How do we get there? To the place of break down, cave in, and give up?
I read somewhere recently that lack of faith doesn’t happen all of a sudden — it happens gradually.
Little by little.
Like a ship that becomes untethered to its anchor and then just starts bouncing about between the blows of the wind. It isn’t grounded anymore, and it has no choice but to go from one gust to the next.
That’s what happens to us, too.
Little by little, circumstance by circumstance, we lose our footing. And our faith drifts off and we can’t help but wonder if we ever had any at all.
Back in January, when we booked this vacation, if you had told me that our world would see what we’ve seen this year, I wouldn’t have believed you.
On most days, I’ve been grounded and hopeful and faith-filled, standing firm on the promise of God that although we have trouble, there can be (and there is!) peace.
But on some days, I felt like a ship, floating along without direction. No sign of a lighthouse on shore in sight, and hopeless.
It’s in those moments, I think, that God is giving us our footing, we just don’t believe that it’s there. What we see causes us to forget what we know. And those light houses we go looking for, well, they are covered by clouds and fog and we don’t see them at all.
Being out on this beach this to watch the sun rise is kind of like resetting my perspective. Wiping the dirty lens I’ve looked through on so many days lately that kept me from seeing what was really there.
And what do you do when you get to this place of reset and awe and wonder?
Well, you play How Great Thou Art, look at the ocean, and let the tingle of peace wash over you.