A furious squall came up, and the waves broke over the boat, so that it was nearly swamped. Jesus was in the stern, sleeping on a cushion. The disciples woke him and said to him, “Teacher, don’t you care if we drown?”
He got up, rebuked the wind and said to the waves, “Quiet! Be still!” Then the wind died down and it was completely calm.
He said to his disciples, “Why are you so afraid? Do you still have no faith?” (Mark 4:37-40)
(45/365 Days of Fear Not)
There is a life to which I am drawn. One that I sense somewhere deep within me, within my soul. Sometimes, in the quiet of the night, when the house is silent and all is at rest, my spouse, my children, my worries, I see myself clearly.
I see the me that I am. The me that God designed me to be and to whom He is calling in the wee hours and the quiet.
Do you ever sense your true life?
That life for which your were knit together in your mother’s womb.
That life for which God planned many good works for you to do even before the beginning of you and your time here.
Sometimes I sense Jesus standing before me in my desperation and desire. This desire to be something more than ordinary. This desire to do something more than survive the days I’ve been given.
The storms of life threaten to overwhelm and I panic. I see Jesus sleeping calmly as this vessel in which I travel these oceans is pitched and swamped with the waves beyond my control and I shake Him awake. Don’t you care that I am about to drown in ordinary?
His response is as matter-of-fact for me as it was for His disciples that night on the Sea of Galilee: Why are you so afraid? Do you still have no faith?
I rationalize and hedge. I tell Him that it’s not that I don’t have any faith, but that the world, my circumstances, they cause me to falter, to doubt, to second guess. And to fear.
But even as He questions me, He stills the storm. Quiet and calm envelop me and it is there that I hear the whisper of my true self beckoning me to the life I’m meant to live.
The life of risk and of boldness and of absolute, radical faith. A life lived with seemingly reckless abandon with and for the One who gave me life.
The life of extraordinary.
Do you sense it?
There, in the midst of the chaos and the chores and the children and the noise and the fear.
There, in the midst of the storm there is Jesus. And with Him, there is peace.
But it requires faith.
Will you choose it?
That’s the question we all get to answer. Will we choose faith? Will we choose extraordinary?
It likely will be scary. It likely will be messy. It likely will be stormy.
But it will be worth every moment if it means discovering that wisp of vision that calls you forward.
Leave fear behind and discover the life for which God created you.