Jump

As soon as Simon Peter heard him say, “It is the Lord,” he wrapped his outer garment around him… and jumped into the water.
-John 21:7


When I was six years old, I took summer swimming lessons at the local pool. We’d use kickboards to propel ourselves across the shallows, do jumping jacks and bob for rings. It was great, lighthearted fun while learning basic strokes. My friends and I splashed crystal water droplets in the air, giggling when they landed on our noses. Fifteen feet away, our parents sat on pool chairs, watching us swim and keeping an eye on our younger siblings. The midday sun beat down on our shoulders we had smothered in lotion. For a few weeks, I found a fondness for water.

Then came the trip to the other side of the pool. To the diving boards, and the dipping floor that took the surefooted bottom away from us. As we marched our way over to the deep end and stood shivering in line for the lowest diving board, my nerves chattered along with my teeth. I was terrified. Every inch of my body recoiled from touching the ladder that would take me to the plank, where I would edge myself closer and closer to the end and propel my tiny body through the air to the lifeguard treading water below. Her arms were strong, smile ready. But what if in that moment, her arms failed and I slipped under the surface? Could I trust someone whose legs pumped beneath them and whose weight would noticeably increase with the addition of my own to the water?

I let the other kids go ahead of me, sneaking my way to the back of the line. One by one, I watched my friends make their way across the board, which creaked with each footstep. They’d bounce a few times at the edge, gathering momentum, before jumping into the lifeguard’s waiting arms. Each second they flew suspended in the air seemed like an eternity, and I held my breath until they touched the water and swam safely to the side of the pool.

Soon enough, I was the only one standing on the concrete. With shaky hands, I grabbed the metal pole and stepped up on the platform. Placing one tiny foot in front of the other, I crept to the end of the diving board, where the wrinkled water bobbed in a menacing motion. My eyes darted from the water to the lifeguard, smiling assuredly to me below, to the coral colored board soaking up the remnants of water I hadn’t absorbed in my skin. Heart beating wildly within, I knocked my knees up and down, testing the security of my footing. My toes dangled off the edge, tentatively waving at the endless blue beneath them. The voice inside my head screamed to turn around and walk back down the steps and onto solid surface again. And I wanted to listen. Desperately. Wanted to turn 180 degrees and book it away from this metal monster. But fear paralyzed me. I was stuck standing on the edge with ever fiber in my being twirling and gnarling inside me, feeling every pair of eyes in the pool on me as I stood, hands clasped together underneath my chin while assessing the swarming waters below. Feet glued to the board, the poison of panic slid into every vein, every crack in my skin to take residence in my body. I couldn’t fight it, couldn’t win the battle for my backbone.

So I jumped.

Didn’t think. Just moved. Like it wasn’t even me, but a shadow of myself stepping off and falling to the blue below. If you’ve ever seen videos of a frog jumping from tree to pond, you can visualize how I looked- legs splayed out to the sides, arms flailing, grasping at the air, belly slightly above parallel to the drop. Before I had a chance to think about what in the world I just did, two firm hands grasped me underneath my arms and guided me into the water. I felt the cooling fingers of shadowed waves splash up to rinse my hair and the sensation of my legs churning to find a foothold, but my face never once slipped below the surface.

As I doggie paddled to the side (those freestyle lessons the day before obviously came in handy), my breathing regulated and the ties of terror began to loosen from my limbs. Fingers clenched to the side railing, I chanced a look at where I had been- atop that treacherous ledge my fear still reverberated on. But I was gone from the perch that paralyzed me. I had leapt, and someone caught me. Because someone believed I could fly, could take that dive into the deep.

It’s almost twenty years later, and I find myself once again set on the edge of this precariously bending board. I’m at a point in my life where I need to jump, but I can’t seem to muster the courage to take the plunge. I slip backwards, letting others go before me towards their turn in the deep. And now it’s just me left in line. I tiptoe to the invisible ledge dividing me and the vast space beneath and gaze at the uncertain currents. One step. One fall of faith into the air.
Still I balk, legs rooted to my comfort zone. I steady my stance, then sneak a peek at the Lifeguard in the water, beckoning me to jump. His arms are strong, stronger than anyone else who has held me. His smile is warm, brilliantly blinding the insecurities I have laid on the line. And His words soothe me, propel me to plummet: “Jump. I am here. I will catch you. I will not let you fall.”

No more hedging. No more thinking. Just jump.


Prayer: I don’t want to succumb to questions and fears anymore. I don’t want to be controlled by the “what if’s.” Father, I’d rather you tell me, “Why not?” Why not take that leap of faith, take that step into the unknown? Because You promise to be with me every step of the way. Through good times and bad, the known and unseen. I trust You, Lord. Now show me why I do. Amen.

Stand By Me

He makes my feet like the feet of a deer; He enables me to stand on the heights.
-Psalm 18:33


Sirens scream around me, uncertainty and self-doubt seeping in my ears. I am tossed in the torment.
Stand by Me.

I am black and blue with life’s bruises. My limbs are weak, each breath a struggle to squeeze from my lungs.
Stand by Me.

Mountains dissolve to the earth, stars shoot fire, and darkness consumes my eyes.
Stand by Me.

I root in the middle of the road, paths sprouting from all directions. None are paved, all overgrown and looming. Not a sign in sight.
Stand by Me.

Life hangs by a silent web, invisible to the naked eye. Frail, frantic, lingering on its line.
Stand by Me.

I feel pressure caving around my soul, chiseling hard and stark realization, a hammer to my heart.
Stand by Me.

Numb. Lord, everything is crashing to my shore in urgent calling.
Fear. I stand at the edge of a canyon and listen to my echoes reverberate against the chasm.
Unknown. I am moving through a midnight marsh that threatens to swallow me, skin to spirit. I cannot be alone. I don’t want to feel surrounded.

Stand by Me.


Prayer:
Father, You are here. Right now. With me. And I need You. Desperately. Hold me in Your mighty arms. Cradle me to Your chest. Rock me to sleep with Your soothing melody.

Let It Go

Cast all your anxiety on Him because He cares for you.
-1 Peter 5:7


I take up my pen and begin relaying my thoughts onto paper. I talk about trust, how I have more ease of life knowing God is taking care of the how. I begin to describe how God is teaching me this week, for the pressing thoughts continually on my mind. Prayer. Petition. Bringing my requests before the great and powerful Oz of the universe who sits on His heavenly throne and rules with authority.

But I am timid. I am weak and I am fearful. I doubt. Myself, the plans God has for me, even the gifts He has given me. I wonder if I’m doing anything with my life that aligns with His will.

I let the fear fester inside, corroding my heart and blocking off the air canals that guide me to God. Soon, I am so consumed with this confusion I am ashamed to even come before Him. Why would He still listen to me? Hear my prayers? My cries seem to carry across a barren sky and dissolve into the night.

Still I write, trying to somehow break through the surface. I try to not bother Him and begin to think of ways to solve my worries on my own. I wonder whether or not the decisions I make today will mark tomorrow. I can fix things, I assure myself. I can do this on my own.

But I can’t. In my decision to fight my own battles my life caves in. The ceiling presses down, I reach for the exit door and find there is no handle. I am trapped, a hostage in my maze of an unknown future, and the more I struggle to break the bonds of baggage upon me, the tighter the hold. My shoulders are frail. I need ones that are stronger.

Meek, all energy drained, I dare to decode my confusion at God’s feet. I stumble before Him, face buried in humiliation as I realize that while I have been doubting my abilities and the haze that appears on my path, I have also doubted God, because He gave me these desires and attributes. I am His daughter, created in His image. And if I think it is impossible to climb out of the muck I’ve stepped in, then I do not fully comprehend the immensity of my God. For when I am weak, He is at His strongest. His shoulders are solid, His mark always on target. And through my utter despair, it is at my lowest point where He can take charge and show that ALL things are possible through Him, because He is incomprehensible in power and love.

When we try to take matters into our own hands, we lunge into the ocean and expect to keep in the shallows. We swim, bob, dog paddle in our own currents until we reach the middle of the sea and find no land in sight. Legs pumping, heart crashing, our bodies tread water, killing time but getting nowhere. Soon, the more we struggle, the more we are swallowed into the abyss.

Until we release the fears and insecurities that keep us weighed down, we slowly sink to the bottom. We whisper in the waters, “Father, I cannot do this on my own,” and He gives strength to our weary limbs, tosses a life vest out to our eager arms. And, with gentle, guiding hands, He lifts us to His side and charts our perfect course.


Prayer:
Father, I am drained. I do not know where life is heading and cannot see beyond today. I try to shoulder all the uncertainty, all the burdens of my daily life and find myself failing. I cannot get by on my own. I have nowhere else to turn, nothing else to try. Please lift the weight from my shoulders. Show me why You are God and why I am Your child. Thank you that I do not have to go through this life alone. Amen.

Above the Blue

But when he saw the wind, he was afraid and, beginning to sink, cried out, “Lord, save me!”
Immediately Jesus reached out His hand and caught him. “You of little faith, He said, “why did you doubt?”
-Matthew 14:30-31


Blue.
Endless blue.

An ocean abounds, waves chopping around me, so high and jagged I cannot see the horizon. They dip, and I get a glance of the sky- briefly. The light blinds my eye. Then once again I am taken under, treading water, churning my arms and legs, and I have nowhere to go. I thrash, I feel panic rising in my throat and stealing the breath I have left in my lungs. Beneath my flailing limbs, the ocean floor looms thousands of feet beneath me, dark and heavy. I am sinking, pulling towards its depth. All the waves are crashing over me with resilience. I push against the water, dipping down and bursting up above the surface, battling time because my legs grow weak. But I know I am waiting for arms to reach out and save me. I know they will come, but I cannot see outside these waves, like a fortress towering over me. So much blue surrounds my body, my soul. I am drinking the color. The darkness grows larger and appears to rise up towards me.

But still I fight to stay afloat.

And then, out of the cerulean struggle, a hand.

Reaching out to pull me from the waves that consume me. Climbing over the blockades that kept me from the light, I measure my balance beneath shaky feet. I am stepping on the water; it is like a sheet of glass. I see the horizon, where it kisses the sea. Not a cloud forms around me.

He is with me, still holding my hand. We stand together. The sheet beneath our feet sparkles. My crystalline calm.



Prayer:
Father, You have grabbed my hand and drawn me from the rising waters. You have set me next to You, above the sea of darkness. I am free, I breathe, I see the sky. I am brought to new heights, because of You. Please renew my faith to stand above the waves that may still crash around me. Amen.

Never Leave

As I was with Moses, so I will be with you; I will never leave you nor forsake you.
-Joshua 1:5


The preparations and holiday jitters built for weeks, lights strung with care and snowmen decorations moved a centimeter to the left, and another two centimeters over to the right just a day later, finding that perfect spot in the living room. We covered gifts with jackets of wrapping paper, delicately folded at the corners. We wondered who would fall in love with what lay beneath.

Before we knew it, Christmas appeared for a few beautiful moments, and just like that, it was over. Done and gone for another year. All that remains are memories of the frozen feelings and the reflections from a stable. The weekend ends, lights peel off the tree and ornaments pack away tightly in tissue. The sparkle of the season recedes, and we’re left to continue on with frigid temperatures and no holiday to make it tolerable.

The magic is gone, an illusion that disappeared behind trap Christmas doors. We don’t know what to do, what to cling to now the world says to return whatever you aren’t invested in from gifts given by your great aunt.

There is good news. The season may have left you dragging evergreens to the ditch and undersized sweaters back to the racks, but God isn’t leaving. He won’t go anywhere and will not be cast aside like leftover casserole. “I will never leave you nor forsake you,” He promises, and He makes good on His bargain.

As we head into life after Christmas, let’s carry with us this assurance- Christ has come to comfort and will last long after fleeting holidays fade out.


Prayer:
Thank You for the meaning of Christmas, and for not letting me get caught up in things easily replaced or discarded. You are with me, and when everything else loses its shine, may You burn brightly in my heart. Amen.

Treasures Pondered

But Mary treasured up all these things and pondered them in her heart. -Luke 2:19


Christmas presents bought? Check.
Christmas presents wrapped? Working on it.
A silent night to ponder the birth of our Lord? Uh…

This has been my checklist for the past week. I’ve been sucked into the commercial Christmas madness, gifts and cards swirling through my head and enveloping me in such a haze I’ve forgotten what season this actually is. The world says spend, while God says to His son, “Save.”

Kind of a big difference.

I don’t know about you, but I need a rest. I need some perspective.

So travel back in time with me. After miles on the back of a donkey and a city out of stock on accommodations. After a manger, a baby, a shining star above. Gifts and worship presented at the tiny feet of the infant Christ, awestruck, and holy songs sung by angels. Now it is calm. The stalls are cleared of visitors and it is a man, a woman and a King. Above their heads, the sky winks with a night wrapped in soft, quiet, starry wonder. The shepherds are back in their fields, telling their flocks all about the heavenly multitude that brought them to a baby. The magi take the long route back home, determined to deter King Herod. Mary, quietly lying beside her sleeping boy, taking in his every feature. As shadows form his face, she remembers the journey.

When Gabriel appeared to her with a nation’s long awaited news, how surprised and terrified she had been! The Savior, sewn in her womb. This alone was enough to overwhelm, but how she endured the looks and whispers of Nazareth’s busy bodies, who knew she was betrothed yet bore a belly! Unheard of. Unspeakable. Yet the angel of the Lord told her not to be afraid, that the almighty God found favor in her caring eyes, her unwavering and innocent faith. He knew she would be the one to carry His son, to raise the man who would raise the dead. So she took hold of her faith, followed Joseph to a tiny town and welcomed the world’s Light in the darkest of night.

Here she rested, head upon her patchwork pillow, pondering all that had transpired in the hours before. This was only the beginning. The road pressed on, the path, narrow. But for this moment, this tired, breathless moment of reverence, Mary thought of nothing but the sound of her son, our Savior, breathing soundly beside her. She treasured the stillness, the holy night frozen in time. This little boy was everyone’s hope, and tonight, He was her mighty miracle.

This Christmas, settle down. Sit yourself in a cozy chair in the corner of your living room. Turn the tree lights on and the clutter off. Silence yourself before our heavenly Father, pull out a Bible and read the tale of wonder set in the town of Bethlehem. Let’s remember the reason we rush around at all, the one moment that transformed our lives.

Merry Christmas. May you always hear the angels singing, “Glory to God on highest, and on earth peace to men on whom His favor rests.”


Prayer:
Your Son, sent for our sins. That’s the purpose of Christmas, Lord. Not the rush to get the greatest deals or to see who can feel the most frenzied after lines and drives around cities. Please quiet my spirit. Take me back to that silent night, so long ago, yet so lasting in my heart. To the angels, to the manger. To that sleeping boy who saved us all. Please let me remember why we celebrate this most wondrous time- for Your Son. Amen.

Humble Arrival

And being found in appearance as a man, He humbled Himself by becoming obedient to death— even death on a cross!
-Philippians 2:8


Winter has arrived with all its icy claws and rasping wind. It’s cold outside. A wrap yourself in seven blankets, heat up some cocoa and perch yourself by a fire kind of cold. I have no urgency to step beyond my heated home and into that world of wracking weather. In a perfect scene where we have the choice of climate I’m highly doubtful many would choose the below freezing temperatures and mounds of snow.

Which makes me think about Jesus, and His first venture into the world He and His Father created. He didn’t ask to be birthed in the tropics, in a cushy hospital room with a jungle-theme nursery waiting at home. He didn’t even demand the best five-star hotel Bethlehem had to offer. Instead, He started His earthly journey in the back of a dimly lit manger, cattle crying beside Him.

The Lord of life, Savior of nations, exalted in the highest heavenly realms, could have stormed the scene with horns blaring and crown set triumphantly on His head. For all He did for us, He deserved an entrance that would have put any ancient royal celebration to shame.

But that wasn’t His style. It wasn’t the purpose of His presence. His Father brought Him to us with clear intent, and this God in the flesh shook the social circle by acting and saying everything contrary to Pharisee teaching.

The last shall be first.

Blessed are the meek, for they will inherit the earth.

Everything He did, He did on purpose. And that included arriving in less than desirable circumstances- straw for slippers, a birth announcement greeted by lowly shepherds. Our Christ, a kid.

Funny to think about, isn’t it? I’m more pampered than the mighty Prince of Peace. But His humility, His subtle greeting in a town just a dot on the map, determined my fate. For everything I repulse, He embraced. Every shudder at the obscene, He collected at the cross. Our Lord, perfect as a person. Through His journey, He never complained about His starting spot. Because He knew that through what seemed like unappealing, ordinary conditions, something extraordinary would transpire.

You know something? My frostbite and window scraping don’t seem such a burden after all. Not when Christ has carried the frostiness of man’s disbelief on small shoulders, bundled in the shadows of a stable.


Prayer:
Lord, I have no right to complain at all. You have faced more distress than I could possibly imagine, just for me. My Strong Fortress, Savior of my soul, You could have landed anywhere on earth. But You chose a hidden barn at the edge of town, in the middle of a sleeping city. You humbled Yourself so I might have confidence in Your kingdom. Thank You for paving the way for my victory in You. Amen.