Get Out Of The Boat!

I've been looking at photos from Israel and thinking about the day we spent on the Sea of Galilee. Letting my mind wander, I see myself enjoying the fresh air and the splash of spray as I cruise around the Sea of Life, waving to friends. Life is good and I am free. The outboard engine hums as I travel effortlessly, bouncing across waves, traveling along with no particular destination. These are the times I am strong, ready to help others on the sea who are in need. I have my owner's manual and can walk them through the troubleshooting process, often enabling them to get their own vessel going again. Sometimes I have to pull them aboard my ship, giving them a ride to safety. I don't mind, really. After all, they've usually lost their oars and, without me, they would be marooned. Unfortunately, there are those who think my craft is better somehow and they don't want to disembark. Even when I remind them I am only able to carry them for a little bit, they hunker down and lash themselves in. And we begin to take on water. Soon, my focus is on the swamping of my boat and my strength fails. “Look, there's Jesus, walking on the water! Get out of my boat! Get out and go to Him!” I cry, now in need of rescue almost as much as they. It makes me want to shove them overboard.

And then there are days I simply slip into a quiet cove, cut the engine and am still, soaking up the sun and the sounds of nature. The gently slap of water against the hull is calming. The breeze gently falling across my face as my arm languishes over the side, tickling the chilly water with my fingertips. Jesus comes to me in those coves, whispering on the gentle wind, stirring a tiny zephyr, making His presence known. In the cove, I find refreshing, revitalizing rest.

And then there are days my motor will not start – no matter how much priming I do. I am often stranded in the middle of the sea. Frantically, I search for my oars, thinking I can get myself to safety. They are never in the boat when I need them. It's as though they simply disappear. Sometimes the sea is dead calm and fear creeps in. I am so alone, other boats so far in the distance, unaware of my predicament. There is nothing for me to do but pray. I am uncomfortable surrounded by nothing but blue. In the calm, I can hear His voice across the water, “Be still, I am coming.”

And then there are days, this is only the calm before the storm. A raging storm looms and is upon me even before I can batten down the hatches. I hear nothing but the howl of the wind the roar of thunder. I see nothing, sporadically blinded by lightning, as the rain beats down and the waves crash and break over my vessel, which has suddenly become so insignificant. My heart fails and I lose hope. But those are the days He comes walking on the water, just the same for me as for those I sent His way when my boat was capsizing. Those are the days His voice rises over the clamor and I hear Him say, “Get out of the boat and walk with Me.” I search the horizon for Him. There He is, visible even in the tumult. “Keep your eyes on Me.” Those are the days that, even in the midst of a trial, I can walk on the water with Him and hope is restored. There are only two things I must do – Keep my eyes on Him and get out of the boat! Why can't I remember that?