There are many things running through my head this morning: the miracle of life; the pain of loss; the antibiotics and bacteria they are trying to kill; the overwhelming amount of things to do at work; hymns and songs for tonight’s practice, Palm Sunday, Good Friday, and Easter; women’s retreat music; the incompetence of some insurance company nurses; Bible study; friends in tough situations…  Like I said, many things.  And yet, through all of this, one bridge of a song keeps coming to mind:

So I’ll stand

With arms high and heart abandoned

In awe of the one who gave it all

So I’ll stand

My soul Lord to you surrendered

All I am is Yours.  

Let me try to put into cohesive words some of this, and maybe it will make sense to me when it’s all said and done, but more than that, I pray it brings you hope, no matter what you are going through.

I woke up this morning to my jarring buzzer telling me it was time to hook up one of my IVs.  I promptly hit the off button, and rolled out of bed.  I started the med and got breakfast, and sat down with my vest on.  I looked at my phone, and saw that I had some facebook notifications.  The first one was two pictures of my dear friend’s newborn baby and me from last weekend.  I smiled and thanked God for this miracle of life, this week-old child who brings such joy to so many people.  The next notification had to do with a status I posted yesterday of an incompetent insurance company nurse.  A quick thanks to all of you who have brought smile and laughter through this person’s frustrating incompetence.

After getting to work this morning, I pulled out my phone, and saw two missed calls from my dad. I had a feeling that I knew what the call was about, and so I called him back to find that, in fact, I had been right.  Early this morning, my great uncle Kenneth passed away.  As my dad always said, he had the heart of a saint and the mind of a child.  I can remember many, many phone calls from Kenneth.  Always short conversations, but you always knew that he loved you.  Sometimes he would call and want to talk to mom, other times it would be dad, and when I was home for breaks, he always said hi to me and asked how I was.  He always asked how the pets were, and if he forgot to ask about one, he called back and asked about the ones he forgot.  Although I never knew Kenneth very well, I was always struck by how like Christ he was.  He loved everyone, no matter what, and never complained about his situation.  I am truly grateful to have known such a wonderful man, who will be missed by many.

This and all the other things running through my head bring me back to the lyrics above, from Hillsong’s The Stand.  Sometimes in this life, it is difficult to stand.  It’s easier to fall down to the ground and stay there.  And yes, we need to be brought to our knees sometimes to cry out to God, but we are not called to lie prostrate and let the world just go on around us.  We’re called to be in the world, yet not of it.  We’re called to be light and salt and hope to those in this world.  We are called to be the body of Christ.  So we stand.  And we put one foot in front of the other.  But we stand, with arms high and heart abandoned, reaching out to a God who knows our fears, tears, and grins.  A God who reaches out His hands to us, and catches us when we fall.  So I’ll stand, my soul Lord to you surrendered.  All I am is Yours.

All I am is Yours.  ALL.  The good, the bad, the struggles, the triumphs, the things I understand and the things I don’t, the miracle of life, the sting of death and yet the knowledge that he is in a better place, the insecurities and the music.  Everything I have been, am, and will be, I give to You.  Lord, all I am is Yours.

Walking up the stairs and down the hall reminds me that I went 13.1 miles on Sunday.  But Sunday wasn’t so much about a good finish time or a race, as it was about friendship, faith, and finishing.

Mile 0: One of the things that I have always loved about this race is that it supports a cause that directly affects my life.  This year, the Rock CF foundation was able to raise over $77,000 for CF research.  There were over 2,000 runners, and there were 12 runners there with CF.  To see so many people come out and support me and others – it means so much.  I am truly grateful for all of you.  It always seems like a daunting feat when you start: 13.1 miles.  Thirteen point one.  That’s a lot for me.

Mile 1: Dodging potholes on the street, the sun shining in the sky and the ‘beautiful’ Detroit skyline just across the river.

Mile 2:  I looked at one of my friends running with me and asked, “Remind me again why we’re doing this?”  His answer nearly brought me to tears.  “Well, you see, there’s this girl at church.  And she has CF.  And she asked me one day if I would run a half marathon with her and another friend to help raise money to help those people with CF, like her.  And I said yes.  I could make up a better story, but that’s the truth.”   In just those few sentences, my friends reminded me that I was not alone.  I never have been alone in all of this, and God has surrounded me with His people to encourage and uplift me when I need it.

Mile 3: For most of my life, I have hidden my CF, kept it a secret as best I could.  I can’t do that anymore because I’ve realized that God has called me to have a voice.  And yet, after hiding it for so long, seeing signs everywhere and practically being hit in the face with it at this race, it’s still hard.

Mile 4: Sometimes it’s hard to make it through the day, but I’m never making it through alone.  God gives me the strength to get up each morning, and surrounds me with people who make it easier. Thank you.

Mile 5: We were joined by our moral support for a little while, who ran with us for a little bit and brought smiles to our faces.  They also complained about being cold.

Mile 6: The sign that told us we had completed six miles had a sponsor listed beneath it.  I don’t remember the family name, but I do remember the verse.  “Let us run with perseverance the race marked out for us.”  It’s not surprising to me that many people who battle terminal illnesses are believers.  But it’s always encouraging to hear and see others living out their faith alongside the rest of us.

Mile 7: Over halfway!!!

Mile 8: To my parents, thank you for raising me to be the woman I am today.  You have always been there for me, no matter what and I am so grateful.

Mile 9: To my siblings, I know it hasn’t always been easy to live with a sister who’s sick.  But you have shown me the meaning of family and I am so proud of both of you, and so excited to see where God takes you both.

Mile 10: We were joined again by our moral support for a little bit.  It was so good to have these two friends along!

Mile 11: To the person who knows me better than anyone else, thank you for believing in me.  I am so thankful that you are a part of my life, and I couldn’t be more grateful that God knows what he’s doing.  Thank you!

Mile 12: To all of you reading this, thank you.  Thank you for everything that you have done, said, been…thank you.

Mile 13: I can see the finish line!!!!

Mile 13.1: I crossed the finish line, hand in hand with my two friends who completed it with me.  And on the other side were two people who had been there to support us.  Crossing that finish line was the goal.  It was about all I could handle on Sunday.  But I didn’t cross that finish line by myself.  So many of you have supported me over the years, and I cannot express with words how thankful I am.  You have supported me when I am sick, and when I am well.  You have given your time and resources and love to someone who can never repay you the way she wants to.  Thank you.

To my friends who ran this race with me, thank you.  Your friendship means more than you will ever know.  Thank you for sticking with me for the entire 13.1 miles and making me laugh and reminding me that it is okay to just cross the finish line.  Thank you, thank you, thank you.

To my friends who came with me to the race, thank you.  Thank you for bringing smiles to our faces when you found us on the course.  Thank you for your support and your words of encouragement.  Thank you for believing in me and trusting that I could do this, even when I am sick.  Thank you, thank you, thank you.

To my friends and family who supported this cause through prayer, money, and encouragement, thank you.  Your support means more to me than I can ever say.  Thank you.

There are no words that I can say to express how thankful I am to all of you.  You mean the world to me.

Today I get another PICC line for IV antibiotics.  And it’s going to be another 13.1 mile (perhaps longer) long haul.  But I know that God will bring me through and that this too will pass.  Thank you for your continued prayers and support.  I am beyond grateful.

I’ve had this browser window open all day, trying to find the words to say.  I’ve had so many things occupying my thoughts today and I don’t know if I can even begin to put some of them into words.  But, here’s to trying.

I’ve been on my knees a lot lately.  And that’s where I should be, all the time.  But too often, we only find ourselves on our knees, crying out to God when things are difficult.  I’m as guilty of it as the next person.  It’s taken a lot of crap from this life to drive me to my knees this time, and perhaps if I’d been there all along, I wouldn’t be so surprised.

Over the past few months, I’ve been struggling to resist the lies that the devil has been feeding me: You’re not good enough to lead a Bible study – there are so many more capable than you.  You’re not good enough to lead worship on Sundays or at the Women’s retreat in May – you can’t do this.  You’re not good enough to be accepted, loved, respected, or even liked – why would anyone care about you.  You’re not good enough to be an encouragement to anyone – for goodness sakes, you don’t have it all together, you don’t have anything together.  You’re not good enough to be alive – everyone would be better off if you weren’t.

These lies and others have driven me to my knees more times than I can count in the last few months.  And admitting that I have believed them has driven me to spend even longer on my knees, crying out to my Father.  Father in heaven, take these lies away, replace them with your truths.  Lord, help me not to believe these lies again.  I thought I was stronger than that.  Daily, hourly, I cried to God asking Him to take these lies away, to fill the space with His word, His truth.  And He did, every time.  But it’s been a continuing battle, and will continue to be so.

You’re my child, He says.  And I have given you this Bible study to lead humbly, and alongside others who see things that you don’t.  I have given you this worship to lead because I will be seen through it.  You are accepted, loved, respected, and liked – by many people, not the least of whom is me.  You have so much to give to others, and you give encouragement even when you aren’t feeling encouraged yourself.  You don’t have to have it all together – I shine much brighter through you when you don’t.  And clearly you’re good enough to be alive, because I haven’t called you home yet.  You, my child, are loved.

I will continue to be driven to my knees, day after day, month after month, and year after year.  Even after these lies have ceased and others surface, I will still be driven to my knees.  Because my Heavenly Father is truth.  He is love.  And I need that desperately.

If I had to summarize in a few words my trip to ACS national in Dallas these past few days, I would say that I saw God.

I saw God in…

the lightning that struck our plane.  Yes, our plane got struck by lightning.  [It feels like you got hit by something huge, do a bungee jump in the air, and there’s a loud noise and bright light.]  And yet, I saw God’s power, and His magnificence.  I was reminded of God’s grace as well, when we finally landed safely.

the science.  I saw some incredible science over the past few days.  Things that related directly to what I’m doing, and things that are completely unrelated, but still really awesome.  I saw people collaborating on ideas and experiments so that we can discover new things and enhance the scientific community.  I saw people become excited about the work that they (and by extension, their students) are doing.  I saw people get excited about what I was presenting.  And I’m now more excited to do science and see where this road takes me.  I saw the beauty of proteins, the complexity of DNA, the nanoscale materials and syntheses that are changing the face of medicine, the intricate organic synthesis that is leading to better drugs, the polymer chemistry that is enabling nanoparticle drug delivery, and the analytical techniques that are giving us more information about what we are creating and studying and doing.

the people.  I saw God through some of the most incredible people this week.  Not only those scientists who are trying to make something new or better, to fix a problem or cure a disease, but in those who smiled on their way to the expo, and those who said hello on the streets, or those who paused to talk to me at my poster.  I saw God through the friend who talked to me honestly about his next steps in life and his last year in undergrad.  I saw God in the students I studied with at Gordon who welcomed me back into their lives for a few days, genuinely curious about my life, and letting me in to theirs.  I saw God in the students who were at this meeting for the first times, the ones who will carry on the legacy of Chemistry at Gordon, and when they welcomed me with open arms though they did not know me.  And I saw God in the professor who spent time asking about my life since Gordon and taking time out of his busy schedule to let God’s light shine through him.

home.  I saw God through the people I came home to – even the ones I haven’t seen yet.  After an incredible conference, it is good to be home, with my friends and family and colleagues, through whom I continue to see God every day.  I pray that I will never stop seeing Him work through people, and that I will always be His vessel to use for others too.

The group of students from Gordon College, along with myself (an alumnus) and the professor who brought this group.

On Sunday, we were looking in Sunday School at a passage in 2 Corinthians.  I’ve pasted it below so that you can read it.  2 Corinthians 1:3-11 (NIV):

3 Praise be to the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, the Father of compassion and the God of all comfort, 4 who comforts us in all our troubles, so that we can comfort those in any trouble with the comfort we ourselves receive from God. 5 For just as we share abundantly in the sufferings of Christ, so also our comfort abounds through Christ. 6 If we are distressed, it is for your comfort and salvation; if we are comforted, it is for your comfort, which produces in you patient endurance of the same sufferings we suffer. 7 And our hope for you is firm, because we know that just as you share in our sufferings, so also you share in our comfort.

8 We do not want you to be uninformed, brothers and sisters, about the troubles we experienced in the province of Asia. We were under great pressure, far beyond our ability to endure, so that we despaired of life itself. 9 Indeed, we felt we had received the sentence of death. But this happened that we might not rely on ourselves but on God, who raises the dead. 10 He has delivered us from such a deadly peril, and he will deliver us again. On him we have set our hope that he will continue to deliver us, 11 as you help us by your prayers. Then many will give thanks on our behalf for the gracious favor granted us in answer to the prayers of many.

The way that we talked about this passage on Sunday centered around God delivering us from situations that were uncomfortable so that we would be comfortable and able to comfort others, that God makes everything turn out “good”, comfortable, and perfect.  I’d like to challenge that premise.

Let me throw a scenario out there to you.  A friend has been recently diagnosed with cancer.  What do you think is going to comfort him or her more?  A) A friend who has never had medical problems of any sort telling them that God will heal them because He has promised to comfort us so that we can comfort others.  B) A friend who has a child with cancer who says that everything happens for a reason and we just have to trust that God knows what He’s doing.  C) A friend who has cancer, undergoing treatment, who says that God has promised to comfort us in everything; that doesn’t mean he’s going to take away the cancer and heal you, but that He will hold you up through all of it, such that someday, you’ll look back and see why.

I’ll let you decide who you’d rather hear from, but I’m going to throw my two cents in there.  I’d rather hear option C.  It’s real.  It’s honest.  And it’s comforting to know that someone else is going through this too.  I don’t think that the comfort Paul is talking about here equals complete healing (emotionally, physically, or otherwise).  Yes, I believe that God can heal every affliction, soften every heart, and cure every cancer.  But He doesn’t.  Because sometimes the comfort that others need, comes from a life just as broken, just as frayed at the edges, and hurting in the same way that they are.  I don’t think Paul is saying that everything is going to turn out good and that we will have to be physically or emotionally comfortable in order to be able to comfort others (pretty sure that thorn in his side prevented that for him).  I think the most helpful comfort comes from sincerity, love, and mutual brokenness.  You don’t have to have cancer to comfort someone with cancer.  But you do have to be human.  You have to be willing to listen and feel and love and help in any way you can.  That’s comforting.

And here’s the other thing that’s definitely true in my life:  God uses ALL things for His glory.  Not just the good things.  He uses the broken, the hurting, the sinning, the sick, the less fortunate – all for HIS glory.  He’s used my sickness in more ways that I can count, and in more magnitude than I ever could have imagined.  And my testimony would not be the same if He had chosen to heal me.  It would still be a testimony to His glory, but I think that the comfort I have received from Christ and His instruments here on earth have enabled me to be able to comfort others in many more situations and places than otherwise.

I know my thoughts are still kind of jumbled on this page, but I’m going to let you read them anyway.  Feel free to comment.

In just over a month, I will be running (for the second time) in the Rock CF Half Marathon.  I’ve decided to help raise funds to support research this year.  If you would like to help support me, please follow the link below!  Thank you for your support, in any way that you can give!

http://www.crowdrise.com/swimmingforhim/fundraiser/kristenentwistle

Up until last week, I’ve never told anyone explicitly what that guy five years ago said to me, let alone tell nearly 150 people in a public talk.  But something amazing happened last week when I did.

From the moment that I was asked to speak, I knew what I was supposed to say.  There was never any doubt in my mind that this is what I supposed to share with these women.  Preparing for the brunch, I was nervous.  It wasn’t that I was afraid of how it was going to be received, or about speaking, or about who was listening, but that this was going to be difficult for me.  I felt that if I said it out loud, it was real, and I didn’t want it to be.  I didn’t want to relive that part of my life again.  But I knew that God would give me strength to get through it, and he would use it for his glory.  There were a number of friends and family who also helped during this time by lifting me up in prayer and encouraging me.  (Thank you!)

And so, the morning of the brunch, I was still nervous.  And when I started speaking, I started getting choked up – which I wasn’t expecting.  I thought I could get through it without being affected, without remembering that it had happened like it was yesterday.  That’s why I spoke about most of it in the third person – it was easier.  But I didn’t think it was going to be that hard.

After it was all said and done and I was finally in the car with only me, myself and I did I get a chance to think about everything.  And what I realized was incredible.  I hadn’t even realized that I was holding on to what he had said.  And the part that really gets me: I realized that the reason I held onto it was because I thought that he might be right.  Maybe I couldn’t be good enough or pretty enough or smart enough or worth anything.  Maybe he was right.

But he wasn’t.  Because the outpouring of love and support and encouragement that I have received from my church family has taught me that he was not right.  And I don’t ever have to relive that moment again, because I have been set free from it.  It doesn’t matter anymore.  Because I am defined by Christ, my security is in Christ, and if I’ve learned anything in the last whirlwind two weeks, it is that He has perfect timing, and a plan that I couldn’t ever begin to fathom.  And I’m so, so grateful.

God has been calling me lately to step out of my comfort zone, to reach beyond where I feel comfortable, and to trust Him to do the work that my imperfect words cannot.  This morning was one of those times.  Some weeks ago, I had been asked to share a little bit of my story at the women’s brunch, where the theme was A different kind of love.  I accepted, and, for those of you who wanted it, here is what I said.

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I imagine that many of you grew up as I did: hearing fairy tales of epic proportions, beautiful princesses getting the prince, the handsome prince Charming riding in to save the day on a white horse… but as my dad would say, prince charming is a myth, and you’d have nowhere to keep the horse. I’d like to tell you a fairy tale of sorts this morning, but one that ends with a God who loves you and me more than we could ever imagine.

Once upon a time, there was a young girl born, firstborn to her parents.  They were overjoyed that their baby girl was a part of their life, but soon they saw that the fairy tale wasn’t all they had hoped.  Their little girl, at 3 months old, was diagnosed with a terminal illness.  Her parents were given dozens of medications, an appointment to a specialist, and a life expectancy of less than 20.  Her parents decided to raise her like they would any other child: and they went on to have two more, both very healthy.  As the little girl grew up, she realized that she was different.  But she tried her very hardest to fit in, to be normal.  She wasn’t particularly pretty, or smart, or popular.  She was always sick, but she tried not to let it bother her, or others.  She didn’t want pity, and she didn’t want people to see her differently.  The girl grew up.  Quickly.  She had a real sense of how short life is; by the time she graduated high school, her life expectancy was in the mid 30s.  As she entered her senior year of high school, just like pretty much any other girl, she wanted a boy to ask her to prom.  One day, her dream came true.  Soon a friendship turned into something more.  They went two different places for college, but talked about getting married afterwards, having kids, moving on with their lives.  But after she learned that he had cheated on her again, as a sophomore in college, she called it quits.  As he walked away from that cold metal bench in the park where they had shared so many memories, he said, “You’re not worth anything because you’re going to die young.  How could anyone love you?  You’re not good enough.”  Her heart in pieces on the ground, the devil started to use this boy’s words to taunt her.  How could anyone love me?  She asked.  I’m just a girl with an early expiration date.  No one really wants me.  And let’s face it, I’m going to die young, so what can I really do in my short time here on earth?

If you haven’t guessed by now, I’m the girl in the story.

Through the years, these words have surfaced again and again in many different situations: on the drive home after watching an incredible couple get married, after never being asked to dance at another wedding, after never being asked out again after high school, after watching so many younger than me have what I may never have.

I am loved by a God who created this world, all of its beauty and all of its joy.  He came to earth and lived a short life and then he died.  He was raised again and is preparing a place for me where there will be no more pain, no more suffering, no more sickness, no more grief. When he came to this earth, he said, I love you.  And I love you this much: he stretched out his arms and died.  For me.  To me, and to you, he says, you are worth everything to me.  Everything.  I love you.  And my love never fails, it never gives up, it never runs out on me.

If you have the privilege to be loved by someone here on earth, you are blessed.  If you don’t, well, you are still blessed.  Because His love is different.  His love is everlasting.  No matter what you’ve done or what you’ve said, He loves you.  No matter how many men have told you that you are worthless, you are priceless to him.  No matter how many mistakes you have made, His love will never leave you.  I love you this much, he said.

The song I’m going to sing for you this morning is one of my favorites right now.  It’s based off of a story found in the gospel of Matthew, when Jesus tells his disciples to go out on the boat and wait for him.  Now, if I were one of the disciples, I would of expected Jesus to come out on a boat.  But instead, He walks on water.  As the disciples see him, they are afraid and think he is a ghost.  Jesus calls out to them and says, “It is I.  Do not be afraid.”  Peter, one of the disciples says, “If it’s really you Lord, tell me to come to you on the water.”  Jesus says, “Come.”  Peter has the courage to get out of the boat.  As he walks toward Jesus on the water, he looks down, and sees the waves crashing around his feet and cries out, “Lord, help me I’m drowning!”  Jesus reaches out his hand and says, “Oh you of little faith.  Why did you doubt?”  I want to get out of the boat.  I want to fix my eyes on Jesus, and when the waves are crashing around my feet, the doubts and fears crawling back in, I want to look back up at Jesus and take his hand, and have faith.  This song is called Oceans, Where feet may fail.

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Without God, these would have been just empty words.  But God showed up in a big way today, and I’m so grateful.  Thank you to all of you who prayed for me throughout this day and the weeks previous.  If you’d like to see the video of the song I sang, email me and I’ll send it your way.  But for now I’ll leave you with a picture of some of my Bible Study group who was there today, supporting me and praying for me.  Thanks so much ladies, and I am so blessed to call you all my friends.

As many of my posts, this one is again inspired by a song, and a verse that my friend pointed me to yesterday when I really needed it.

It’s easy for many of us to become worn down by the things of this life – the things that are hard, unfair, difficult, and exhausting (physically and mentally).  I’ve certainly been worn down lately – by the heartbreaking situation that two of my friends find themselves in, by the difficulties another friend has been  having at work, by the health challenges I’m currently facing, by the health challenges of an aging family member, by the challenges facing another friend and her kids, by being alone.  Let me make something abundantly clear before you keep reading: I want to know what my friends are struggling with, how to pray  for them, and how I can help.  I want you to keep telling me these things, and expecting that I will listen and pray for you.

Right now I am just worn down.  Listen to this and tell me it doesn’t ring some bells in your life, now or in the past.

I’m Tired I’m worn My heart is heavy From the work it takes To keep on breathing Sometimes literally…
I’ve made mistakes So many of them….
I’ve let my hope fail My soul feels crushed By the weight of this world

And I know that you can give me rest Oh how I want that rest, true rest.
So I cry out with all that I have left It may not be much, but I cry out with everything I have left.

Let me see redemption win
Let me know the struggle ends
That you can mend a heart
That’s frail and torn
I wanna know a song can rise
From the ashes of a broken life
And all that’s dead inside can be reborn
Cause I’m worn

My life is broken, and I need to know that good can come of it.  I’ve seen it time and time again, but sometimes I lose hope that this is all worth it.  That it is worth it to let people into the deepest parts of my life and let them see that I am not perfect, that I struggle just like anyone else.

I know I need to lift my eyes up But I’m too weak Life just won’t let up I can’t do any of this in my own strength – I have to rely on God to get through not only each day, but each hour.

So, heaven come and flood my eyes Let me see that there is a light in the dark world, that in some small way, my light can join with others to shine brightly, no matter how dim my light feels right now.  Give me a glimpse here on this earth that something better is coming.  Help me to trust You, no matter what life throws my way.  For I know that you are my Rock eternal, and that you are working in my life for your glory, even if it’s hard to see right now.  Even though I’m worn right now, I trust You to give me strength to keep putting one foot in front of the other, day after day.
Take heart, my friends, for He is the everlasting God, the one in whom we trust, who will sustain us even in the most difficult of times.

You will keep in perfect peace
those whose minds are steadfast,
because they trust in you.
Trust in the Lord forever,
for the Lord, the Lord himself, is the Rock eternal.

Isaiah 26:3-4

Oceans have always been one of my favorite places.  Perhaps it is the salty water that I can breathe in, the fine sand squishing beneath my toes, the vast view over the water, or the jagged rocks that line the shore.  I don’t go to the sea to be surrounded by people though, no matter how scantily clad they may be (there’s a whole other post in that, but I’ll leave that for another time).  I go to the sea to be amazed.  To be reminded.

At the sea, I am amazed at the vastness of creation, and at its beauty.  God created the heavens and the earth, and He knows how many grains of sand there are on the sea shore.  He knows how deep the water is, how vast the ocean spans.  And I am amazed.   That a God who created all of this cares about me.  That my life is just an instant in this world, just like I am not even a speck to those standing on the other side of the ocean.  The saltiness of the sea reminds me that God created some things to be different – the fresh water lakes are not just little seas.  They are distinct, different, unique.  Even every sea is not the same, nor is every lake.  We are all created with our own purpose, and we shouldn’t compare ourselves to everything around us that was created in the same image of God, but for a different purpose.

The sea also reminds me of the story in Matthew 14, when Jesus sends the disciples out ahead of him on the sea.  Later, he walks to them on the water, and they see him, and say, “It’s a ghost!”  But Jesus says, “Do not fear, it is I.”  Peter replies, “Lord, if it really is you, call me out on the water.”  Jesus says, “Come.”  And so Peter gets out of the boat and starts walking toward Jesus.

Peter had the courage to get out of the boat.  He stepped out in faith, fully relying on the one who called him.  I want to be Peter, I want to follow God’s call of “Come.”  I don’t know about you, but I can’t walk on water.  I’ve tried.  There’s no way that I can follow God’s calling unless I have his help, his strength, his power in me.  The beauty of this story, though, is not that Peter walked on water and followed God’s call.  It’s what happens next.

Peter starts walking toward Jesus, but then he gets caught up in the wind and the waves and says, “Lord, save me!  I’m sinking!!!”  Jesus reaches out his hand, and says, “Oh you of little faith.  Why did you doubt?”

I don’t know about you, but I get caught up in the wind and the waves of this life every day.  I start walking on water towards Jesus with every intention of not doubting.  And then the wind comes, the waves rise, and I look down.  And here’s the beauty of this story: I call out to Jesus, and he holds out his hand to help me up.  And I start walking with him again.  And then I get caught up in the waves and the wind again.  Again, he holds out his hand.

No matter how many times I fail and fall, Jesus holds out his hand to me.  I want to keep my eyes fixed upon Jesus all the days of my life, and when I fall, I trust that he will be there to pick me up, and, at times, carry me. I can’t walk on water alone.  I need his help.

Oceans remind me of this.  I miss living by one.  But I know that God has called me here right now, and I will serve him here.  It may not always be easy, and I will get caught up in the wind and the waves, but I know he’s always there, hand outstretched, to help me up.