MOVING THE ANCIENT BOUNDARIES

So how are you managing the preparations, shopping, and joy of the Season? Staying afloat atop the increasing swells or wishing they would swallow you—then afraid they might?

Are the red flags of storm warnings unfurling in your spirit tonight? Or are you traumatized by the tsunami of tragedy 2013 is depositing along the shoreline of your life?

For thirteen years the holidays have been difficult for me. In those first years, after we lost so many of our family members, I wanted to curl up in bed the week before Thanksgiving and remain comatose ‘til the week after New Years. But, be encouraged if on-the-outside-looking-in is a new thing for you—it will get better. Much better. However, it takes time and a determination to reach your destination.

The first step along this journey toward healing is make a plan. My husband and I planned and spent Thanksgiving weekend on Galveston Island this year. We had not been there since the hurricane of 2008 did so much damage to the island. Five years later there are still traces of the storm’s damage, but the island has cleaned up the debris, repaired the destruction caused by the storm, and is moving forward.

Just like we must do when storms ravage our lives.

For three days I watched tankers and freighters travel in and out of the Port of Houston. These enormous workhorses of the sea sliced the water in silence, leaving large wakes as evidence of their passing.

Just like we move in silence through the holidays, smiling on the outside, but knowing grief has left a seemingly never-ending-wake-of-sorrow in our heart. But wakes don’t last forever. They eventually ebb and are absorbed by the changing tide.

I watched fancy sailboats maneuver around these large ships. Their sails catching the wind and pushing them quickly over the white caps. Wouldn’t we love to be like those sail boats? Zipping here and there, turning on a dime, dressed in beautiful colors against the sky and sea. But these fragile boats are built for calm waters and gentle breezes.

Just like we were before trials and tribulations became part of our vocabulary.

The tankers moved steadily across the bay waters into the Port of Houston. Sitting low in the water upon arrival yet taller when their mission was accomplished. Dark, rusty hulls marked each ship from the battering of oil and salty waves. They moved in soldier lines, waiting their turn, then departing in the same manner. The object of their journey? Getting to the other side.

Just like our journey on this earth—we too are traveling to the other side. Sometimes across calm waters, but more often across oceans filled with swells and storms. Our objective is the same as these powerful ships—getting to the other side.

In years past we’ve all been like those snazzy little sail boats, pretty on the outside but no inner strength, no power to endure lashing assaults from the deep, no thought of God’s purpose for our life.

God knows we must be transformed into ocean worthy vessels. Vessels engineered to maneuver safely through storms, weighted by the filling of the Holy Spirit. Guided by the compass of God’s comfort and love. Protected by His mercy and grace until He calms the turbulent waters.

How does this transformation happen? One swell, one gale wind, one raging storm at a time. Paul tells us in the first chapter of Romans: “The righteousness of God is revealed from faith to faith.” Surviving a storm teaches us that God is faithful in the midst of every storm and He will see us through the next storm too. And the next…and the next. Because we don’t develop courage and strength paddling around in the secure mirrored waters of a lagoon.

Like those freighters lined up in the bay, waiting their turn to go into the Port of Houston, our position in the residue from the storms of life is to do the next thing.

The morning after our daughter died I couldn’t get out of bed. My husband picked up the telephone and called my prayer partner.

Barbara prayed for me as I lay there sobbing, depleted of strength, my heart breaking. Then she said, “DiAne it’s time to get up. Your family needs you.”

“I can’t.” I wailed.

Her quiet, steady voice instructed, “You must. Roll over and put your feet on the floor.”

And I did the next thing. I groaned, rolled over, and put my feet on the floor. Your next thing may be as simple as putting clothes in the washing machine or brushing your teeth.

“Now I want you to remember,” she explained, “God will see you through what He already knows you must go through. But, He never gives you the ticket ‘til you’re ready to get on the train.” And thirteen years later, I’ve come to understand God has an unending ticket supply, tickets given to me, to you at the exact moment we need to do the next thing.

So, dear one, whatever the state of your mind and heart this evening, however strong the gale, however deep the pain and wreckage of your heart, however flustered you are, remember God will give you the strength, wisdom, knowledge and ability to move forward to accomplish your next thing.

You were created to travel stormy seas and to carry heavy loads, but He is right beside you, ticket in hand, even when you don’t see or hear Him. And He will carry you to the other side—from faith to faith.

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