Big Enough

I’m not a brave person. Never have been. My mama tells a story of me as a young child of about four or five years old standing at the edge of Tomlinson’s pool looking into the water then backing away and proclaiming matter-of-factly that I wasn’t “big enough” yet to go in for a swim. I did this every time we went until one day, for no apparent reason, I declared myself at long last “big enough” and jumped in.

Such an adequate depiction of me. Standing at the edge, calculating, evaluating, and analyzing every possibility. Always sizing up the situation before I’m satisfied that I’m up to the task.

I had a revelation a couple of weeks ago during a study of the account of Jesus and the Man of the Tombs. The city where Jesus encountered the demon possessed man was the place he and the disciples were in route to when a violent storm arose bombarding the boat they were in.  While the wind and waves raged, he slept peacefully until the disciples woke him with their cries for help.

At their request, he silenced the storm causing them to exclaim, “Surely this man is the son of God” because only God could do that. They continued on reaching their destination safely, yet when Jesus encountered the man living among the tombs, there is no mention of the disciples.  Had they stayed back in the boat too afraid to leave its safety to venture out into a region whose very name on their lips would make them unclean?

I was struck by this.  Perhaps because I could see myself so clearly. To be honest, I find comfort in the possibility of their hesitancy. I imagine them hanging back on the fringes wanting to go to where he was but not sure that they were ready. Realizing that these men who were hand-picked by Jesus might not have been so different from me gave me a new perspective.  They didn’t become giants in their faith the minute they left everything to follow Jesus.  It was a process, and Jesus was perfectly willing to carry them through it to completion.

I’m in a process too. I’ve done some risky things. Ziplining across a mountain gorge for one. Flying to Mozambique leaving my children behind for another. As I’ve grown older, though, I’ve reevaluated my definition of bravery, and I’ve come to understand that it takes courage to do all sorts of seemingly ordinary things. Loving the one you’ve committed yourself to through a lifetime of changes, bringing children into a broken world, letting them go when they are grown, weathering viruses and layoffs, watching your parents age. I find that these are the situations when I call out to the Son of God to calm the wind and waves. And He does.

Maybe the bravest thing we can do is to live the life before us stepping boldly into each new day not knowing what waits for us but being certain of Who waits for us.

I’ve sized up the situation, and I’m convinced that I’m not big enough. But He is.