A major difference between water and land is the fluidity of water. It moves. It can be contained, to a certain extent, and it may even be characterized by currents that travel within in predictable ways. But, in general, it is free, wild and anything but still. Even when sitting in a glass, seemingly motionless, particles of liquid are evaporating into the air, out of sight.
I live in the south. I didn’t grow up here and I don’t honestly see myself living out the rest of my days from this cul-de-sac point of view, but, who knows? It is, after all, comfortable. I have a decent back yard, an office space to myself above the garage, a membership to the local Y, and plenty of places nearby to run as I continue trying to work toward one of the characteristic benchmark achievements of middle-aged, middle-class, health-conscious white folk like myself: running a marathon. One has to have goals, right?
I teach in a rural elementary school where, if you pull out of the parking lot, turn left, take another left at the intersection, and follow the road to it’s end, you’ll end up on the church grounds of a congregation that pre-dates America’s independence from Britain. My wife, my kids, and I attended that church for a few years and enjoyed its beautiful grounds and storied history. Members of the congregation were very kind and fairly welcoming. A few especially loving members of the church family even played a significant role in providing company and comfort to my Dad during his battle with brain cancer before he passed in early 2012 and I am sincerely grateful for their compassion. I certainly have fond memories of the church. It was very comfortable.
In terms of personality type, I would have to classify myself as an introvert. I appreciate routine and an environment where I have some level of control. Spending a lot of time in a room full of people isn’t my cup of tea. So, after a day full of teaching fifth graders, uttering greetings to colleagues that I pass in the hall, and putting students into their cars when they are picked up at the end of the day in the car-rider line, all I really want to do is go home, go for a run by myself, or sit down and relax. The fact that I have a nine year old daughter and a five year old son that don’t always have the same idea of a good time as I do means that my blissful afternoon decompression time doesn’t always materialize. But, overall, I can’t complain. I’ve got a decent job that, for the most part, I enjoy, I work with people that I like, and I love my wife and kids to pieces. It’s comfortable.
Taking all that I’ve said so far in consideration, I’d have to admit that I’m much more of a land-dweller than a seafarer. I like to have my feet kicked up and resting on a sturdy ottoman that sits upon a sturdy floor in my comfortable living room.
I’m learning, though, that God is a lot more like water than land. My father’s final two years were characterized by a lot of pain, frustration, stress, and fear. It was a period that could have been characterized as anything, but, comfortable. But, in the midst of that storm, as I rode upon waves in a boat that I’d not planned to be in, I experienced the love and compassion of many around me, the likes of which I’d never have know were it not for the rough seas around me that tossed my life, and even more so, my dad’s, around so violently.
In addition, I’ve learned lessons in the past year, in the midst of mourning, about the real and vibrant role that acts of faith can play in opening the door and allowing God’s beauty to flow in. The impact of His love on my life simply can’t be quantified. With eyes opened wider than ever before, I’m finding moments of grace and blessing in my life that I could’ve never dreamed of. Their cumulative force has brought me to the point where I am checking under every rock and looking at every face in anxious anticipation for what blessing will reveal itself next. But, I’m doing so knowing that the proportion to which God reveals his plan is often related to the extent to which I put comfort aside, move out of my cul-de-sac mentality, and get in the boat He has waiting at the dock for me. While I know that the waters I will float upon have the potential to become wild and stormy at any given moment, I have a growing faith that the journey that I take upon His water, water that is living, will be well-worth it.
As Josh Harmony sings in his song Paradox, “I know You enough to know to trust you with what I don’t…”
“God’s desire is that we get out into the open water, because it is there that the real relationship happens. A real relationship with God doesn’t happen in the harbor, safely tied up to the dock. The boat wasn’t made to stay tied to the dock; it was meant to sail in the open water.” -Mark Stuart, Hands And Feet Project director
“Thy word is a lamp unto my feet, and a light unto my path.” -Psalms 119:105