Dirty floors, dirty clothes, clutter. Tired eyes, tired soul, weary. The symptoms of a spiritual imbalance are clear in
me. A messy room, selfish prayers, disarray. This is when the grace of God shines in my life. Without it, everything
would be despair.
Clouds hid the face of the sun, filtering its light into pearl and grey tones. An accusing breeze rattled everything in
its path. Shadows faded into indistinct blurs on the ground. The surface of the lake was an army, clad with bright white
helmets, and iron chain-link mail. Gusts of wind spurred it on in waves, marching row after row. The horizon faded in
the distance, blurring the image of the far shore.
The fishermen rowed against the wind, and against their wills; for it was their master who had told them to meet him a
little further on the shore. Their battle with the waves began late in the afternoon, and lasted well into the night.
In the dark, foamy white froth lined each phalanx, row and column they defeated.
The younger brother noticed it first. One of the waves that attacked their boat was not coming from the wind, it was
going in the same direction they were--against the wind! Behind it, a speck of white followed them and in a few minutes
began to pass them by them in the dark. The waves began to crest higher than before. Terror overtook the even the most
phlegmatic of the men. What was this strange object they were seeing through the waves?
A familiar voice carried over the din of the battle. "It is I. Don't be afraid." Another voice, why, the older brother's
voice, answered! "Lord, if it's you, tell me to come to you on the water." "Come!", ordered the first voice, and the man
stepped out into the battlefield toward it. He walked over the water and the waves toward the speck of white; it was his
master who had called him. His linen tunic was phosphorescent against the dreary blue-grey of the water at night. But,
roaring loudly, a battalion of high waves ambushed the heavy fisherman. Stumbling, the man feared for his life and began
sinking. The younger brother clutched the side of the boat helplessly, ready to hurl himself into the churning waves.
"Lord, save me!"
Quickly the master's hand reached out and caught the fisherman, halting his descent. He gently lifted him, and they
walked to the boat. Then the master's voice spoke into the wind, and it ceased. The waves scattered, leaving the water
still. The noise of the wind was silenced. "Man of little faith." he said. "Why did you doubt?"
In a moment in which I can barely distinguish God's presence in my life, this story is a firm reminder. "Remember who
is in the boat with you. Don't be afraid. Come!" I can defeat the army of my problems, if only I look into the master's
eyes. He will help me believe; I cannot sink.