Storm

 

 

 

You knew.

 

"Immediately Jesus made the disciples get into the boat and go on ahead of Him to the other side, while He dismissed the crowd."

 

You sent them out...

 

Knowing.

 

"After He had dismissed them, He went up on a mountainside by Himself to pray..."

 

And then You withdrew...

 

Alone.

 

To pray.

 

Who were You praying for Lord?

 

Was Your heart aching for John?

 

Family...

 

Cruelly beheaded earlier?

 

Were You praying about that?

 

And yet...You knew about that too.

 

Surely.

 

Or were You praying for them?

 

That band of men who drew close to You... closer than any others.

 

Disciples.

 

Who knew You, but yet... didn't...

 

Disciples.

 

Who had just witnessed You feeding a multitude.

 

Multiplying food...

 

Concerned about more than just their souls...

 

Bread and Fish for the mortal body...

 

"...and the boat was already a considerable distance from land, buffeted by the waves because the wind was against it..."

 

You knew Lord...

You weren't caught unawares.

Surprised.

You knew that there was going to be a storm.

Not once did You try to protect them from it.

You didn't urge them to stay with You.

You gave no timely advice of shelter?
 

 Storm.
 

You sent them into that storm...

 

You.


 

Knowing.

 

Knowing that even though they had just seen miracles abound...

 

They would look around them at the crashing waves.

 

Water raining down in torrents.

 

Gale force winds... whipping as if to steal the very breath from their bodies.

And they would forget.

Forget what they had just seen.

 

Lord You knew.  You knew that Peter... oh Peter...

 

Hot-headed, impulsive Peter...

 

You knew that he needed more.

You knew... that in the storm?

In the fear and the failing of the walk-on-water-that-wasn't?

That sometimes we need that.

Failure.

 

Peter didn't know that, of course.

 

But then again... do we ever?

 

We want the miracles.

 

Yes.

 

But we forget... that miracles are made in the storm.

 

I forget.

 

Often.

 

I forget that You know.

You know the incredible battle about to play out...

You know my bold-mouthed, small-faithed heart...

So much in common with that rough fisherman.

 

And still You send me out.

 

Into the storm.

No warning to seek shelter.

No still, small Voice to guide me away from the squall.

You send me out.
 

Because that is just where You want me.

Caught in the storm.

 

And then?

 You withdraw.

 

And I feel alone.

 

Abandoned.

 

Whipped about.

 

Because sometimes the wind is against me.

 

And I flail, thrashing in stinging salt-water waves that crash overhead.

 

Threatening to suck the very life out of me...

 

When all I can whisper... all I can breathe in hot fear-soaked breaths is:

 

"Lord... if it is You..."

 

If. 

 

Even though I have just seen miracles.

 

Just seen Provision.

 

Far above and more than I can ever conceive of.

 

"Lord... if it is You..."

 

And You know.

 

Praying.

 

Interceding.

 

For me.

 

Modern-day Peter.

 

 

 

Matthew 14 v 22 - 23

 NIV

 



xx gracegirl