Friday, August 19, 2011

Climbing out of the stormy sea

And so I struggle in this world … in this moment in time … with William Booth’s “dark and stormy ocean” and the mighty rock that rose up high above the clouds (  It’s the platform that gets to me actually and those individuals who were able to climb out of the stormy ocean to its safety.

Booth describes how some, from the safety of the platform, industriously worked with make-shift ladders, ropes, boats and “other means more effective,” to help others still in the angry sea.

And I am so bored with me.

And there is so much more that is interesting, more compelling, more inspirational, more real in the dark and stormy ocean.

The stories of others reaching in to rescue another move me because in their darkness, those adrift in the sea often don’t see the hand reaching out to save them. Those being tossed to and fro are focusing instead on the waves – big huge waves. Pounding waves. Cold waves. Waves that crash over their heads and they wonder if perhaps this time they will drown.

Some almost did drown.

But a hand rescued them.
That so brings a tear to my eye still and I have been thinking about this for a ridiculously long time. Why does it still move me so?

But a hand reached down and rescued them. Someone – maybe God, maybe a friend, maybe a stranger, maybe an angel – someone reached down and grabbed their hand and rescued them. From the dark and stormy ocean.

I heard yesterday of yet another amazing rescue, from the dark, stormy, angry sea. As the story goes – in fact for many of us – in one horrific moment my friend’s world crashed. And broke into a million tiny pieces. And laid askew in those million tiny pieces before her. Suddenly, nothing was familiar. Or safe. Or comfortable. Disbelief morphed into denial into sadness into anger into disbelief again and again. And the waves of grief crashed over her head. And she wondered, I have to believe, if she would ultimately drown in those horribly cold and raging waters.

But she didn’t. She made it up onto the platform – a platform she wasn’t even aware was there. The darkness had hid it from view. Her sheer and fading grit helped keep her body from going under, even if just her head bobbed above it just enough to suck in some desperately needed air.

And a hand reached down and rescued her.

And I marvel really because every logical indication said her story couldn’t be so. Every data driven piece of evidence said such a story was impossible.

But a hand reaching down to rescue us from a dark and stormy sea isn’t impossible.

My struggle in this moment is what to do with those who have no need, those who have already been rescued, those who stand squarely on the platform with dry clothes, combed hair, full bellies. How do I fit in with people who seemingly have no need? How do I interact with those who have only answers and no questions?

And should I?

Should I?