Just a few months ago, I escaped to the beach with dear friends for a short holiday. It was a time of fun and friendship, a relief from the schedule and pressures of everyday life. During just one short week on the gulf coast we experienced a wide range of weather, arriving to a thick blanket of fog I didn’t think possible on a Florida shore. From our oceanfront balcony we could hear the surf, but could see nothing but the thinnest strip of sand and a curtain of gray from the afternoon hours and into the twilight. We wondered if we’d been transplanted to Maine or the Olympic Peninsula, and worried the week might consist only of board games and movies. That night, I left the sliding door cracked open and drifted off listening to the crashing waves.
As the sky began to lighten I was drawn awake by the same sound, gladdened to see the fog had receded. The horizon was now distinguishable as a thin boundary between the blue gray of distant swells and smudged violet of overcast sky. I tiptoed into the kitchen to brew a cup of coffee, and carried it out onto the patio, where I sat at the table to watch the morning unfold.
At the shoreline, the water was highlighted by patches of emerald, which grew translucent as they rose and fell like a heartbeat toward the white sands. These meek waves broke gently, spreading lace patterns of froth along the shallows and onto the hard-packed shelf where a solitary jogger passed. I watched pelicans bob in the surf, rise, float, soar. Against the glare of breaking sunrise, my eyes were drawn to another rhythm, the rise and fall of dorsal fins as two, three, four dolphins fed. The pod traveled past my overlook, circling up, down, and forward as though attached to a giant wheel, until they disappeared from the limits of my vision. Below, the beach was empty, but I was filled.
That night, the storms came again. I awakened to blinding lightning bolts that sizzled and cracked in the predawn darkness just at the shore. Explosive thunder crashed and rumbled through the air, the structure, my being. The rain and fireworks cleared out by daylight, but the double-red flags flew all day, and as we walked together through the dunes we marveled at the California-sized waves with obvious riptides crossing up and down the beach.
The power of a storm over water humbles me. It’s both awe-inspiring and frightening. From peaceful to raging, conditions change in a moment and overwhelm. No wonder that a sea journey is such a popular metaphor for human life. We set out as the captains of our own fate, taking for granted the joy of soft breezes and quiet sunshine, until sea and sky turn angry and chaos descends. We struggle desperately.
When I or those whom I love hit stormy waters in life, my first reaction is to be shocked and saddened. Why so much trouble? Why can’t things just be easy and happy? My next response is to accept that rain and wind are part of the nature of things here, but I desire an immediate solution, a way through as quickly as possible. Like the Disciples of Christ in the Gospel accounts, I’ve looked for Jesus, but he hasn’t shown up yet, so I’m rowing as hard as I can, just trying to stay above water.
The story is told in all but Luke’s gospel. Evening has come, a great wind is blowing and the waves are getting rough on the Sea of Galilee. These men have been mountain climbing, working crowd control, waiting tables, cleaning up leftover loaves and fishes, just ministering to others all day. Yes, they witnessed a great miracle, but they are worn out. Jesus told them to go down to the shore and to board a ship there without him. Matthew 14:22 says he “constrained them to get into a ship and to go before them to the other side, while he sent the multitudes away.” They weren’t in the wrong place at the wrong time. He constrained, insisted. It’s like He set them up! They were destined for this storm.
They’re caught out in the open, doing their best to fight their way to shore. They rowed thirty furlongs, which in modern measurement is over six kilometers. That’s a lot of effort to move a boat big enough for twelve people in rough seas. By the time Jesus appeared, not only were they at the storm’s mercy, they were scared to death. What is happening here? Who or what walks on top of water? Someone not of this earth. Then He says “It’s me. Be still.”
When He steps into the boat, suddenly there is calm. Peter, James, John and the rest are immediately where they need to be, not just because they have inexplicably arrived at their destination, but because of the presence of the one in ultimate control.
Over the last several years, my own personal storm has centered on my adult son’s struggle with schizophrenia and bi-polar disorder. I have seen many stages of grief as his life and our lives have been torn apart by the symptoms of this biologically-based disruption of his normal brain function. His life has been derailed by bad and hurtful decisions made in mania, followed by debilitating depression, and sometimes bizarre perceptions and behaviors which bring isolation and stigma. Unlike other debilitating illnesses such as cancer, with mental illness, there is mostly fear, misunderstanding and distrust, but not much support. We reached the point where denial was no longer an option; where delusions, hallucinations, incarceration and hospitalization became our sad reality. He pushed us away, and at times we let him, pretending that our lives were not filled with anxiety and desperation. Any illusions I held about myself, my ability to be selfless, or even calm and patient, were stripped away in that wind.
I waiver between grief and resentment. I am sad that my son has lost things most take for granted for their children. I often feel thwarted in my own dreams and pursuits because I must dedicate much of my time and energy to managing his health and affairs when I should be enjoying an empty nest with my husband. Then I try to view this thing from his shoes, and I feel guilt over my own frustration. Sometimes I want to curl up in a ball until it just goes away. Then the weather clears, and I can be grateful for just this day, when he is healthy and I can rest, and I try to find hope for the future.
I have a collection of daily readings, taken from My Utmost for His Highest, by Oswald Chambers . I was struck recently by some of his thoughts on the value of suffering. “Troubles nearly always make us look to God; His blessings are apt to make us look elsewhere.” Such a true picture of my nature that I can take the blessings for granted so easily and be outraged for myself when things go south. As if the world could sustain itself only on sunshine.
And, “Abraham went through thirteen years of silence, but in those years self-sufficiency was destroyed.” Finally, “The one thing for which we are all being disciplined is to know that God is real.”₁
I don’t like pain and problems. If it were up to me, I would avoid them all. But I am beginning to appreciate how pain and problems are just tools to sharpen us, to make us who we are born to be. A lot of times I’m rowing as hard as I can, trying to bail with one hand, and wearing myself out as I ride lower and lower in the water. I can’t survive on my own. I’m heading for depression, or a hard bitter heart. But there must be a purpose to C.S. Lewis’ “problem of pain,” a broken mast to which I cling. I give up, cry out, and He steps into the boat.
There’s a song by the Christian group Casting Crowns that really hits home with me, titled, “Just Be Held.” I’ll end by sharing some of the lyrics, and a link to the live performance.
Lift your hands, lift your eyes In the storm is where you'll find Me And where you are, I'll hold your heart I'll hold your heart Come to Me, find your rest In the arms of the God who won't let go
So when you're on your knees and answers seem so far away You're not alone, stop holding on and just be held Your world's not falling apart, it's falling into place I'm on the throne, stop holding on and just be held.₂
Hear the entire song at:
NOTES:
₁ Chambers, Oswald. My Utmost for His Highest: Selections for the Year; 1991. Barbour & Company, Inc. with permission of Discovery House Publishers Inc., Grand Rapids, MI. p.13-15.
₂Casting Crowns. “Just Be Held,” A Live Worship Experience, Beach Street Records, Nov. 2015.
