The other day I was talking to God about things I don’t have control over. Those types of prayers are my bread and butter. Sometimes, they are calm, surrendered, and peaceful. Sometimes they are full of faith. Sometimes, they are jittery and anxious. Sometimes, they are angry. I figure if it’s good enough for King David, it’s good enough for me.
In the middle of one of those types of prayers, a God thought came into my head. I call it a God thought because it came out of nowhere, took me a minute to figure out, and was ridiculously applicable once I did. What I thought or heard was “Put down the paddle.” After a few minutes of thinking it through, a memory came to me.
About 12 years ago, my husband Dale and I took our sons to California, LA, to San Diego, and to San Fransisco. While in San Diego, we went on a kayak adventure at the Seven Sea Caves at the La Jolla Marine Reserve. In a nutshell, you hop into kayaks, paddle out into the ocean, and then circle around and go through a bunch of caves that are filled with seals and sea lions lounging around on the cave ledges. You get to see them up close, and it’s very cool.
Before setting off on the Kayak, we buckled into our life jackets while the guide loudly explained to the whole group what we were going to be doing. These types of situations always stress me out a little: Putting on the cold and clammy life jacket, not feeling 100% sure about what I’m doing, the shouted instructions, all of it.
Why do life jackets always feel either ridiculously loose or a smidge too tight? When you manage to snap one together, you feel instant regret and wonder about your oxygen levels.
We split up, Dale and Michael in one kayak, Tom, Sam, and I in the other. Okay. It was a windy day, the guide explained, so the hard part would be right at the beginning when we had to paddle over the cresting waves to get to the calmer part of the ocean. If you’re not careful, he said, you could tip over. I really hated the thought of that. I could picture myself staggering out of the water in my sodden life jacket after a tip-over, the kind guide helping the sad middle-aged lady back to shore, and my pasty legs in public view. I needed to avoid that at all costs.
Thankfully, all the Eesleys made it over the waves. We proceeded to kayak through the caves and had a wonderful time. We were one of the first kayaks to exit the caves and needed to wait out in the open ocean for everyone else to finish the tour. I was paddling in the back, Tom was paddling in the front, and Sam was just along for the ride in the middle. We chatted together and watched everyone slowly emerge from the caves. What a perfect day.
What a perfect, windy day.
Suddenly, I snapped out of my reverie and noticed that we had drifted away from the rest of the group like significantly. Out in the ocean. If we kept this up, we would be halfway to Hawaii in no time, and the Coast Guard would need to be called. Fear seized me. I looked over at Dale and Michael, far away and safely with the group. It figures that Dale would have the oldest and skinniest kid with him. How selfish. Sam, sitting in the middle with no paddle, went from the apple of my eye to non-contributing dead weight in two seconds flat. I needed to take control of the situation.
“Tom!” I barked, “We are so far out in the ocean right now. We need to paddle together to get back to the group. When I say left, paddle left, and when I say right, paddle right!”
“Mom,” Tom said, “I really don’t think…”
“DO IT!”
“Okay, but I really think yelling like we’re in boot camp is excessive.”
“LEFT, RIGHT, LEFT, RIGHT!”
As God and my children are my witnesses, I actually did this.
I kept this up until we made it back to the group. I was worn out, and the joy of the experience had momentarily evaporated due to the strain of getting back. Tom was put off by my bossiness, and Sam, trying to stay out of it, had gone radio silent. Did I really need to be like this? My mind leaped forward to the present.
God is in the boat with me. He’s doing the paddling. The pull of the current, He’s also in charge of that. Even the wind and the waves obey him.
Whenever we sing the song I Thank God, I’m always struck by the phrase “I thank the Master.” It’s what the disciples called Jesus as they were desperately trying to wake him up in the middle of a huge storm on the Sea of Galilee. Let’s look at Luke 8:22-25
“One day, Jesus said to his disciples, “Let us go over to the other side of the lake.” So, they got into a boat and set out. As they sailed, he fell asleep. A squall came down on the lake, so that the boat was being swamped, and they were in great danger.
The disciples went and woke him, saying, “Master, Master, we’re going to drown!”
He got up and rebuked the wind and the raging waters; the storm subsided, and all was calm. “Where is your faith?” he asked his disciples.
In fear and amazement, they asked one another, “Who is this? He commands even the winds and the water, and they obey him.”
The Greek word for Master, epistates, occurs in the Bible only seven times and always in the book of Luke. In other Biblical contexts, the word Master can mean teacher, but here in Luke, it means something like the head or president of an organization, someone in a leadership position, one who is set over. The boss. The one fully authorized. The person in charge. The commander. The top guy.
The irony was that the disciples were calling Jesus Master while acting like he was not. And then, in a stunning miracle, Jesus showed them just how fitting that title really was.
Maybe there’s a situation in your life where you are doing a lot of fruitless paddling, forgetting that the Master is in the boat with you. Maybe the waves and the pull you are fighting so hard against have been assigned to you by the Master for a purpose and for your refinement and growth. Maybe life would be lighter and even a little bit more fun if you took your eyes off the water, fixed them on Jesus, and put the paddle down.
The Master will see you back to shore.
