A Solo Row

It is dark. Darker than dark. The blinding black is more than you can take. You feel antsy. It's time to make a move; you can't stand it any longer.

The old wood creaks as you step from the shore into into the small rowboat. Waves slosh against the side, responding to your movement in the boat. A breeze glides across the water's surface and weaves its way into your nostrils, chilling your face. You inhale deeply, your lungs filling with the fresh, cool air.

The oars slip easily into your hands, their woodgrain smoothed from years of handling. The muscles in your arms quickly attune to the rowing rhythm. Stroke, stroke, stroke, rest. Repeat. It feels good, invigorating even, to be doing something. Anything, at this point.

After a while, you realize you have made significant progress. Maybe three or more miles from the shore now. It shouldn't be much longer until you reach the other side of these waters and can get on with your plans.

Suddenly, out of nowhere, a windstorm like you've never experienced before kicks up out of the hills beyond. Instantly, the waves begin rocking the tiny boat. The churning water begins to slosh into the hull. Your breathing becomes staccato, your hands trembling. How do I navigate this? How foolish I was to do this by myself! Anxious thoughts come rushing in like the water. Time seems to slow down. The unfolding disaster is inching forward in slow motion. Through howling winds, the rough waters issue threats to overtake you and batter the wood to splinters.

Jesus is nowhere to be found. You had, after all, left without him. He had disappeared by himself to a mountain back onshore. What was I supposed to do? 

You're far, far away from the shore where you put out from. You thought you knew where you were going, so certain were your strokes. Until now. The doubts rush in just like the raging sea spray, stinging your face. You wonder if you will even survive this.

You can't recall exactly why you left. Why you left without him. You thought he wanted you to go on ahead of him, to get across this water and carry on his work at the next stop. You thought you could do it. Hadn't he called you and given you authority to do his work?

 I can't do this, Jesus! Where are you? This is too much for me. Help me! Save me from this mess! Tears of despair and fear run down your cheeks.

Wiping a forearm across your face, you squint your eyes. Something catches your eye moving out across the choppy waves, catching the dim moonlight. What is that? you wonder. Whatever it is, it is coming closer and closer to the edge of the boat. Eyes wide, your shaky fingers clench around the oars as your only defense. You feel your stomach drop.

"It's me. It's alright. Don't be afraid."

Jesus. His voice is unmistakable.

How in the world...? There is Jesus, standing before you, on top of the water. It simply doesn't register. Yet there he stands, unfazed, wind and waves whirling around him. He could just as well have been standing back on the mountainside, or sitting down eating lunch, he looks so calm.

Reflexively, your hand willingly shoots out to invite him on board the small skiff. His hand clasps around yours in a firm grip as he steps into the boat. As he sits down across from you, everything goes still and silent. Not one churn of the water, not one breezy swish of the wind.

He looks you in the eye, peering into your very soul.

"Faint-heart, what got into you?" He asks gently.

You are speechless. It is true, you did lose faith. You did think you could do this on your own.

Suddenly you both lurch forward as the rowboat runs aground. You've made it. You've reached the shore where you were heading all along. Jesus stands up and offers you his hand to steady you as you step out of the boat. He gets out beside you, and together you pull the boat up onto the beach. There is a crescent moon tonight and the blueish light illuminates the shoreline.

It's hard to believe that just moments ago you feared you would die alone in the middle of a storm of waves and wind. Jesus drapes an arm over your shoulder and playfully pulls you close to him, an impish smile peeking from behind his beard. It is too dark to see his eyes well, but they are probably sparkling. They are captivating and seeing them never gets old. For all of your doubts and pride, he never holds it against you. That you called out to him in the midst of the storm filled his heart afresh.

And you know, more than ever now, he will never desert you, even when he sends you out.

(John 6:16-21)