A Word to the Drowning

To the hurting, broken, fearful, lost.
In essence, to the drowning:

Ever felt it?
Me too.

That clawing, gripping, tightening sensation of being towed under the current of your fears.
It seems so powerful. You seem so weak.

How often do you find yourself fighting with everything in you to balance on the smallest of shafts, all the while waiting for the eventual capsizing of your burdens to overcome you, to drag you under?

It's exhausting.

This week I got a clear picture of what it is to feel overcome. Last year my best friend moved to Haiti, where she still now serves as a teacher. I received a phone call from her on the weekend; she told me hurricane Matthew was heading straight towards her. As I write this, what is said to be the worst of the hurricane for Haiti is unleashing itself on the small village where she and a community of locals reside. I've frantically been scouring the news for clips and tidbits of information regarding the state of Haiti since that phone call. The other night I couldn't sleep, so I got up and I prayed for a calming of the storm, for protection over those being affected by the hurricane.

And an image came to mind that I can't seem to shake.

You know, I think it has stuck with me because it reaches all the way from the heart of Haiti straight into mine.
And hopefully, into yours too.

To give some context, during our phone call, she told me there was no more they could do, now they just had to wait it out.
I imagined her sitting in her compound, hearing the ocean raging and the rain pounding. But here is what struck me- more than seeing a storm, I pictured her seeing for the first time her humanness.
More than knowing a hurricane was waged against her, she knew her weakness.
Her inability to foster and garner control.
Her inability to stabilize her environment.

And I thought, wow. What a picture this is.
Of humanness.
Of frailty.
Most of all, of our need for someone to have the ability to maintain sovereignty, to hold the unknown in their hands.
A faithful heart to cast ours into.
A loving hand to hold ours.

I believe it is in our stinging pain, rejection, fear, and insecurities that we come to this moment.
A pivotal moment.
A crossroads, if you will.
It is when we are bluntly and boldly confronted with coming to the end of ourselves that we see our direness for something greater.
For an anchor.
For a rock to plant our feet upon.
It is when the ground is shaken beneath us and we fall to our knees that we find the One who is steady and sure, sovereign and merciful.

When the storms are raging and your heart is racing, remember that there is One who owns the seas and splits them that you would walk right through them.
Victoriously.

Jesus.
Sweet, Jesus.
Would we cast all of our burdens and anxieties on Him, confidently and boldly trusting that He cares for us.

I don't know where you are today. Maybe your drowning in relational struggle, financial insecurity, a sense of hopelessness. As I said, I don't know here you are today.

But there is one thing that I do know.
The love and care of Jesus knows no boundaries or circumstance.
His tender mercies know no limitations.
His ability to redeem knows no finality in destruction.
Impossibility and ruin is a lie in the presence of Jesus. Do you hear me? A lie.

So let's turn to truth. Let's run to it. Let's intentionally find ourselves on our knees, heart bowed low and hands raised high to the Name that every wave pounding against your heart still knows.

I say, yes, let's be overcome.
But not by fear, worry, anxiety.
No.
Let's be overcome in the gracious and trusting current of Jesus, the only one worth surrendering to.

So, to the drowning:
Sometimes the answer isn't resisting the storm, it's surrendering to the One who calms it.

Please keep those who are being affected by hurricane Matthew in your prayers.