Pearls and Presence, Chapter One- Beloved

Inside of the walls of this empire are many streets and rooms and towers, each representing a place in my heart and mind where my idols reside. It looks a lot like the places from my past, except that all of it is empty- I walk the streets alone. I can hear the waves crashing on the shore outside the walls. It sounds a lot like the voice of Peace. And sometimes a breeze will carry a bit of the sea spray over the high walls, sparkling like diamonds on the wind, and I will smell the gardenia-scented aroma of hope. The ocean is just outside. But I never go there, because all my time is spent here inside my beautiful and lonely empire.

~*~

          Sometimes Maras’ life on the island was pleasant.  Other times her existence on Empire was just a way to get by without any painful memories.  Occasionally she dared to admit to herself that this isolated existence was lonely and meaningless.  But she never dared consider leaving.  Her little boat never went further out into the ocean than was necessary to bring back an adequate amount of fish.  No one came to visit. Nothing changed. The only surprise was the occasional storm that left its violent mark on the shoreline. 

There was an unspoken yet ever present fear within her of what lay beyond the horizon.  Was it fear of the unknown, or something much more dreadful?  “What would people think?” was the self-talk she used when her heart began expressing an internal longing for connection.   Mara clutched to such a warning almost daily within herself, so that she could think of no other option but to live isolated as she did.  She felt a constant need to protect herself with a quiet, modest, and simple existence- alone. With the exception of the shame that followed her around.

          But there was one part of her life that was all her own and brought her great inner peace and joy- her writing. It was the one thread of connection between her past, present and future. When Mara wrote something it became true, and so she used her power carefully. Writing was her special gifting, and she valued it highly.  Ever since she was a child, writing had been a catalyst for self-expression and gave her an innate sense of freedom.  She had come to discover within her poems and stories an inner sense of purpose and articulation of her true identity.  Mara was sure she would be creating written artwork until her dying day and beyond. 

Even now, she sat at her oak desk with a pen in her hand, poised to begin writing something new.  But somehow the words would not come.  Often her head was swimming with ideas, but today the minute she sat down to compose, Mara became completely devoid of inspiration. She had danced around the edges of her ideas for so long that she had used up all the reserves that were on the outside. Now it was time to go deep, where the treasure was.

          She wrote several lines which were not her own creation, but ones that she now recalled reading many years ago…

A fragment of what you felt, of what you knew,

A formula, a phrase remains,-

But the best is lost.

The answers, quick and keen,

The honest look, the laughter, the love,-

They are gone.

They are gone to feed the roses.

Elegant and curled is the blossom. Fragrant is the blossom.

I know, but I do not approve.

More precious was the light in your eyes than all the roses in the world.

          These words were powerful, and they spoke to her, but they did not belong to her. Frustrated that she could not come up with anything original, she leaned forward over the blank stack of papers to look out her window.  Her modest abode overlooked the bay on the side closest to the Valley, which loomed darkly behind her, on the opposite side of the house from her room. 

Her deep blue eyes took in the view of the wide, gray-green ocean.  She knew she had just missed the sunset from the looks of the faint red colors draining quickly from the bottoms of the clouds.  Her eyes grew heavy as she leaned further forward, resting her chin on her upturned palm. Sometimes her ego tried to put her to sleep to prevent her from writing. If she did not stand guard, she would drift off and lose her best intentions.

          Just as she was about to slip into an idle doze, she saw a small dark shape trailing across the water on the far side of the bay.  It looked like it might be a small boat.  But it was so far out in the ocean, much too far to be certain.  Mara was suddenly wide awake, because nobody ever came to visit Empire Island.  Nobody other than her accuser ever inhabited this place with her- and he would never touch the water or even go near it. So who was it? She closed her eyes and willed herself with artful practice to block the fear out.

          Hoping for a better glimpse of what she hoped was probably just a whale that looked like a boat, she set her pen down and turned her full attention to the ocean view. She scanned the horizon, only to see that she had already lost sight of the object on the water.  Now there was only silvery moonlight on the rippling surface of the bay.

          A sigh escaped from Mara’s lips as she straightened herself and put a hand to her hair, adjusting a few wayward strands, then pushed the scattered blank pages to the edge of the desk.  She shuffled them all together and then pushed them, along with the pen, into a desk drawer, shutting it firmly.  Leaning back in her chair, Mara closed her eyes and leaned her head back to stare at the ceiling. She took a deep breath and let it out very slowly, abandoning her fears.

          It was late, she decided, and she wouldn’t be thinking up any inspiring words for her writing tonight anyway.  She realized how exhausted she felt from an unusually hard day of tending to her vineyard.  “I may as well go to bed now,” she said out loud to herself, unable to hide a hint of forlorn disappointment that it would be another boring, lonely and uneventful evening.  Blowing out the candle which was flickering on her desk, she got up from her chair and padded across a thick, pale-yellow rug to her bed. 

          Pulling back the heavy blankets, Mara crawled between the covers and pulled the large quilt up to her chin in an attempt to fend off the cooling night air.  The fire that was blazing steadily in the fireplace across her room crackled and cast an orange glow on the room, and she closed her eyes in the semi-darkness.  As her thoughts floated sleepily on reflections of another lifetime, she found herself drifting into the narrative of a dream…

I am standing on my little fishing boat far out in the ocean.  I look towards the distant shoreline and see with dismay that it is my island.  I am so far away, I realize in panic, and have never dared to travel out this far in the ocean even on my bravest day.  There is a wild storm breaking right over my head and sheets of rain began pouring down all around me. The chilling wind is whipping through my long hair, which has come undone, and I have to keep pushing it out of my face.

Does anyone know I am out here?  Fear fills me as I remember that I live alone except for one unwelcome companion who accuses me of failure. I need a savior, but nobody will answer my cries for help.  The waves are getting bigger, and icy water is splashing on me every time the heavy waves crashed against the small boat.  Thunder shakes the sky, and the taste of salt is in my mouth- it is the salt from my warm tears as I cry in desperate hopelessness.  The storm rages around me, and I am so far from the refuge of the familiar. I cannot rescue myself.  

I sink down onto my knees on the bottom of the fishing boat, bring my hands together in prayer position at heart center and lift my face to the wild, churning sky.

“Save me!” I cry out into the storm, and the rain mixes with my tears. 

I lower my head into my hands, bow low to the hull of the boat and weep as the storm rages. But just as my voice is lost to the increasing roar of the storm, the wind changes and brings the smell of peppermint followed closely by lavender. And I look up and see a wild and regal man clothed in white walking quickly towards me through the grey sheets of rain.

He is moving steadily over the rolling barrels of the sea as if they are solid ground.  His arms are open wide to me.

 I hear him call me “beloved” over the sound of the storm. 

My fear melts into wonder, but as I leaned forward to try to make out his face, my hand slips on the wet siding and I lose my footing. With a cry I fall headfirst into the churning water, and all is cold and dark…

          Mara awoke with a start.  The fear which had been so real in her dream quickly faded as she felt herself surrounded by warm quilts.  The sun was shining brightly through her window, illuminating her room with a warm, golden glow.  She sat up in bed, the quilts and cotton sheets falling in her lap.  As she rubbed her eyes, trying to erase the nightmare from her memory, she became more fully awake and realized suddenly how she could begin her next work. Pulling the heavy blanket with her, she dragged it off the bed, across the room and sat down in her chair. Throwing her thick braid over her shoulder, she pulled her journal out from the desk drawer, poised her pen, and began to write.

Prayer Story

Day after day I climb the stairs of the tower to worship and serve at the altar of my favorite idols, and I find myself spending more time there than anywhere else in my vast empire….

Just as she sat back to observe the effect of this brave new beginning, Mara heard noise below her window, like the thudding sound of dirt being thrown into a pile.  Oh, it’s him again, she thought with a sudden feeling of deep inner conflict. She glanced back at her writing with doubt, uncertain now about what she had written. 

She felt the accusations beginning inside- you are not enough. Nobody cares about this.

Another thud of dirt drew her resolve to get up and sacrifice her inspiration for the sake of addressing the distraction outside. She pulled the quilt back across the room to her bed, then straightened up and took stock of her emotions. She could not approach her accuser with any weakness showing. Placing her story back into the desk, she glanced out the window with wary eyes and the familiar mix of heightened anticipation and fear rising up inside.

Her unwelcome neighbor from the Valley was meddling in her garden again, just as he was already meddling in her storytelling, and now she must prepare herself to meet him…

~*~

Join me here next week for chapter two! 

To go back to the prologue, click here.

To learn more about my personal story, click here.

With gratitude for my tiny tribe of readers- 

Rebecca 

Pearls and Presence, Prologue- Longing

I have built an empire next to the sea. It is a beautiful empire, custom crafted by my own strength to include all the things I have ever wanted.  The foundation is fear, and it rests firmly upon the sand. It is built up with my well-worn tools of desire, control, ambition, jealousy, envy, pride, and obsession. It is enclosed by walls of insecurity, doubt and fear. These are strong walls that nobody can penetrate, and the door of weakness is locked. I once had the key, but I don’t remember now where I left it last. It doesn’t matter, because I never plan to leave. This is where I live, this is my home.

Dear God. What have I done?

~*~

The sun was sinking into the watery horizon of the bay, marking the end of another day.  The feathery clouds that stretched across the pale sky were stained with pink, red, and copper traces.  The ocean extended to the horizon, and tiny sparkles glinted across the gentle rolling motion of its surface.  On the shore, small crabs scuttled away from the lapping waves, hurrying to bury themselves in the grainy sand before prying seagulls snatched them up.

A light breeze played across the bay, gently cooling everything in its path with a soft, sighing touch as it traveled across the air.  Intricate patterns of brown and gold and tan shifted ever so slowly in many directions across the sandy ground, guided by the wind.  Palm trees, old and weathered, stood proudly in abundance along the winding shore.  Waves crashed on the beach with power and prestige, slowly wearing away the rocks and shells that rolled back and forth in its tide.

The sound of the sea could be heard to varying degrees from any vantage point on the small island, with the exception of the Valley. In that place, there was no evidence of beach life- it was devoid of the sea breeze and the gulls never frequented its shadowy confines. It was frequently shrouded in fog. The only signs of life here were stone faces which looked down upon their altars with immobile passivity, waiting for a suitable sacrifice. This godforsaken piece of land was called the Valley of Achor, named after its master. The inhabitant that dwelt here carried himself with well-practiced patience and gallantry, for the prince of darkness is indeed a gentleman.  The Valley was meant to be the source of all bitterness and the birthplace for the dark night of the soul. Here was found the key to death.

With the exception of the Valley, all other living things on Empire Island were calm and existed simply.  All things worked in unison just as expected, every day, for an easy and comfortable existence.  In such an isolated world here, life was simple and safe.  Not a particularly enjoyable way of living, but a steady form of survival.  There were no undue surprises, no interruptions in the daily routines of adequacy on this island.  There were no shameful reminders of pagan idols, as those were all hidden discreetly within the confines of the Valley. And over time, this predictability and comfort had become the definition of peace.

          The sun finally sank below the water, leaving traces of silver ripples which traveled outward into the ocean, to be lost from sight.  Seagulls came to rest on their rocky beds, and the frantic crabs by day found sleepy refuge in the dark cover of night.  Several seashells, unbroken by the tide, rocked back and forth on the sand in the foamy edges of the water, creating a subtle clinking chime as they were pushed together and pulled apart by the tide.

          The stars came out, twinkling in their black velvety beds of night sky.  The clouds were no longer shades of red, but reflected the white, pale glow of the waxing moon.  One of the sandpipers somewhere below the jut of rocks gave a last call before silence settled in on the small bay.

And in the distance, there was a disturbance of ripples in the swaying ocean which only the silvery fish noticed. In the peaceful silence, a small boat floated quietly into view, far out on the moonlit horizon, traveling across the water towards the shore – towards the sleeping island.

~*~

We are worlds, we are bodies
Empires of dirt and grace
Silhouettes and reflections
Caught in His holy flame

–Empires, Hillsong

The inspiration was escaping so rapidly that she couldn’t capture it in words. Her blue eyes were filled with uncanny longing, and her light-brown hair was escaping from her long braid in defiance of her best attempts.

The blank pages were increasingly frustrating.  Each empty sheet seemed to represent a wasted day, a mark of shame, or perhaps a lack of control.  The white space in front of her reminded her of a willing laziness and self-destructive selfishness.  All these things were combined and made tangible in a single and very heavy sigh.

For years and years she had known what needed to be done, but as it grew from an idea to a realization, her resolve moved from a place of hope to one of apathy. She needed to give up her idols, but she couldn’t find the words. She needed to write her story, but she didn’t know how to begin. Something held her back from writing- a lack of self-awareness, a fear of looking too deep inside her own mind. Instead, she remained always on the outskirts of her motivations, in a place of unconcerned acceptance where there was no need for asking any troubling questions. She danced around her own thoughts, keeping to the edges in order to avoid offense.

This was perhaps the biggest problem, and the reason why she couldn’t find any inspiration.  Apathy is quite possibly a writer’s greatest enemy, and it was certainly hers in this moment.  And yet, though it stopped her from pouring herself onto paper, it also helped her to walk through the hard days with her head held high in a queenly state of dignified denial.  For the princess of light is indeed a lady. Her writing was meant to be the source of all introspection and the birthplace for the freedom of the soul. Here was found the key to life.

This is why she felt such tension and resistance when she sat at her desk. So Mara pushed her chair back and placed her journal back into the desk.  Instead of writing, she decided to take a walk down to the seashore, hoping for some kind of discovery in the smell of the salty air and the sound of the crashing waves.  The eternity of the ocean was always somehow calming, a soothing balm for the unquenchable desire that she carried with her each day.  Her mind would wander often to the troubling idols of her past, but the sound of the sea would always pull it back again.

She tugged her knitted sweatshirt over her head and slipped on a pair of worn sandals.  The sun was setting and she knew the temperature would drop, but something about the feel of the warm pebbles and cool sand prompted her to approach the beach with sandal clad feet no matter the weather.  She liked the sensations when she removed her shoes and walked the shoreline; the smooth pebbles and sea stones retained some warmth from the sun for a short time, contrasted against the coarse sand which had quickly cooled. She liked the inspiration that crashed upon her there, wave by wave.

It was as if she was able to steal the last bit of warmth from the seashore every evening and keep if for herself, like a coveted secret.  For the seashore often called to her with promises she couldn’t articulate in words, but which spoke to her spirit with an eternal perspective. The feeling of walking the shore was a calming ritual, one that could transport her to any memory in her life, to times before she had worshiped lifeless idols in the Valley of Achor.

She walked the shoreline every evening, longing for Someone she did not know, and trying to articulate the words she would like to say to Him. She was waiting for a treasure of great price to wear around her neck and a crown of beauty to place upon her head. These called to her soul…

~*~

Join me here next time for the next chapter!

To learn more about my personal story, click here.

With gratitude for all my readers- 

Rebecca

Turbulent Faith

Who do I become when I abandon my fears?

An ex-pastor, a church ministry drop-out, a yogi, an impetuous disciple of Jesus, an advocate for the Kingdom, and a writer with a weekly blog that has a tiny tribe of readers.

I will leave a legacy behind for my children; it just won’t be the one I had originally planned.

I have been thinking a lot this week about the Apostle Peter. Mostly because I am SO grateful to read about all the blunders he made during his ministry career and all the setbacks he had on his spiritual journey. It makes me feel more human and less alone in my own discipleship.

This week in particular I have had some noteworthy setbacks, and I have been fighting the opposition with prayer, meditation, scripture, worship, journaling and writing.

As I wrote about in an earlier blog, I am an INFJ-T personality type. This stands for Introverted, iNtuitive, Feeling, Judging and Turbulent. It’s this last part of my personality that caught my attention the most- Turbulent. I looked up the definition and this is what I found:

“Individuals with Turbulent (-T) identity are self-conscious and sensitive to stress. They experience a wide range of emotions and tend to be success-driven, perfectionistic and eager to improve. They are also more willing to make a change if they feel stuck and to spend time thinking about the direction in which their life is going.

Turbulent individuals perform better in certain roles as they push themselves to achieve superior results. Always feeling the need to do more, to have more, and to be more, Turbulent types often forget how exhausting that can be to both themselves and the people around them – but it is entirely possible that this desire to always push themselves just a little further helps many Turbulent types to achieve what they seek to achieve.”

I immediately thought of the Apostle Peter. He was turbulent too. Sometimes it helped him and other times it hurt him. I feel connected to this disciple because I think if I had been walking around with Jesus in real life, I would have done some brave, crazy, exhausting and misunderstood things too, in order to push in closer to my Teacher’s inner circle of friends.

Heck, I already have.

I feel you, Peter. You are my brother from another lifetime.

As we turbulent types will discover, great wisdom comes from epic failure. To learn to be victorious, you must learn how to fail often and well. To be brave is to learn how to allocate and prepare for the high cost of risk-taking.  

Peter took numerous risks in his discipleship to Jesus that cost him dearly. He said some really stupid and dumb stuff, and made some dramatic mistakes that did a real number on his mental and emotional health. He had to hit rock bottom before he could become the rock of the church. In his time with his Teacher he had a whole series of epic fails. And at the same time, he went down a path of learned wisdom faster than anyone around him. He would become qualified to lead through his dramatic failings.

I feel this calling in my own life, to allow my mistakes to propel me forward into the arms of knowing Jesus more fully and leading His people. As I continue to write these blogs, I continue to estimate the cost and the reward for putting my flaws out in a public forum. I have had to repeatedly calculate the cost of exposure and forgiveness. So far, Jesus wins.

So I keep healing through writing. I choose to be vulnerable in a public space because I crave the courage that it takes to do so. I share my process because I believe the world needs more people who are willing to be honest about the things happening to them in real time, not just the old things from way in the past. This is how we forge community, by coming to a place where freely sharing of our weaknesses fosters continual support and genuine love in return.

Peacemaking is only possible if there are people willing to share their struggles and then stick around long enough to receive proper healing.

So how do you respond to a turbulent type? Well, I know from experience what Jesus will do. He will never ask me to stay away from Him until I get it right. He did not tell Peter to contain his larger-than-life, slightly too crazy enthusiasm for ministry. He will not ask you to please keep far away from His home because you are not trustworthy. He will not dismiss you from His table, sending you away in tears to go figure out healing by yourself. When you ask Him for help, He won’t remain silent or perhaps say something that makes you feel like a foolish beggar or a petty annoyance.

If you hear a voice like that, know that it is not your Teacher who is speaking. It’s the voice of broken humanity and flawed human reason.

At his most embarrassing moment as a disciple, Peter took his own Teacher aside and began to rebuke him. Can you imagine, pulling the Son of God aside and saying “Look, now, don’t say things like that, it’s too honest. Nobody says things like that out loud. That was taking transparency way too far. Your ministry is at stake, and your reputation. You are making yourself and all of us look bad, and it’s really going to get you and all of us into trouble. Please keep those particular thoughts just to yourself. You are better off not sharing that part of your story, trust me. It’s going to cost too much to say something as honest as that- be more reserved.”

Yet this is what we tell ourselves so often, isn’t it? We filter out the risky things, the brave and daring things, the honest and vulnerable things, instead telling ourselves that it’s better to be safe than sorry. It’s better to be quiet than to risk offense. Don’t say too much, because then people might see the real you and reject who you really are. It might cost your reputation, your vision, your titles, your friendships. You might lose your hard-earned position of authority and respect. You might have to sacrifice the great name you wanted to make for yourself. 

You might have to lay down your dignity and pride.

You might have to walk on water- alone. Through the storm.

Jesus has a response to that voice of broken human wisdom: ‘Get behind me, Satan! You are a stumbling block to me; you do not have in mind the concerns of God, but merely human concerns.’” That is exactly what He told Peter when his voice of propriety tried to silence Him.

If your faith in God isn’t a little bit turbulent then your true calling is in danger of drowning in the sea of human opinions.

What Jesus said to Peter is exactly what we need to learn to say to the negative self-talk that tell us to keep our hopes and our dreams and our honesty to ourselves. “Get behind me, Satan.” When doubts fly at you like bats out of hell, you need to tell propriety to get the eff away from your faith. Then you need to drop to your knees and pray.

And you will discover that there is a redemptive quality in the transition from fearing the turbulence to trusting the Rock. In the midst of the refining process, you will hear a voice that sounds like this:

My child, do you passionately love me with your entire being?

This is a sign that you are on the right path and should keep going. Because you will hear this question again and again, once for every time that you deny Him, and every time your answer will be a little bit different. When you reply each time, you will feel a bit more confidence and have a slightly deeper definition of what you really mean by “love”.

But don’t worry about the details. He knows we can’t meet him where He is at because it’s much too overwhelming and the gift is too great to fathom, and so He walks along at our pace and stoops down low to hear our answer and honors our best attempt:

My child, do you passionately love me with your entire being?

“I like to walk with you.”

And a few steps further along the journey, He will ask again:

My child, do you passionately love me with your entire being?

And timidly we might say:

“Yes, Jesus, I do feel affection towards you.”

And by now Jesus is walking so close we can see into his dark brown eyes, and He respects our insecurities and meets with us on our comfort level:

My child, do you feel affection towards me?

And with both relief and longing for more, we can finally answer simply:

“Yes, Jesus, yes, I do”

He will meet us where we are, in the turbulence of our uncertainty and the turmoil of our unfolding journey. He will accept our reservations because the Teacher wants his students to know that this is a question that really needs to be lived before it can be answered. “Do you love me?” The entirety of our life story will be the response.

Peter was asked by Jesus if he loved Him. But he could only give an answer based on his limited knowledge so far. His love was growing, maturing, but it needed more time. And even though Peter was in process, even though he denied knowing his Teacher three times in public, Jesus still made room for redemption. He asked Peter to declare his love to him three times, once for every denial. And then Jesus changed Peter’s name from Simon to Petra, the rock, and chose him to lead the church. Because Jesus saw in Peter a potential to dare greatly, to say the unpopular and crazy things that would change the world.

He knew that this was a man who would jump out of boats into stormy seas and try to walk on water to close the gap. He knew this was a man who wouldn't walk away from storms, he would enter right into them. He saw the way that Peter’s turbulent faith would become a catalyst for radical change when it was understood, properly handled and aimed at the right target.

In Matthew 16:18, Jesus says, “And I tell you, you are Peter, and on this rock I will build my church, and the gates of hell shall not prevail against it.”

And so I feel a kinship to my dear brother Peter. I also want to be a rock upon which Jesus builds a ministry. But first I have a lot to learn, to write and to heal. The stories of my mistakes are often in the forefront of my writing because they showcase my own turbulent faith. Without the turbulence, my limited wisdom won’t get me very far.

In our enthusiasm and haste to engage and participate in Kingdom work, Peter and I can tend to endanger our souls and drown our good intentions. We can jump without considering where our feet might land. We can sink right in the exact spot where we meant to stand.

Peter, at the first glimpse of Jesus, abandoned his fears and threw himself over the side of the boat. And it was mere moments before he found himself gathering his fears back onto himself and sinking under the weight of them all. The more he sank, the more he desperately grasped onto the many fears floating all around him.

We are all familiar with this inner conflict – it is very easy in our spiritual journey to walk with our eyes locked onto the pain that we are invariably facing.

‘But when he saw that the wind was boisterous, he was afraid; and beginning to sink he cried out, saying, Lord, save me!’ Matt. 14-30.

In my attempt to get to Jesus I had to first jump out of the boat, completely fail and then cry out for help. I could not walk towards Jesus until I recognized my weakness. I had to completely abandon my fears, even though I was tempted to grasp at them for comfort. I had to open my empty arms to Him instead.

I am grateful to say that when I myself began to sink, I instinctively responded in the way that Peter did – I called out for Help. Immediately recognizing what was happening, I did not fool myself into thinking I could just swim myself back to safety. I realized that I must abandon my fears and not rely on them to hold me up. 

Some of us pretend we are not drowning, when in fact we really are.

And I have had to relearn this many times, again and again. He calls me out upon the water many times over. I have jumped out of many boats in the past 6 months, and nearly drowned just as many times. In fact, just this week there were several opportunities to take the leap that came with ample opportunity to lose my footing. And every time, Jesus was right there with me as soon as I cried out for Him.

He looks in my eyes, holds out His steady hands, and together we walk back to the boat. And as I have realized the damaging cost of my easily misunderstood and misdirected personality type, I have wept in repentance. My turbulent faith is in need of divine instruction and guidance, just like my dear brother Peter. I can’t manage myself without His help.

Because of our identity as beloved children of God, when we realize we are drowning in pain, our inherent right and privilege is to call upon the Spirit for help.

And help from God is usually easy to miss if we aren’t aware that the waves will stop only after Jesus returns you to the refuge of the boat. You still have to walk through the storm to get there- the pain does not cease when He comes alongside. Nowhere in scripture is there a promise that the storm will end when He takes your hand, although sometimes it can and does. But the promise is having Jesus walking alongside us as we continue to move towards victory.

We need to take a walk with Jesus and answer His questions about love. He takes our eyes off the fear, holding our timid gaze within His own steady one, asking us repeatedly if we love Him. He calls us out upon the water.

Although God never expects us to feign ignorance of our suffering, we must not let the pain overwhelm us to the point where we lose sight of the Hope in His eyes. We must keep listening to Him and answer His questions honestly. Focusing our eyes on His own will not diminish the pain- but it will overshadow it with blessed peace because we can accept the gift of truth, that we are the beloved children of God- every single one of us.

We are seen and loved by the Creator of the universe. He takes our face in His hands, looks deep in our eyes so that He sees all the way to our soul, and He speaks this truth-

“Remember what I say about you, my child. I am the authority on your identity. I alone have the final word on your goodness.”

The only way to navigate a successful reentry into alignment with God is to dare to brave the turbulence. And it might cost your favorite things and some precious relationships at the time it happens, but perhaps you will be given a new perspective and a new Love, one which reveals the sacredness of the boat towards which you are headed. You will be able to see something bigger that you didn’t notice before.

And after the refinement, that introverted-intuitive-feeling-judgmental-turbulent, personality can become the rock upon which Jesus builds a ministry.

I may or may not see the fruits of this investment in my own lifetime, but I believe it will be in the legacy which I leave behind me, through my writing, my parenting, my passion for the church, my love for the Kingdom, my obsession with Jesus, my turbulent worship.

My brother Peter and I, we are always making many hasty and emotional choices, jumping in to help with dramatic haste and not thinking about what comes next. But because of that tendency, I have a stubborn love of Christ that compels me to be the first one out of the boat, and I have a determination to walk on water to be with Him. I will always take big risks to be with my Teacher. All else is secondary.

It is the reason I know that I will hear again someday the call to serve in ministry, to take a chance and try again, no matter how close I came to drowning last time. He will call me out upon the water, and I will jump. And I will forgive anything and anyone who gets in the way- never let anybody get between you and Jesus. Forgive them so you can keep walking.

True forgiveness sometimes looks like putting yourself in a position to be offended again, and then choosing not to be. 

Other times forgiveness looks like surrendering your right to be justified by human affirmation. It’s choosing humility and sacrificing pride and standing right in the face of “it’s complicated”. Forgiveness is staring your shame and fear down until it cowers.

Walking on water is staying in the circumstance even when nobody would blame you for turning away, and most think that you should. You stand and face the hard forgiveness and stick it out for the long haul, when the healing gets really tricky. You stand there as long as it takes, no matter what, until God calls you out in peace and joy.

This is where true restoration can begin.

I believe that He can redeem my story through the lessons I am learning, because of my willingness to show up and let myself be seen. Because I am open to risking my dignity and denying my absolute right to get even- or, even easier, to walk away, to run, to hide.

I could just stay in the boat, or even better, not even get in at all and remain on the shoreline. But then, how would I encounter the Savior in all His terrifying glory? If Jesus could build His church on a turbulent personality like Peter’s, then surely he can use a broken and brazen person like me to serve His church.

“Here is the secret to all Christian ministry. If you are going to do any single solitary thing as a follower and servant of Jesus, this is what it’s built on. Somewhere, deep down inside, there is a love for Jesus, and though (goodness knows) you’ve let Him down enough times, he wants to find that love, to give you a chance to express it, to heal the hurts and failures of the past, and give you new work to do.” –NT Wright

Yes, Jesus, give me new work to do.

The kind that breathes life into Your church. The kind that integrates my gifts into my community and produces abundance. The kind that brings me joy and allows me to say “Yes, Jesus, I passionately love and trust You with my entire being. Let’s go do this thing together.”

We are all in the boat at one time or another. To everyone the storm looks different, but to all of us it is an opportunity for a leap of faith. When the Kingdom comes, all this jumping out of boats will be more than worth it. The storm will make complete sense to us on that day. Until then, plan on hitting a lot of turbulence. It’s going to be a rough walk, my friends. There will be some doubting, some drowning, some crying, some questioning, some epic loss of dignity and pride, a completely broken heart- remember to keep your eyes on His. 

You are a beloved child of God, a never-ceasing spiritual being with an eternal destiny in God’s great universe. Get in the boat, jump, tread water, pray hard and then call to Him for help with empty arms open wide.

Who do I become when I abandon my fears?

A yogi, an ex-pastor, an impetuous disciple of Jesus, a church ministry drop-out, an advocate for the Kingdom, and a writer with a weekly blog that has a tiny tribe of readers. An INFJ-T personality type- Introverted, Intuitive, Feeling, Judging and Turbulent.  A person like Peter, who became the rock upon which Jesus built His church.

I will leave a legacy for my children, it just won’t be the one I had planned. It will be better- it will be Divinely inspired and co-authored with Christ, because I have dared to get in, sail out, jump and brave the storm just to be close to Jesus.

I have dared to walk back with Him and answer His hard questions about love.

Thank you, dear reader, for walking with me here today.

With Gratitude,

Rebecca

To learn more about my personal story, click here.