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Call me out to deeper waters

Losing sight of safety’s shore

For Your Word my heart is open

I’m ready now . . . to hear Your voice

From the song “Simply Jesus” written by Sheryl Briggs

It’s been a number of years now since Elizabeth Elliott, author of the Christian classic Through Gates of Splendor, was our retreat speaker. We had just finished singing our hearts out with songs about surrendering everything to follow Jesus. This seasoned saint we had admired from afar walked up to the pulpit with her well-worn Bible, looked out at our expectant faces, and began her talk with a probing question.

“Do you really understand what you are saying when you sing such words?” She paused for emphasis and continued, “Are you willing to go wherever God may lead you?”

At the time, I was in my thirties, a young pastor’s wife and mother. She was in her thirties once, a young missionary’s wife and mother, when her husband, Jim, was martyred by the Auca Indians in eastern Ecuador. It was in those deep waters of her experience of God that she came to know the grief and joy, the cost and reward of following Christ wherever He may lead.

Ever since then, when singing certain hymns and worship songs, her challenge comes back: “Do you really mean what you are singing?” I love to read stories of saints in Scripture and in biographies of great Christians that line my bookshelf, and admire their sacrifice and dedication. But it was years before I understood (even though Scripture never hid the fact) that they too at times were scared to lose sight of safety’s shore. They were ordinary people of “like passions” as we are, not superheroes.

Fear of going deeper reminds me of something that happened last summer. Stella stood on the shore looking hesitantly at her mother in the waist-deep water. At 7 years old, she’s a good swimmer. For two years, she’s loved competing on a swim team. But this was different than swimming in a pool at the park.

The ocean was deep and mysterious, a big place full of unfamiliar living things. She’d listened with wide eyes as I told her about an elegant spotted eagle ray that had glided up to me and gently brushed my leg with its soft fin. She’d seen for herself a giant sea turtle pop its head out of the water to gulp some air, only to disappear under the waves. And now we were asking her to leave her sandcastles to venture into the deep water.

“Stella, come out here. You will love it. You’re missing out. There are some amazing colorful fish out here!”

“No mommy!”

“Stella, they’re not going to bother you, I promise they are more afraid of you than you are of them.”

“No!”

When encouraging and persuading proved ineffective, Brittany waded to shore, picked up Stella in her arms, and carried her out. At first, she clutched her mom’s neck and refused to put her face in the water. But eventually she gave in, overcame her fear, and in the end she was captivated by the beauty and wonder under the sea.

Little Lucy and I watched from the shore as her mom and sister swam away. We watched them swim side by side, Brittany’s arm lightly resting reassuringly across Stella’s shoulders, their flippers moving in rhythm. Suddenly, Stella popped her head up, looked back, beaming at us landlubbers, and shouted, “Lucy its really, really cool. You ought to come in!”

So, what do I do when God’s calling me deeper and I am afraid? I try to I remind myself of what I know is true. If Christ is first in my life, where, other than in the will of God, can I expect to find security, serenity, and significance? If God is good (and He is), if He sees much further than we do (and He does), though it might be scary at times, I can trust Him.

I’m still aware of the gap between what I sing and what I really know by experience, and so often I’ll whisper a prayer, “Lord, you promised to guide me through the deep waters of life. You know my heart’s capacity. I want to be willing. Make me willing to mean these words. I trust you.”

As Greg has often said, “Never be afraid to trust an unknown future to a known God!”