If I'm Honest with Myself …

If I manage to slow down enough to have a line of thought that is completely untethered from the demands of life around me, and free from my own flesh interrupting and standing in my face, trying to block me from seeing something beyond it …

If I manage to stop for a moment and recognize my soul…

If I manage to listen for a moment, uninterrupted by my stomach or my eyes, to hear what my emotions are trying to tell me … 

If I let my soul direct me to my spirit and I manage to get to the quiet place in the center of my being …

If I can acknowledge that that place is a lonely place, a small dark echo chamber if I am not meeting Him there …

If I can find myself there in clarity, and humbly ask Him to light it up, and commune with me, that I might hear Him and not only my own echoes …

… then there is peace.

A strange kind of peace, for finding it demands that I've relinquished my right to control, and I've stepped into uncertainty.

It demands that I step out of the boat that I have learned to steer, and in which my feet take comfort and assurance as though they have found something solid and predictable. I believe that I can manage the storm around me so long as I am inside the vessel I have built myself. I know how tough the timbers I cut proved themselves to me, and I know the strength of will and knowledge I applied to build something that I could float my pride in.

But if I should place my foot outside of its edges? How will I know the distance I may find myself away from it? And how can I assure my soul that the darkness of the waters is only an illusion and argue against my fears, that they are naive to suggest there is no bottom beneath the waves, that the darkness descends beyond the length of my anchor and chain?

Yet my soul remains unsatisfied with the results I accomplish by the means of what my pride rests in. I have exerted my strength, will, and knowledge to build something safe and predictable, and yet, I find a dissatisfaction in its fragile comfort. What I catch in my nets is usually enough. I'm decent at my job, yet, though it's enough to pay the way for my body to endure another year, and enough for me to acquire the next thing my eyes have seen I could have, I hunger for something not for my body, my comfort or my pride.  Will I discover what it is? Have I the courage to face the unpredictable?

He calls from the storm, “Come, if it is what you desire.”

I find myself caught and torn between a wild impulse full of honesty with a deep, strange desire to leap from my safety, and the fear that restrains me and ties me to everything I deem rational, pragmatic and wise! Bound to the mast yet stretching my hand towards the storm. I stagger forward, unsure of whether my body is following or if I have already pulled myself from it and torn myself in half, like dragging a drunken body rebelling against my soul. I lurch for the edge, my mind screaming obscenities and threats in an all-or-nothing attempt to convince me that I will have lost all sanity to take another step. The shouting voice is a blur, blinded and muffled by the impulse towards the irresistible, unpredictable call given to me.

“Come, if it is what you truly desire.”

I do! I must! I have no other choice!

All is still in the quiet of the small room. Not in darkness and not alone, my voice not in echo of itself but meeting another.

Found in peace, yet still unsure of what to expect.

“I'm here …” Not sure of what more can be said, that’s all my lips can give.

“I'm glad you are.” The words carry comfort and a sense that The Voice had been waiting for the meeting, with longing.

“I …” unable to place my thoughts onto what would be worthy speaking about to the One who lives in the space where I end and everything begins.

“I …” hesitating again, straining to find something I can bring of depth or importance.

“I …” in fear that I may have nothing.

Then, realizing “you’re glad that I'm here?” My mouth speaks them, but my mind isn’t sure yet what the words mean.

“You’re glad I'm here?”

“Well, isn't this what you have been asking for? To meet with me?”

Knowing that the voice is the author of life and death and everything in between, I stammer, consumed by the thought of my own frailty and the overwhelming weight of responsibility towards the one who is the beginning and the end and in whom everything is held together.

Suddenly unsure about what I really want.

Do I still want what I thought I did?

Is this worth the safety and comfort I built for myself?

And yet I'm a fool! How could I doubt it?

How can I possibly be honest in this moment!?

Anything could be asked of me, and there is nothing to give! Surely my life is in ransom!

“Have no fear, my child, I am here, and there is nothing but honesty left.”

There is stillness, as understanding is imparted to my spirit. I am completely known, I am found in honesty with myself, and in honesty with the Voice, and all is seen.

I rest in the peace of knowing that the peace I am given was bought at great cost, not my own, and there is nothing for me to pay.

“I've gotten distracted,” I confess, “I know I have you, I can still remember the day I found you. But this is different, I feel small all over again, yet smaller.”

“You are seeing how much I don’t have you?”

I know exactly what He means. He sees the honesty I have been lacking. That I have let fear rule too many days and guide me into self-protection. It’s the honesty I need. He has never let me go or changed his mind about me being His son.

Yet, if I'm honest, I'm terrified that he has the right to ask anything of me.

“Fear not, my son, what I have called you to, I will do with you, and though you are full of fear and weakness, you only need to watch and listen. Have faith in Me, trust Me.”

The waves are fierce and the water deep, but his hand remains strong.

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