When I was a little girl, my family would drive across the country and vacation in North Carolina.
I loved spending time at the beach.
The air was salty and moist. The breeze was cool and constant. The ocean was alive.
I would sit at the place where the water washed the sand and watch giant waves crash upon the shore again and again leaving cold foaming puddles in every footprint pool. They would splash me, daring me to venture out.
And before long, I would.
I would walk out to the place where my feet felt as though they might float. I would stand and face each wave laughing that it wouldn’t be able to overtake me. It would come and do its best, but I would stand.
It was a fun game to see how deep I could go into those waters. I never intended to go deeper than my feet could reach. Because I knew that if it really wanted to, the ocean could win.
And once, it almost did.
The giant wave broke around me. This time, it knocked me from my feet. I watched it move on towards the beach, and as I began to stand … CRASH… Another wave caught me off guard.
I’m under water. Salt burns my nose, and my feet and legs struggle to find the sand. There. They touch the bottom. On my knees, I begin to raise my head for a breath when… CRASH… another wave heaves me back into the water. Coughing. Choking. I raise my head again.
I open my stinging eyes and see I’m not far from the shore. Another breath before the next wave. I am scrambling. Crawling. Clawing my way towards the beach. Out of breath and exhausted, I pull myself onto the sand.
The ocean had reminded me of its power – the day it could have swallowed me whole.
There have been moments in my life (months in my life) where I have felt just as I did on that summer day.
There have been times where one wave knocked me off of my feet and then crash after crash I couldn’t seem to find my footing. I struggled with loneliness. I struggled with insecurity. Fear and uncertainty choked me and I fought for an air of hope. I know what it is like when it seems as though the most you can do is bob up for air before the next wave pulls you under. I have been in the seas of sadness..
But there is hope.
At Christmas, we celebrate the birth of hope. We rejoice in the promise of God’s continued presence. We exult in the arrival of Emmanuel, God with us. But for some, for those in the waters, the warm lights on land seem only to taunt of an unreachable joy.
No one ever plans to go further out than they can stand. Do they? It is a gradual pull into deeper waters. The tow isn’t rushed or sudden. It is a steady tug away from the shore until all you can see is the water and the waves. No one wants to be beaten by the waves. No one wants to feel as though the best they can do is take a rushed breath before the next catastrophe, the next blow, the next reminder of looming defeat.
But the miracle of hope is that He walks on water.
It might have taken awhile to end up in the place that you are right now, but in a moment, He can change everything.
A miracle can happen for you who forces smiles so your children see only joy this season.
A miracle can happen for you who would admit loneliness, but there is no one to tell.
A miracle can happen for you who mourn.
A miracle can happen for you who don’t know how the bills will be paid.
A miracle can happen for you who are afraid that the struggles will never cease.
A miracle can happen for you the insecure mommy, the lonely wife, the isolated friend.
Hope can pull you from the waters. He can calm the sea. He can surround you with love. He can fill you with joy. He can cover you with gladness. He can wrap you in His presence. He can restore your strength. He can calm your fears. He can overwhelm you with peace. He can quiet your soul. He can set your feet on solid ground…
and He will.
My prayer for you this Christmas is that hope would be born in your heart.
He is holding out His hand reminding you to keep your eyes above the waves. He asks only that you put your trust in Him. In the deepest waters, faith learns to stand. Let Him lift you out of the sadness, the uncertainty, the fear. Then, hold tightly to the Hope that fills this Christmas season, because I promise, He is holding tightly to you.
