This is not like walking on water. Peter asked to come. He chose to step out of the boat. Not me. I was on a journey only to find my boat capsized and my survival instinct fighting its way to the surface.” (from Just Adela)
Upended and careening.
All leading to this spinning wildly out-of-control.
One minute life is going along fine; all is smooth sailing. With the suddenness of one phone call, disaster hits. Storms of gale force strength unexpectedly spring up, overturning our boat, sending us careening headfirst into disproportionately large and terrifying waves.
Engulfed and enraged, we cry out in panic.
“I didn’t ask for this!” our terrified hearts argue.
Oh, I saw you walking on the water, Lord, but unlike Peter, I am content to watch from the safety of this boat. I’m okay to just go along for the ride. I don’t want to get my feet wet. I don’t want to struggle against drowning in this ocean of hurt surrounding me. These swelling seas threatening to swallow me alive.
But here we are nonetheless.
Flailing to rise above the surface in this ocean of sorrow.
And though we can see the Savior’s face beckoning us through the waves, He seems so far from reach.
Sinking. Sinking. Slowly slipping further and further beneath the surface of this suffocating grief. Wishing to simply fade away with the next wave, yet still instinctively fighting for survival.
Overwhelmed, yet not quite willing to be overcome completely.
Holding out for a glimmer of hope.
Holding onto the promise that is Christ.
Trusting beyond what our finite strength seems capable of owning. Uncertain and questioning. But believing still.
Here. In this chaos where all seems lost and hopeless.
It is here, in the very powerlessness of me, that I am rescued by the Divine.
Pulled from the waves to walk with You. Tucked once more in the safety of Your embrace.
Rescued and raised to live beside You in this moment of hurt as You bear the brunt of this raging storm.
Unhindered by the howling winds. Undaunted by the desperate child clinging so tightly to You.
You stand victorious.
Shielding and sheltering the one who trusts in You with such miniscule faith.
Constantly, forever enough.
Here, in this ocean to which You have called me.