Deeper Water

 Yesterday after writing about our family's experiences, I went out for a walk. It was a beautiful day, I was feeling all right, and I just wanted to get out and shake off some of the heaviness of everything that was happening. 

Inevitably, though, my mind was whirring throughout my walk. Already comments were pouring in from so many friends and family--kind, beautiful words that were a balm to us as parents, and encouraging to our kids. One comment, especially, seemed to keep turning over and over in my thoughts: "The anchor holds secure." 

I had used so much nautical language in our story because it resonates deeply with me. One of my favorite stories is that of Jesus calming the storm for his disciples. I love Peter's experience of stepping out onto the water in faith. I love Jesus' provision of more fish than could possibly be hauled in. I love the parting of the Red Sea, and Israel's journey through the water to freedom. So many of the beautiful moments of the Bible happen in and around water. And so I gravitate toward water imagery. 

I've been reading an old book called, "Two Years Before the Mast." Ironically, it's taken me almost two years to finish it, but it gives a detailed account of seafaring from a sailor in the early 1800s. He describes the inner workings of a ship's crew, the duties they performed on land, the ports in which they landed, and the amazing things they saw there. Many of his travels took place in the southern hemisphere, in areas prone to sudden and violent storms. 

The ships on which he traveled were typically in port for weeks at a time, anchored securely just off shore. Often several ships were moored in close proximity, within the safety of the harbor. On calm days, in calm waters, this was the safest place to be. 

But when storms suddenly blew in, things changed. Suddenly the shallow waters, proximity to other ships, and rocky outcrops of the harbor became potential dangers. The violent waves and winds could easily push the ship into these places, running it aground or destroying its hull. So instead, when storms approached, the ships pulled up their anchors and sailed out into deeper water to weather the storm. 

I find the information fascinating, but it also resonated deeply yesterday. The anchor holds secure, yes. When the time is right to drop anchor, to shelter in the harbor, the anchor is secure. But what about when it feels as though the anchor has been pulled up? What about the times when we feel adrift in the face of the storm?

Sometimes we don't ride out the storm in sheltered places. Sometimes our challenges compound themselves, the symptoms worsen, or the situation becomes more dire. In those moments, we often despair--like the disciples on the boat being tossed in the middle of the lake. The water is so deep. The waves are so high. We are so far from shore. 

And yet, those very things are what guarantee our safety--much more so than the harbor with its shallow water! It seems counterintuitive to us. Yet I'm sure most of us have had "deeper water" moments, moments when we seemed to drift farther and farther from the perceived safety of the shoreline. 

I don't have a neat way to package up the thought. But I feel, instinctively and by experience, that my family's journey is not yet over. There is still pain ahead, and it will at times feel like we are losing sight of the shore. But there's some comfort in knowing that even when we are being pulled out to sea--even when we can't see the ocean floor for the depth of the water beneath us--perhaps, we are in the very place of safety that will get us through to the other side of the storm.