Scripture Reference: Matthew; Chapter 7

From a mountain The Good Shepherd speaks, and the crowd “is astonished at his teaching.” He captures the hearts of those in need—a grass roots approach that inspires a burdened flock of listeners to follow after him; a leper, a centurion whose servant is paralyzed and in torment, folks stricken with physical ailments; including those tortured by demons.

He enters the home of Peter where he discovers the disciple’s mother-in-law lying sick with a fever. It only takes one gentle touch of His hand to cool her body and dry her brow. Jesus is patient. He is kind. But it’s been a long day, and he’s grown tired after giving so much of himself and so seeks a place to rest his head, preferably alone.

[Fast forward.] Jesus is on a boat—with company, after the disciples spotted him on route to a little “me time.” (Mothers with toddlers can appreciate this scenario.) One yawn, and the Son of God sleeps. The wind kicks up. The sky grows dark, and the disciples grow nervous as the eyes of their Savior remain shut. I imagine the comments they made to one another: Don’t worry. He’ll open his eyes if and when there is cause for concern. Their affirmations hold up against the violent waves crashing against the boat until they tower up and over their heads. In my mind’s eye I see the disciples covered in water and worry and frantically waking Jesus. “Lord, save us! We are perishing!” Jesus opens one eye long enough to ask, “Why are you fearful, O you of little faith?” (Matt 8: 25-26.)

He tells the wind and the sea to knock it off, mutters something like can’t a man get any sleep around here, and the raging sea grows calm.

Here’s what this story means to me:

I worry at times. I try not to worry. The disciples tried not to worry. I could read this passage with “obnoxious piety” and question not only their faith, but their intelligence. I mean, come on guys! Look at Jesus’ track record: one miracle after another, and you’ve yet to trust him implicitly with your lives?

Truth is, I’ve been in that boat—and in that storm with Jesus. A disciple with a long list of miracles in my sweaty palm questioning if [He] is aware of the storm. The storm threatening to break my heart and my life and flood my iCalendar with so much water that nothing can restore my plans for tomorrow.

Irrational fear makes me forgetful and ungrateful. It tells me that Jesus is unaware—or worse, does not care when life-size storms drop softball sized hail over my hopes and dreams and fervent prayers. Irrational fear tells me that I am ALONE in the boat. No one is capable of understanding what I’m going through.

The enemy of my soul wants me to believe that if I don’t take matters into my own hands I will surely drown as my Savior sleeps. This is a lie. The eyes of God do not slumber. They are ever upon us. Thanks be to God when in the presence of Divine Mercy I opt out of panic and choose to rest with my Savior in the eye of the storm—with the eyes of my heart wide open.

Journal entry: 9.29.15
(A single mother developing my “sea-legs.”)

I lie in bed at night. Stare at the ceiling. I practice closing my eyes intermittently in an attempt to lasso the untamed “whys” that circle my bed in mid-air. I ponder; “the eyes of the Lord do not slumber” (Psalm 121: 1). Some nights this is enough for me. I let my mind go. My body follows; I sleep. Other times, I find rest in the assurance that I am not alone. I do not lie awake at the cruel tutelage of godless insomnia, rather in the promise of Divine Mercy. The promise to be held when human efforts fail and a life-long dream takes the shape of a nightmare.

When the sheer intensity of loss overtakes me, I ask God, who created me to love so passionately, to take hold of me. And I am held. I rest confidently in the assurance that the Savior of the world is alongside me—staring at the ceiling.

“In returning and rest you shall be saved; In quietness and confidence shall be your strength” (Isaiah 30:15b).

What is God saying to you? Grab a journal, friend!

Peace be with you,

Wendy