The Cost of Freedom

Father God,

I feel light, tossed. There is a weight to my heart that I have felt, that I have seen others glimpse. It frightens me – less so than it used to, but the fear is still there. Somehow, though, I think I more fear living from something else than I do living from it. I think I fear not living at all and am beginning to understand where real life is found – walking with You, even into and through the dark nights and winding forests of this world, fully alive to You from my heart.

But I play it safe. I sit at the shore and dig for seashells – dead temples to once shimmering creatures. I build sandcastles to occupy my time. And so the waves ebb and flow. These castles I build are, come high tide, dissolved and taken, particle by particle, into the depths. All I hold to, all I grasp, runs through my fingers like soup through the hands of a starving vagrant.

And so I’m left standing empty-handed...

...But, and this is a great mystery to me, I'm empty-handed, but not empty-hearted. There’s a call here. It’s subtle, mysterious, but powerful, like the invisible pull of the moon on these waters now washing at my feet, slowly pulling away sand from where I stand so that I sink a little more. Oswald Chamber’s words come to me, “The call of God is like the call of the sea. It can only be heard by those with the essence of the sea within them.”

Ah, yes. Diving right into the long end of the endless immensity of the sea sinks the setting sun. Its reflection upon the waves is like a long hand outstretched in invitation. Its heat still light upon my face is the echo of a deeper warmth, a deeper burning, emanating somewhere from within.

Christ, too long have I come to the edge of the world and looked over the cliff cautiously. Too long have I refused the jump yet wandered back and chattered as someone flying. I speak well the scuba-depth language, but with only sun-scorched back burned from too long snorkeling. My heart, in desperation, resounds the cry of St. John of the Cross, “I no longer want just to hear about you, beloved Lord, through messengers. I no longer want to hear doctrines about you, nor to have my emotions stirred by people speaking of you. I yearn for your presence.”

Come, Jesus, rescue me. I give myself back to You, to be Your man, Your friend, Your beloved, Your son of thunder.

Amen.