off the boat

Over early morning long-distance coffee, my friend said to me, "I wish there was something more practical I could do." We had been chatting for about a half an hour by that point, and had covered lots of ground. Catching up on the phone early in the morning has a way of speeding things up; reducing the small talk. Then again, neither of us is particularly fond of small talk. 

My response to her came after an image flashed in my mind. An image of a boat on the water. A boat I know well. All the other times I'd pictured this boat, I couldn't figure out what the heck I was looking for, trying to see - or feel. I quit thinking actively about this boat sometime over the summer because I really just felt like the boat was where I belonged - whether the sea was calm or tempestuous, I felt safe, comfortable, and warm there. 

Early in the fall, the boat disappeared entirely and I found myself bobbing in the sea like a cork, or being thrown around like flotsam and jetsam, or trying desperately to tread water while being pulled from below. Yet I still felt that sense of safety, surety. I knew, as Psalm 40 begins, that God would reach down to lift me up, would put my feet on solid rock, would be my anchor and grappling hook in one. 

That morning, the image I saw was of the boat. More precisely, an image of me about to step off the boat - with that same feeling that it was exactly the right place and time. But there was something more. 

Every time I've heard about Peter stepping out of the boat to walk to Jesus, the story has only been about the two of them and what the events after Peter's first steps said about his relationship with Jesus, his faith, the guarantee the Jesus would help and protect us the way he did Peter. But more recently I noticed that first Peter says "if it is you..." (Mt 14:28) He says if. That got me thinking about the doubts he had before he even left the boat. I'd always understood that he began to doubt after he started walking, then noticed the bad weather, taking his eyes off Jesus. (Interestingly, unless it's because I don't read scripture in Greek, I don't see any specific reference to Peter taking his eyes off Jesus. I digress, but it does apply. You'll see.) Maybe that had something to do with me leaving the boat in dry dock for a while. 

My friend's words brought the image back in full color. Only what struck me was the group of people in the boat. My group of people. I realized there had to have been some kind of something going on in the boat behind Peter. I'll never forget the retreat where we examined the feelings we share with Jesus - one of which was frustration with Peter. ("We all have that one friend...") Every time Peter got a concept, he'd turn around and say something that made Jesus do the old face palm. Yet Peter was loved and trusted. Peter loved and trusted. His question of "if" is quite valid when I remember that every relationship is negotiable. When he stepped out of that boat, undoubtedly the others felt something. In that moment, with my coffee cup in one hand and my phone in the other, I saw them all encouraging him, supporting him, because that's what my people were doing in my boat. Rooting for progress; loving, cheering, praying for success. 

And I realized the boat wasn't all that necessary. It, too, is just stuff. The people in it, those who love enough to be honest in their encouragement, they are what matters. The exact opposite of flotsam and jetsam. I am the complete opposite of flotsam and jetsam. 

I am on the water with an anchor of my own that I also share with an abundance of others.