A few years ago, my family enjoyed a Christmas celebration on the beach at South Padre Island. Instead of holding the Wilks family Christmas traditions at one of our houses, my amazing in-laws decided we would all gather at a sunny-condo. We had all the beauty, all the relaxation, all the fun of a shore-line respite without the crowds, or any vain stress over swimsuits. Add to that Christmas memories, lots of family time, and well, awesomeness ensued. (Plus, John and I won the cooking competition, but that's another story.)
The trip was brimming with moments that I will carry with me forever. One image in particular, has been flashing to the front of my mind today. Shortly after we arrived and unloaded, John and I took the older kids (then 6 and 3-ish) to experience the ocean. (Ian was tiny, still small enough to sleep in a suitcase sized crib, or in Grandma's arms, so that is where he stayed.) We played in the sand. We looked for shells. We watched the clouds move on the horizon. We listened to the waves crash. We ran along the tide-line.
It was an immense time, with immense surroundings. I think it was the sheer enormity of everything that affected Ben that evening. He thoroughly enjoyed himself, but he would not go near the waves. He was very careful to stay where the sand was wet, but the water would not wash his feet. He laughed and explored and went his usual mile-a-minute-way, always respecting that invisible line..... in the beginning.
And then, the line was gone. Something snapped. The boundary that kept him out of the water disappeared. Was it erased by the security of the moment? Was obliterated by his curiosity?
Forever Mr. Independent, Ben had managed to run several yards ahead before breaking free. He was running in and out with the water trying to beat the waves back to the soaked sand where we were. I watched him from a distance, soaking in his freedom before moving closer.
My barely six-year-old boy was taking on the waves like a champ. He was so free, so alive, so very happy and strong. Laughter came from deep in his belly. Oh, and another thing... and he was talking smack to the ocean. I couldn't hear it over the roar of the waves, until I moved closer.
At the top of his lungs, with joy in his heart Ben was shouting at the waves that surrounded him: "Oh yea! Take that! You are BIG! But God is Bigger. He makes me strong. I can take you. Knock me over-- I'll just get back up again.!!!!..."
Normally, the worrier in me would have been rearing her ugly head at the thought of my boy running off into the waves with that much gusto. Not that day. My heart swelled with pride and joy and shared freedom in that moment. I knew he would be okay; better than okay actually.
Right then, before I forgot, I said a prayer that Ben and our whole family could hold on to that picture. I wanted him--and all of us--to keep that forever.
Because there are oceans that we face through out all of life: Oceans of doubt, oceans of depression, oceans of pressure, oceans of sickness, oceans of every day stress. All kinds of things threaten to engulf us, drown us, or keep us from enjoying the fullness of all that God has in store. They are real. They are big. And they are scary.
One of my favorite authors, Anne Lamott, says, "Faith is fear that has said it's prayers."
Facing the waves in our life, we want to look to Jesus; to walk on the water. Peter was so lucky that day. That must have been so amazing: a little stroll that defied the laws of physics. What did it feel like? And then, in the end Jesus was right there to catch him, and pull him up. The actual hand of God stretching down to lift him out. Again, amazing. (Matthew 14:22-28)
Never happened to me. So far I haven't gotten to tread upon the surface of the water, When I fight the waves I end up like Ben: fully clothed. fully wet. fully sandy. And fully surrounded. Does it take any less faith for us to continue to be fully joyful in the midst of the onslaught, than it took for Peter to remain focused on Jesus in those moments? No. And is it any less amazing when HE is right there with us, rescuing in the midst of the waves and bringing us back to walk with Him along the shore? Not at all.
The floods have lifted up, O Lord,
the floods have lifted up their voice;
the floods lift up their roaring.
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Mightier than the thunders of many waters,
mightier than the waves of the sea,
the Lord on high is mighty! Psalm 93:3-4
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