February Calendar Story - Dead Sea Taught Me About Surrender

The Dead Sea is like no other place on earth — it’s extra salty. We’re talking about 34% salt levels. That’s almost ten times saltier than the ocean. Before we went, I read all the “Dead Sea rules”:

• Don’t get the water in your eyes (unless you enjoy crying in public).
• Don’t splash (this isn’t a pool party).
• Don’t wear jewelry (unless you want instant rust).
• And yes… don’t even fart. Trust me, this is one “burning sensation” you do not want. 

So there we were, standing at the shore of this surreal place — specular rugged mountains as the backdrop, sunlight dancing on the water. My brave husband walked in first, and boom! He was floating instantly, as if the sea itself reached up and lifted him.

Me? I hesitated. I wear contact lenses, so the idea of water splashing into my eyes was terrifying. But I slowly eased in, stretched out, and… I floated. Just like that. Effortless. And the first word that came to my mind? Surrender.

Here’s the thing about floating in the Dead Sea: the water doesn’t need your help. You can’t fight it or force it. The more you struggle, the harder it gets. But when you lean back and trust, the water carries you. As I floated there, all my worries drifted away. My mind stopped racing. It was only me, God, and the water holding me like two strong, loving arms. Peaceful. Still. Free.

And it wasn’t just me. Israeli families were laughing and floating together. Parents held their children close, while young soldiers rested quietly on the shore. You could hear the soft rhythm of conversations mixing with the gentle lapping of the waves. Some children splashed with delight, their giggles echoing across the water, while grandparents watched from shaded chairs, smiling as though time itself had slowed down for a brief moment.

What struck me most was how ordinary it all felt—yet at the same time, how extraordinary. Here we were, in the middle of a land marked by tension and conflict, and yet joy still broke through like sunlight piercing heavy clouds. Mothers wrapped their little ones in towels, fathers steadied their kids as they tried floating for the first time, and groups of teenagers snapped photos, their laughter rising above the salty air.

The young soldiers especially caught my eye. With their boots off and weapons laid aside, they leaned back against the rocks or floated on their backs, eyes closed, as though the weight of responsibility had been lifted just for an hour or two. You could almost see the relief in their faces, the way rest gave them a chance to remember their own youth before being called into the demands of war.

For a moment, the Dead Sea was more than a natural wonder — it was a refuge. A sacred pause. A place where the salt carried not just bodies but also burdens, if only temporarily. Here, the laughter of children mingled with the silence of soldiers, creating a harmony that felt like healing. It was a reminder that even in the midst of fear and uncertainty, God still carves out spaces for joy, for breathing deeply, for resetting our souls. The Dead Sea became not only a marvel of creation but also a gentle gift of grace—a place to set aside the weight of the ongoing war, if only for a little while, and simply breathe, recharge, and rest.

The next morning, we woke up early to watch the sunrise. That’s when I captured the photo that became my February calendar page. As the golden light spread across the sky, it felt like the whole earth was waking up in worship. The stillness and beauty of that moment carried a sense of peace that stayed with me.

And then I remembered a prophecy from Ezekiel 47. In simple words, God showed Ezekiel a vision of water flowing into the Dead Sea — healing it. One day, this salty sea will become fresh again, filled with fish, and fishermen will be spreading their nets along its shores. What is dead now will come alive.

That’s not just about a sea. That’s God’s heart for Israel. What feels dry, salty, and lifeless — He can make alive again, restoring hope, renewing dreams, and bringing His life-giving presence to every place of barrenness.

The next morning, we woke up early to watch the sunrise. That’s when I captured the photo that became my February calendar page. As the golden light spread across the sky, it felt like the whole earth was waking up in worship. The stillness and beauty of that moment carried a sense of peace that stayed with me deeply, stirring my heart to quietness and awe.

And then I remembered a prophecy from Ezekiel 47. In simple words, God showed Ezekiel a vision of water flowing into the Dead Sea — healing it. One day, this salty sea will become fresh again, filled with fish, and fishermen will be spreading their nets along its shores.

What is dead now will come alive.

That’s not just about a sea. That’s God’s heart for Israel. What feels dry, salty, and lifeless — He can make alive again, restoring hope, renewing dreams, and bringing His life-giving presence to every place of barrenness and despair. He invites us to trust Him, to believe that even in the driest seasons, His water of life can flow freely, transforming everything.

This is the heartbeat of the Israel Wall Calendar—twelve original photos woven with festivals, prayers, and stories that point you back to Him. Hang it where you’ll see it every day. Let it stir your heart to pray for Israel. Celebrate its festivals. Anchor yourself in God’s promises.

Because this isn’t just about tracking dates. It’s about tracking His faithfulness.

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