my feet on the edge of the ocean

Standing with feet at the edge of the ocean, I turn to my children and say, “I wonder what gift the ocean has for us today?”

Fully believing myself, that each next wave might bring a treasure- a shell, a promise, a hope- tumbling out upon the shores where we stand. In that special moment, with the breeze on our face, our toes in the deliciously warm water, our feet sinking into the soft sand, that something very good was possible.

(You know, like in Moana. When the ocean chooses to give her a gift, which also becomes a calling. But that’s a whole other layer of the story. Or is it?)

In hopeful, barefoot expectation, I breathed it in and waited.

But then, as more persistent and consistent waves come bubbling up and over my toes, some fears that I wasn’t expecting come inconveniently bubbling up, too.

Where they came from, I don’t know. Whoever planted them, I can’t be exactly sure, but somehow, they took root and they grew. Now here, they reared their ugly heads. As I stand here on the edge of possibility, they tell me of all that possibly could go wrong. What might come swimming up to hurt me. How we might stub our toes or get stung. How my kids might be swept into the waves and tumbled around in the salt. What I might lose, how I might hurt.

How “it” will never work, this whole brave, more daring thing. So much could go wrong. It is, so messy after all. My hair is blowing around in the wind, every which way. We just got sand in our eyes. It’s kind of unsettling.

I’m sure I don’t need any of this after all, not really. The shore is fine. Further back, that is. Part of me wants to retreat to my comfy, cozy spot, away from all of this. Who needs gifts that just make you need to be more brave, anyway?

Wait.

No.

I am, different, now.

I have dealt with so many of those fears. Frankly I am surprised and disappointed by the ones that find me here. I didn’t choose them to come bubbling up today.

But they came here, now, to go. Because I don’t choose them anymore. I’m still here. I still my breathing. I tell my mind to be calm. I remind myself of who I am. (Now, at least.)

Or always who I was somehow, before all these ideas of scary things came rushing in.

I can’t be just the same.

I don’t want to be. I am so different now that I ever was. Though a part of me that I don’t like unexpectedly rises up, I get to choose. I am not my fears. I am not the fears that were whispered in the dark or shouted at full daylight. I am someone different. Not because I am so strong.

But because I remember different.

Because I think I’m finally unbecoming whoever I was, and becoming who I was supposed to be. Who I was, before all the fears came rushing in, bombarding me with the “what if”s, commanding my full, or partial attention. Now I remember who I am. And who I am really never is alone. She is never overwhelmed, she ever underprepared or unequipped for whatever lies ahead.

Because He who made me is perfect, and He never gave me any of those fears.

So, I’m giving them back to whoever or whenever they were given to me. I reject them-instead of forever rejecting myself, and who I’m meant to be.

I’ll take a deep breath and reject instead, the worries, the lies, the regret and the fears. I can remember. To choose faith, not because I am so strong, but because He who lives inside me and who beside me sure is.

Now that I can see the lies that tell me that is not enough, now that I can feel their collision here, where my feet stand but heart shrink? This is where I get to choose. To cling to these thoughts of what might lurk, or maybe, to let of them go and be free. Amidst the expectation of generations past. The whispers of worry. The proclamations of doubt. The stories of misfortune. I may have collected them, unknowing or not. But it’s a terrible collection and I don’t want it anymore.

All the things that could go wrong, right here at my feet. Sure, it’s ocean tide of terror in many practical ways. But it’s meant to be an ocean of more. Full of Hope, and Love and an expectation for good.

So that’s what I want to look for.

Remembering then that no matter what comes up, with You we can get through. The ocean tide that seems too strong, the jellyfish that might sting, the sharks that might bite.

It’s hard. I know. It’s really hard, to hope, for better.

But Jesus, take my fears. No, that’s not quite right. You deserve better. You’re not just the clean-up crew, you’re the Victor. So take me. All of me, and with that, replace my worries that I’ve carried now, for years.

I don’t want to expect what you won’t give to me. I want to expect You. You will be with me wherever I go. You will provide for me, whatever I need. You will always be enough. Take every thought I may ever have that says otherwise. Because they simply aren’t true.

With you, I want to be. So, THERE, with my feet at the edge of the water, this time…

I believe.