out to sea. We’ve been brainstorming for this particular theme for around nine months now and even though we’ve had other issues to work on in the meantime, every now and then we’d set aside our other work and get lost daydreaming about the “sailing” issue. We were delighted that it also struck a chord with so many of our talented contributors. From inspiring sailors to childhood beach houses, wistful poetry to collecting cups, this issue’s writers remind us of the importance of maintaining both perseverance in the face of stormy seas as well as wonder and joy amidst the calm.
While working on this issue, I kept picturing ocean waves tumbling along the shore and returning again to the watery depths. Each wave brings with it something different. An intricate seashell. A bit of seaweed. A piece of driftwood. And each wave reveals a new bit of the beach. It smooths out the sand and pulls back the curtain of time, allowing new treasures to take center stage. When walking along the ocean, I often glance back to watch the footprints behind me fade away. I bend down and find the perfect shell. After going as far as my ambling vacation footsteps take me, I retrace my steps, but then find, like Heraclitus, that the beach is never the same. Indeed, I am never the same.
There’s something about the ocean that seems to undo us. Sometimes, as you make your way back to the shore, the unexpected wave comes rushing up behind you, and you are caught in the current, whirled about, and scraped against the sand and rocks. Though just a moment before you were in command, now you’re completely at the mercy of this mysterious, powerful force of nature. When you finally twist your way to the surface, sputtering and choking on saltwater, you find that your ears are clogged and that sand has gotten everywhere. But all is well. You didn’t get swept out to sea. Instead, you encountered the unexpected and endured. And (shockingly) even while feeling battered and broken, you want to go back. You want to return again. The water pulls you back into the fray, like an illusive siren song.
Indeed, the ocean, in all its wild glory, seems to show us what it means to have fear of the Lord. It’s really no surprise that the sea calls us home.
– Rachel Gerring, Executive Editor
