afloat

Frigid river, ever-rushing forth, sweeping me up in its current; I paddle endlessly, for the river gives me no rest. My arms fatigue, my hands turn cold, clammy, pale as death. It is all I can do to stay afloat here.

Then You send me a raft. It is no more wood than what can barely keep me afloat, but it gives me rest. And as the floods of cold water overflow me, I can at least allow Your handiwork to support me.

All is perfect, or so I think—for I come from a worldview of endless flailing of limbs. This idea of rest is lifesaving, and I cannot imagine it any better than this.

That is, until my small haven capsizes upon a rock. I ask how You could allow this to happen; I blame your weak handiwork and ask why you did not give me something more. I am back to swimming.

Little do I know, you have sent something better along. I drag myself aboard a small sailboat You have sent. Sprawled across the smooth deck, I realize that for the first time, my body is fully removed from the frigid waters. I burst into tears, thinking of how I had been so quick to doubt You at the first sign of trouble. For the first time, I can bask in the warmth of the sun. It dries the river and the tears from my skin.

I look up at the sail attached to my new transport. It is pristine, white, embracing the wind; and yet, despite its beauty, I cannot discern its purpose. What good is a sail when I can only go where this river current carries me? Without an answer, I lay back against the deck, content to flow along.

But the river soon begins to widen, more and more, until I can see nothing but endless blue in all directions. Salt on the wind kisses my tongue. And soon I see what this sail is for. You saw my need before I ever could have. You hem me in behind and before. And something new, something I had only heard whispers of before, comes to me: Your voice. You tell me Your spirit lives within me, and I feel it. I hear You clearly as I begin to discern how to maneuver the sails.

At first, I take this newfound knowledge You gave given to sail as I please. I have never had this freedom before, to decide my own direction. I feel power and control over these winds. I am no longer bound by a current, and I can choose my path. My pride grows like the crest of a wave.

But I soon grow weary of this endless sailing. I think I can master the winds, but I have no destination. I realize Your voice has faded, because I stopped listening for it. I find myself lost, in the open, realizing how little control I actually have. A large wave breaks over the deck, and I cry out to you, my salty tears becoming one with the ocean.

I expect silence in return, but You are still there. You have no reason to be, yet despite my wandering, You have awaited my return. This time, I tell You I am here to stay and You tell me where to point my sails. I rush to the helm without hesitation.

At last, You bring me ashore; I am unsure. I have trouble discerning Your directions from here. I have never set foot upon the sand before. My boat idles in the water, a short distance from the beach. I deliberate my next move, but remember the miracles that abound from having nothing but trust in Your guidance. And so I dive into the water. At first, I am reminded of the frigid river from what feels like a past life. I am ready to start flailing for life again, but You then part the waters, allowing me to sink to the sea floor and walk to shore. Because of my first leap of obedience, You have made progress possible. You have once again cleared away the icy waters.

I reach shore and lay upon the soft sands. Stable ground, at last. The sway of the water cannot reach me here. It is complete stillness, and it is with You, who guided me here without my knowing, with only my trust, my listening ear, and my obedient heart.

Then a vision comes upon my mind. The waves quiet, and I swim back to the boat and break off the mast. I know this means I will not be able to go back to the sea, but every action I take feels correct in this moment. I carry it across my back to shore, split the mast in two, bind it together, and I erect a small white cross in the sands. I feel everything that it stands for, and I hold You heavily upon my heart. Tears pour forth—this time with love, with gratitude, with mourning for all You have given so that I can come to the shore and feel such a sturdiness beneath my feet. For I know that You once faced that same frigid river I was trapped in, but You were pulled under by the current. And only then was I able to receive a raft.

I feel You turn my eyes up the beach, where I glimpse a new world unfolding beyond the sea dunes. In the distance, I see a mountain coated in soft grasses. I wonder how it must feel to lie down there. Upon this land, there will be so much more newness than I ever saw upon the waters. But I look back at the cross, and I know You will point me in the right direction, time after time. If I wander, You will call me back. My heart has learned trust.

And so I take a step forwards.

(Isaiah 43:2. When you pass through the waters, I will be with you; and when you pass through the rivers, they will not sweep over you.)

(Psalm 69. I have come into deep waters where the floods overflow me. I am weary with my crying...Let me not sink; let me be delivered out of the deep waters. Let not the floodwater overflow me)