I would have despaired unless I had believed that I would see the goodness of the LORD In the land of the living. Psalm 27:13
There were a couple triggers this past week that knocked things out of perspective for me. Instead of walking on the water with Jesus, which I’ve experienced in countless miraculous moments since losing Cole, I could feel myself begin to sink and knew without a doubt that I could plummet into the dark depths if something didn’t shift.
It wasn’t sadness which, if felt and acknowledged, can be comforted and healed by Jesus’ touch; it was torment which, if yielded to, brings only more of the same. It rose up through the quiet of my soul, an initially distant but quickly approaching terror that echoed in my ears like the shrieking eels of The Princess Bride. The accusation it bore was this: That I am not okay and could never be okay; that there is no solid ground beneath my feet.
It’s no wonder that my energy fled, along with my joy. These are not light accusations to be carrying. When I stopped to examine the doubts, rather than letting them echo inside, it was clear that they were coming from a source whose sole purpose is to steal, kill and destroy. Not exactly a friend with my best at heart. So I held them up against the promises of One who has loved me relentlessly and gained my trust; whose words have proven true over decades of relationship. As you may have guessed, the accusations showed themselves to be twisted truths or outright falsehoods and relief came. If it didn’t completely silence the voices, it helped me to ignore them like you would the taunts of an insecure bully.
The next morning, I had the inspired idea of calling my mom to talk things through. She was able to speak and pray so much truth that by the time we hung up, the torment was all but gone. But it wasn’t until later in the day that the whole thing broke and I knew I was walking on the solid ground of Jesus again. What rose up in my spirit was this: Even this (Cole’s death) becomes good in God’s hands. My whole being – and the Bible – testified to the powerful truth of this statement and crushed the lie of something I’d read last week; the foundation on which the accusations stood… that only evil can be seen in death. It bears repeating that I don’t think Cole’s suicide was God’s plan or has any goodness in itself. But all things, when put in the hands of our mighty God, become tools of restoration and glory, and a reason to rejoice.
Wouldn’t you know that my perspective snapped right back to the place of hope where it belongs – on my beloved Jesus; His great love for me and Cole; the ultimate price he paid so that sin, death and accusation have no more say in the lives of His children; His ability to transform even the worst into something of beauty and purpose. I was so filled with gladness and gratitude that my feet nearly lifted above the water (if that’s possible!). It’s no wonder that my energy returned and torment fled, taking with it every doubt and every accusation. Not only that, but I walked away from this spiritual battle less daunted by so many other evil things happening in this world – spoils of war that I get to keep.
I know this isn’t over. It’s a trial so big that there is no solid ground in the natural as far as the eye can see. I am having to learn the skill of walking on water by faith in the promises of Jesus or I will sink. It’s a steep learning curve. But what a privilege to be invited to trust like this. And what beautiful, miraculous things must lie ahead for those who accept the invitation.
I would like to leave you with a few questions…
- What doubts and accusations are causing you torment?
- Have you examined them against the Word of God?
- Have you asked for someone to speak truth and pray with you?
- Have you asked the Lord to show you what foundation the accusations are standing on so the whole structure can collapse instead of fighting them off one by one?
And Peter answered him, “Lord, if it is you, command me to come to you on the water.” He said, “Come.” So Peter got out of the boat and walked on the water and came to Jesus. But when he saw the wind, he was afraid, and beginning to sink he cried out, “Lord, save me.” Jesus immediately reached out his hand and took hold of him, saying to him, “O you of little faith, why did you doubt?” And when they got into the boat, the wind ceased. And those in the boat worshiped him, saying, “Truly you are the Son of God.” Matthew 14:28-33
After Cole died, my cousin gave me a necklace that says “brave.” I wear it often to remind myself that whether I feel like it or not, I am. Some days I do feel brave, battling my way past the demons of despair; planting my flag in my inherited land of hope. And then there are days like today when the tears won’t stop flowing; when my heart aches to be able to see my son again – not someday in heaven, but here and now. But that is no less brave. As someone who avoided pain at all costs, burying it in addictions and false comforts, these tears represent courage. I am feeling my pain; facing it. They also represent trust because I couldn’t face the pain if I didn’t know that God is holding me tightly as I cry; if I didn’t believe that He won’t abandon me here… but that with each offering of trust, He will comfort me and heal my broken heart. And when these tears dry up, I know He’s going to take my hand and help me back up and we are going to walk together into the good and beautiful future He’s prepared for me. Maybe being brave simply means that we invite Him into the hard places and let Him lead us out.
When we step into this life of faith in Jesus, it’s like trading our beach chairs and umbrellas on a stationary mass of sand to engage in the moving, living water of the sea with its waves, currents, hazards and unknowns. We usually spend quite a while in ankle deep water, testing the temperature without committing our whole bodies; reassured by our proximity to dry ground. But faith will never allow us to stay there. The Lord didn’t draw us close so we could be bystanders with wet feet. He drew us so that He could take us deeper and deeper, where out of necessity, we become students who are (eventually) willing to receive His expertise on how to use the waves to propel us forward, rather than take us down.
My greatest grown-up fears have been of pain, failure and losing a child; all of which have been pressed hard through Cole’s death. But honestly, I’ve always been afraid. A fearful heart tends to build walls around itself so it will feel safe. The problem is that walls don’t just keep out the bad things; they also separate us from the love and connection we crave and the help we need. 
The worst of the worst happened. My greatest fears were realized. My walls didn’t keep me from harm and they’ve been as helpful in my healing as mute idols of stone. But my mom was so right. 
where waves grow sweet 