I am one of little faith instead of one singing praises of trust. Take me deeper than my feet could ever wanderīut when He is moving and inviting me to step deeper into the water, where even my toes, stretching and reaching can’t find something to stand on, I feel panicked instead of fearless. Spirit lead me where my trust is without borders I sing these words with my whole heart and a full voice, a declaration of my commitment to God: I have the same naive optimism with my faith. In reality, I freeze in the face of fear or I puff myself up to seem bigger and stronger and braver than I really am when I’m just a fraction of the shadow I create. I once had skydiving on my bucket list because I loved the idea of flying freely, but imagining myself at the edge of an open airplane door is enough to make me want to hug the ground and never leave it again. I hold the naive optimism of thinking I could do more than I really can, while actually believing I can do it. I’m afraid of the possibility of any of those things as well as looking like a fool trying not to be afraid. I was and still am afraid of roller coasters, pain, failure, and success. I remember my dad calling me chicken when I couldn’t handle the pressure of jumping into the pool with him and my sister. If we’re bold enough, we risk them splashing our knees as we hold hands tightly.Īlong with the ocean, I’ve been afraid of many things for most of my life. We build mounds of sand that are supposed to be sand castles or birthday cakes, and every once in a while, we walk near the water and let the waves kiss our feet. Still, I take the kids to the beach because we all appreciate its beauty from the safety of the shore. The ocean has moods that change with its color, and out of fear, I like to keep a respectable distance. I’m afraid of its depth and its expanse, the way I can’t see down to its floor or see its end beyond the horizon. I’m afraid of its unpredictability, the way the waves never come in the same way, the way it changes so quickly with the tide and the wind. Because he is enough.I am afraid of the ocean. Let us walk upon those waters, in over our heads, not relying on ourselves, but holding fast to him, trusting in him, casting all our hope on him. Let us step out, following him further than our feet could ever wander. The weight is too much, and like Paul, we can’t carry this in our own strength. All that we lack meets its abundance in his grace. He will show us time and time again that all we need is found in him. And he is enough.Īnd he will prove his enough-ness to us. Because of the cross and victory of Jesus, we are his and he is ours. It’s here, above and beyond every other place, where his children must grasp the wonder of what it means to be his own. He invites here because he knows it’s here, like nowhere else, where our souls must rest in his embrace. He invites here based upon who he is himself. He invites us put our hands to work for his name’s sake, not based upon our expertise or know-how or giftedness. He invites us to step out and follow him. This truth resounds in the depths to which God calls us. The purpose is that we would lean on God, that we’d fix our eyes on his glory, clinging to the truth that in Jesus he is always enough for us. Their purpose is that we might not rely on ourselves - not look to ourselves for salvation or hope or joy - but that we might rely on him. God brings trials into our lives to give us more of himself. But whatever they are, however hard they feel, we know why they come. Some are intense like Paul’s, others are scattered along the spectrum of the great unknown, where fear runs rampant and our faith feels small. The situations that stretch us come in varying degrees. To the extreme, the apostle Paul was “in over his head.” And God did this in order to, as Paul says, “make us rely not on ourselves but on God who raises the dead” (2 Corinthians 1:9). He was sinking, despairing even of life itself because of the hardships he faced. It was true affliction, a burden so heavy that he admits he lacked the strength to carry it. Paul names it the “sentence of death” - that’s how he felt about the sufferings and complexities of his ministry. If we don’t sometimes feel like we’re “in over our heads,” it may be that we’re not following Jesus where he calls us. But that was to make us rely not on ourselves but on God who raises the dead. Indeed, we felt that we had received the sentence of death.
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