let me walk on water

I don’t even know where to begin, how to tell you what it is that is trying to bust its way out of my heart.

I think it began when I turned 50 and told God I wanted the last half of my life to count, to be about His Kingdom and nothing else. Yes, I’m pretty sure that’s where it began, but then again, maybe it started long before that, in the continual yearning to just crawl up into Jesus and stay there.

A couple of weeks ago I heard a song, and my heart beat fast. It was trying to tell me something I couldn’t hear. And then a scripture that went with it shouted at me but I was struggling to make out the words. A conversation about being grateful to not have a lot of choices in front of me left me with something on the tip of my tongue, but remained elusive. Another conversation that left me frustrated because I couldn’t put into words the true longing of my heart.

And then this morning happened.

This morning I played the song again. And I sang it loud and in the midst of my head back arms wide open worship moment, I knew. And I laughed because I realized God knew all along and had brought conversations and scriptures and songs together to tell me all about my own heart…about me.

I want to walk on water.

walkingwater_LargeI want my faith to be taken out to deep waters, away from the safety of the shoreline, away from a boat it can climb back into. I want that desperately. And I’m not sure why.

And I fight the urge to give way to that old familiar feeling. The feeling that something in me isn’t normal, isn’t quite right. Because who says they would rather have nothing than to have whatever I could get for myself?

Who thinks they would rather go where Christians are dying for their faith than stay where they are living for themselves?

What normal person would rather be beating off demons with a stick in a jungle somewhere than rocking comfortably in a chair on the front porch?

And that feeling rises in me, and something that looks like shame comes with it. But then I hear it again, and I am ready to throw off my shoes and dive out of the boat.

Because when deep calls to deep, something inside falls in worship and being normal doesn’t matter anymore. Something inside remembers the taste of His faithfulness and the feeling of grace falling over me when I’ve been in deep waters, when I’ve felt the growing pains of faith because trusting Jesus was all I could do.

And this is it. The name of what is in my heart that fights against the flesh that surrounds it.

A desire for trust to be the only option in front of me.

Because one day my time here will be done, and when it is, when I enter His presence, I want to look into the face of the One I trusted in the journey. I cannot handle the thought of coming face to face with Him having only walked on land, in places of earthly security and comfort. It makes me want to weep to think that my life, my short breath on this earth would be spent trusting in a boat to keep me from drowning.

I want to leave wet footprints as I run from this life into eternity, as I come flying in to fall at the feet of the One I have followed home.

It all sounds very brave and quite spiritual, I know. But I assure you it isn’t any of that. Because while the spirit is willing, the flesh is weak and it is war and it is hard and it often looks like flesh is winning because weak flesh is really quite strong.

But something is shifting and I know it and while it frightens me a little, it also makes me close my eyes and say thank You Jesus! You are calling me and I hear you and it’s growing, this desire to be with You out in the deepest of places where my feet may fail.

I keep thinking about the people who followed Jesus. The crowds who stood on the shore while He taught them from the boat. And the disciples who were in the boat with Him. I have, at one time or another, been all of those, and in many ways I still am.

Oh, but there’s a Peter in me. My heart can feel it. Somewhere in there deep, is the voice of Peter, standing up and saying to Jesus, “Tell me to come to You!”

Jesus, call me to walk upon the water.

Spirit lead me where my trust is without borders, let me walk upon the waters, wherever You may call me.
Take me deeper than my feet could ever wander, and my faith will be made stronger in the presence of my Savior.
 Hillsong United – Oceans (Where Feet May Fail)
 

6 thoughts on “let me walk on water

  1. Pingback: Quiet Acceptance | INFJ Ramblings

  2. I ended up buying this song from iTunes, and then the whole Zion album. The five lines of the lyrics you quoted are printed out and stuck into the front of my journal for use as a regular (daily is the aim) prayer. Thank you Karla. I am still re-reading this post.

    Like

  3. I can’t even imagine having that kind of hunger.. I want it. But weak as my own flesh is, the fear is stronger still. I want that kind of faith to be able to go so far out into the sea that I am unable to swim back on my own and only have Jesus to save me. I can barely step out of my door in 80 degree weather. I hope God does call you and makes a way for you to walk on water. But don’t mistake your desires for His will. He may want you right where you are with these women at Grace House. Changing lives. For me, that is equivalent to walking on water. For you, it may just be stepping over puddles. But to those women….you offer a life jacket in the open sea.

    Like

    • Grace House is definitely a ‘walking on water’ experience, for sure. And I’m there for at least two years…maybe more if God so chooses. I don’t care where He puts me or what He does with me, I just want my life to be marked by deep faith and trust.

      Like

Let's talk about it...

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s