I grew up near the backwaters of the Mississippi River and spent countless days in my dad’s flat-bottom boat. We navigated through stump fields and watched for changes in weather.
When it rained, we’d find a cluster of trees near the shore and tie up to an exposed root or a low-hanging branch. Rain pitter-pattered on the leafy canopy above us, then dropped and rippled the water below.
Sometimes the wind stirred up choppy white-capped waves. Thunder and storm clouds, or the sky’s eerie gray-yellow glow signaled us to finish our bologna sandwiches and reel in our fishing lines. Dad opened the throttle on the Evinrude and hit the waves so we’d beat the storm home.
Wouldn’t it be nice to always know when a storm’s coming? Better yet, wouldn’t it be great if life was a quiet, lazy day on the river? But, we know that’s not how it works.
One moment it’s comfy, the next it’s bumpy. We’re plopped into uncharted waters and learn as we go.
Though we are resilient and adaptable, creating new habits is difficult and zaps our energy. It’s weird wearing masks at church. It’s a bummer not to lounge in my comfy chair at the library. And those darn arrows in the grocery stores? I’m not sure I’ll ever get those right. A friend told me when she sees the arrow pointing toward her, she turns her cart around and backs in. I love that.
So, yes, we adapt. Swim or sink.
Because all we took for granted—what was easy and comfortable—is awkward at best. And those are just the small, inconvenient changes. We often carry the world’s craziness on us too. And people. The stress makes a lot of us straight up snarky.
So, when negative thoughts stir up anxiety, frustration, or confusion, we interrupt them and tune in to our ever-present help. I call them flare prayers: “Help me focus,” “God, be my peace,” “Sweet Jesus, give me patience.”
Wherever we’re at, whatever we’re doing. At work, the grocery store, or the kitchen sink.
This act of trust anchors us. To what is solid.
God isn’t affected by the words of stressed-out people, nor does He shift with the violent winds of culture. He is not rattled by sickness, chaos, conspiracy theories, or the hot air of shady politics.
Grieved? Yes. Shaken? No.
As the unhinged world does its thing, we grieve too. But we can’t let the noise, news, and nonsense distract us.
Because, as God’s children, we have a greater calling. And it’s more needed than ever. We are His image-bearers. His heart, hands, and voice. What a privilege it is to love and live out our divine design in these unprecedented times.
We get to be kind. We get to be radical. We get to check in on those who are staying home and listen to moms and dads facing tough decisions. We get to pause and re-think before we post or comment on Facebook. I use my backspace button a lot.
Like Jesus, we get to be the rebel with a cause. To show God’s character. Right smack in the middle of this storm, He lifts us above the waves so we can lift each other. That’s the amazing, healing power of redemptive love.
Do we wish we could open up the motor and zoom past this? Of course. We aren’t fearless.
But, we aim for faith that’s stronger than our fears.
🙏 God of all that is seen and unseen, remind us to trust, to stay focused, and to hear you say, “Peace. Be still.” Calm the storm in us so we won’t be tossed about. Please help us set our minds on higher things. May we stay anchored in you, so we have the mental, physical, and spiritual energy to serve with courage, creativity, and compassion ☮❤
🎵 Here’s a link to Ryan Stevenson’s “Eye of the Storm.” Be empowered, my friend 😎🎸
https://youtu.be/-sx8wTnnfScT.V.
Photo from Pixabay.com
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