Lashing out in every direction, cursing the very air I breathe. Thrashing the air that surrounds me in a futile effort to keep it away from me. Enough! Enough! I have had my fill. I am drowning in this life. It is not the waters of the sea that fill my lungs, but rather, it is incessant air. Breath after breath, it fills me. I try to stop breathing but my will is not strong enough. Is it the body that betrays me by breathing or is it the breath of life that continually forces its way into me? It sustains me, and yet, I am tortured by it.
If tears were sweet would we not feast upon them and savor their every treat? However, tears are bitter and as unsavory as the waters that fill the oceans to the brim. To taste tears day and night is to drown in the ocean. Wave after wave pours over me. My diet consists of tears and sorrow. Tears, sorrow, and yet an immense hope. An undeniable hope.
I am drowning in a sea of sorrow, and I cannot go under. I have tried, but despite the waters flowing into my lungs, air pierces me deeply, forcing me to spit out the water. The air keeps me elevated over breaker after breaker. This is not perseverance. I have stopped kicking. I have tried letting go of hope, but it will not let go of me. This is preservation. I am being preserved by something far more powerful than my restless and downtrodden heart. It has stopped beating, but someone keeps pricking it back to life.
I looked around me, and I am not alone. There are many souls in this deluge of depression. The storm rages on and the waves secure victim after victim. To my left and to my right, I am surrounded on every side with people drowning. Some of them cry out horrifically for help. Their cries for help would haunt my dreams if only I had any to haunt. Others, however, battle to keep their head above water for a short while before they sink beneath the dark waters. They don't say a word. They slowly drift down into the abyss. They give up and something allows them to. However, I am yet sustained and preserved.
"Look at me."
There is a faint voice, but it sounds like it is too far in the distance to be of any help or hope. It speaks truth, I hear it clearly, but I know it must be far in the distance. There cannot be any hope in this ocean of turmoil. The voice is clear, crisp, powerful, and frightening. A cold chill travels over me, and yet a profound confidence and faith causes me to frantically search for the Words that I hear.
I kick and scream, and the more that I scream the more water enters into my lungs. The salt water stings as it forces its one into my mouth, down my throat, into my belly, into my essence, and I am tired of gagging up the putrid solution that stirs within me.
At times I begin to drift away. I slowly sink beneath the torrential rains and the hammering waves. It is peaceful beneath the waves, beneath the storm. It is quiet. There are no more screams for help. The raging, crashing, thunderous noise is muffled into a distant hum. It is here that I try to let go, but it is here that I am pricked with dissatisfaction and contempt with the idea of fading away. It is here that I am pushed back up to the surface and forced to once again drown.
Things were not always like this. I was once in the security of a ship that sailed upon these waters. Despite the raging of the storm, I had safety and security on the boat. The buoyancy of the vessel was not a sure hope, but it consistently elevated me above the waves. It required no faith or belief on my part to weather the storm. I knew the ship would only survive the waves for a time, that it could easily by crippled by the storm, that it would eventually sink below but it was much easier to cling to the boat than the undulating waves. The boat was solid. The boat was tangible. It was real.
And yet, I heard a voice call from the storm. "Come to me." It called for me, and I responded. Without knowing what in the world I was doing, I was climbing out of the ship into the storm. It made no sense to me, but I followed the calling voice. I took a few steps out of the ship and you wouldn't believe me if I told you, but I was truly walking above the waves. The voice kept calling. "Come!" I heard the voice, I listened to the voice, and I trusted the voice. My confidence was not my own but solely in the one calling me. The storm raged on around me. The walk was turbulent. At moments I stood on the peaks of waves and at others I was standing in the midst of an immense trough. Nevertheless, I kept hearing the voice calling and I continued to obey.
However, I began to look around me and noticed that I was not walking out of the storm but into the heart of it. The waves were growing larger and they were crashing over me harder and harder. Although I was above the sea below, the waters still washed over me, disheartening me. I began to fear that I would not be able to stay above the waters for much longer. The more and more I began to lose confidence in my ability to follow the voice calling, I began to sink deeper and deeper into the frigid, turbulent grasp of death.
I panicked, and I was no longer suspended over the sea but drowning in it. I started swinging my arms frantically, kicking my legs unceasingly, and grasping for breath but to no avail. The waves felt more and more like hands trying to push me into the darkness beneath. I felt caught in an unnatural tug-of-war between the darkness below and the air above. It is not drowning that will kill you. You are dead when you stop drowning, when you stop gasping for breath, and when you have nothing left to breath but the salty waters that surround you. Drowning, on the other hand, is a losing battle as the waters below seek to keep the breath out of your lungs long enough for you to succumb to their will. My lungs filled with as much water as air, perhaps more water than air, but never enough to end the battle. I longed for the moment when the waves would subdue me once for all, but that moment was never realized.
I grew tired of drowning. I grew tired of resting on the cusp of life and death. I gave up and I gave in. I was tired of fighting. I was exhausted.
"Look at me."
The voice was very close this time. It sounded like it was right on top of me. I heard it clearly. I heard it as clearly as I hear my own thoughts. It was as if the voice resided and emanated from within me. I looked up, and there He was.
"Lord, save me"
Immediately, a hand reached out and plucked me up out of the water like a brand from the fire.
Why are you cast down, O my soul,
and why are you in turmoil within me?
Hope in God; for I shall again praise him,
my salvation and my God.
(Psalm 42:11 ESV)
But you must remember, beloved, the predictions of the apostles of our Lord Jesus Christ. They said to you, “In the last time there will be scoffers, following their own ungodly passions.” It is these who cause divisions, worldly people, devoid of the Spirit. But you, beloved, building yourselves up in your most holy faith and praying in the Holy Spirit, keep yourselves in the love of God, waiting for the mercy of our Lord Jesus Christ that leads to eternal life. And have mercy on those who doubt; save others by snatching them out of the fire; to others show mercy with fear, hating even the garment stained by the flesh.
(Jude 1:17-23 ESV)
