Our eldest son, Todd, is an avid surfer. He is drawn to the beach like I am drawn to the keyboard. Year long, he works his will to cross sandy beaches to wade in the salty surf, a piece of fiberglass tucked under his arm. Todd is through and through an Otter: playful, cute and adored by many. His amphibian ways amaze me as I watch him lead his young into the foamy sea, no sign of worry on his brow. Travis--his only son--takes to the water like his dad. Running as fast as his two-year-old legs will move him, he races past his sisters to ride on the tip of his father's board. Keeping to shallow water, the two surf on a single board with smiles as wide as the horizon. It is a wonderful sight to behold, their freedom upon the water. For I stand--my feet buried in the sand--with fear anchoring me to the shore. However, this wasn't always the case.
I have wonderful childhood memories of visits to my dad's house on the Long Beach peninsula. In those days,my sisters and I could be found at the beach from dawn until long past sunset. Hunger would finally turn our feet towards home. Sunburned, sandy and with ocean combed hair we padded into the house bursting with a day's length of stories to tell. Like the time we sent Julie, the youngest into the wild surf nestled in a blow-up canoe. I'll never forget the look of terror in her eyes as a giant swell loomed over her head and the dear little thing clutched the sides for dear life. Helpless we watch the wave crash down upon her, pitching the canoe high in the air. Never fearing she could have been swept out to sea, we searched the foam for sight of her. Once it was discovered she was safe and secure, we fought over who would go next!
I loved the ocean. I loved digging in the sand, soaring on the crest of a wave about to curl and gliding on foam till I beached like a whale. I travelled the length of the beach, journeyed out to the misty end of its jetty. I mocked the tide under stilted houses in search of crabs.(Note to fellow explorers, an octopus can quadruple in size when hoisted out of the water!) I sailed upon the sea, fished her depths and hunted her many creatures with a rod in my hand. I was my father's daughter if for no other reason that I enjoyed the sea.
Then...one day Julie and I discovered a five foot shark in the harbor. Fisherman had caught it the night before and cruelly cut out it's teeth. However, upon sighting it in two feet of water I declared it the deed of the day to rescue the poor creature. The plan was to move it into deeper water. Where in the world were my parents!
To make a long but adventurous story short, we took hold of the weakened creature, I at the head and Julie at the tail. We climbed upon the barrier wall separating the harbor and the bay and began to shimmy along the twelve inch wide surface fearless the two foot high start became nearly twenty at its end. We were determined. Yet, in the middle of our rescue mission, hysterical women took note of our work and began hollering for someone to save us. Now the spectacle of the bay, we questioned our heroic attempts while the lethargic shark began to stir. I think the shrill of the women agitated it: his mouth began slowly snapping in my hands. Now too far to abandon ship, we swayed with indecision. It was the sight of our Dad--racing like a road-runner down the beach--which caused us to ditch the plan. Charging down the bay, kicking up clouds of sand with his tongue tucked in the side of his mouth we knew we were in deep water. We quickly scurried back from which we came and dropped the shark onto a deathbed of sand. I still marvel that I held the head of a shark in my nine year old hands, balancing high above deep water and only feared my father's wrath.
As I write this I am amazed no trace of that courageous girl remains. Like a boat without a sail or rudder, she was somehow lost at sea.
For shortly after this shark adventure I had two others. One was on the big screen: our Dad remarkably thought his little beach bums would like JAWS! The other took place in the waves. Frozen with new found terror, I and a protective lifeguard watched as a baby blue shark--too close for comfort--slowly passed us by. My days of swimming in the ocean were over. I was now beached with fear.
Tragically, the efforts of a single man...we'll call him Steven Spielberg introduced me to fear. Before that stupid movie, I saw only the beauty and wonder of the ocean. Had I not seen man chomped on by great white jaws I'm certain I would have been thrilled by my close encounter. Nonetheless, my vision was changed and today I only see teeth and blood when my feet are in the water.
Which brings me finally to today's devotion. Oswald asks us the question, "Are you looking at God?" The picture of Peter climbing out of the boat and walking on water came to mind as I pondered what happens when we keep our eyes on Jesus. The idea that we can follow Jesus anywhere--even upon the surface of the sea when we keep our eyes focused on Him--drew me in. What a thrill it must have been to defy the laws of nature and tread where no man had gone before. What puzzles me about this story is Peter's response in the midst of the miracle. Peter was a man of the sea. He was a fisherman by trade. He spent his days and nights drifting upon the water all the while casting his nets. I find it fascinating this bold, brash seaman was suddenly afraid of the wind. Certainly, he had weathered storms in the open waters. What then could have shaken his confidence on the water or weighted him with fear until he began to sink?
I believe Peter sank because he trusted more in the boat than the Savior. Out with Jesus upon the water Peter would have to trust the unknown. Stripped of any earthly security or knowledge he had only his faith to keep him afloat. Tragically, he knew more of the ferocious winds on the Sea of Galilee than the God who created them.
Peter's knowledge of the winds power upstaged the goodness of God. Had Peter paused to consider his situation perhaps this story would have been different. Taking time to realize that Jesus was for him and not against him might have defeated his fear. For as he sank into the waves he cried out, "Lord, save me!" (Matthew 14:30). Peter's plea for Jesus to save him tells me he knew Jesus could. That means Peter must have feared not the wind, but Jesus faithfulness not to leave him or forsake him.
If I am correct in my assumption (and this is an assumption), I absolutely understand Peter's plight. I know Jesus, I have experienced his saving hand many times. I know he loves me and seeks to bless me. So why have I allowed fear to steal a childhood joy? I confess there is only one answer.
"Immediately Jesus reached out his hand and caught him. 'You of little faith,' he said, 'why did you doubt?" (Matthew 14:31).
I am doubting God's faithfulness when I refuse to go in the water! God is the same today as he was when I was nine. The same love and kindness which protected me years ago covers me still. My hyper attempts to prevent my becoming shark bait have become a wall between my Savior and I: a wall built over thirty-three years. I can see the Lord racing towards me...kicking up a cloud of sand. This father stretches his hands out to save me and I in response do not fear his wrath.
Jesus, forgive me! You have opened my eyes to my "little faith." How quick you were to rescue Peter. "Immediately," you reached out your hand,(Matthew 14:31). I pray you will give me courage to trust your hand on land and water! Until I do so, you are not truly Lord of my life. Bring back my childhood courage...the Tracy who loved the sea.
I think again of Todd and Travis in the water: a picture of peace as they surf the waves. A visual of a father teaching his son to fully trust his Savior. What a beautiful thing. What amazing faith!
I tremble as I type these words...
Todd...I think it's time I went surfing!
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