I was perusing the social media during this global pandemic (didn’t anticipate writing these words last year at this time), when I came across a You Tube of a supermodel at the top of a skyscraper (under construction) standing on the steel girders with her photographer. I almost immediately closed it as the panic began to overwhelm my chest. But sitting in my lazy boy chair, I decided to “gut” it out.

You see… I have a fear of heights, coupled with…you guessed it…a fear of falling from those fear-filled heights.

So back to me being brave in my recliner and gutting it out. I continued to watch their video documentation of various “poses” struck in high heels and a designer dress. If I almost lost it internally when she leaned off the girder while holding the hand of her handler; imagine the gripping fear when she stepped off dangling in mid air employing only the wrist to wrist hand hold method. It was too much visual for me…I couldn’t manage that much fear even from the safety of my lazy boy. Proof text found in the grip depressions of my chair’s leather arm rest.

Fear is the anticipation of losing control. It is the knowledge of what COULD happen, based on empirical evidence of what has happened. We examine the voracity of the potential and our ability to control it. We then react.

The Covid 19 Pandemic, we find ourselves unwitting partners in, represents a global-based reality that most of us have Never experienced; or even imagined its potential consequence! We are thrust into uncharted territory without clear answers and solutions and amidst a developed lack of trust in who we can believe and look to for truth and leadership in this storm.

I take my mind’s eye to the hull of a boat, of all places in the Sea of Galilee. I am holding on to an eyelet anchored in the side of the boat as the boat is tossed nearly vertical and then waves hit my face and fill the boat with the sea water as it comes back down.

Others are in the boat, several fishermen with years of experience on the sea under various conditions. This fact should fill me with a measure of confidence as I watch through salt-stung eyes as two are desperately attempting to manage the oars to bring us under control. Braver and stronger than I am, they wrestle with the boat, the waves, and their own wavering faith in their potential…but continue striving.

But even as I take a measure of comfort in their power in the midst of this unprecedented storm…I see and feel their fear and hear their screams of desperation. I lose all hope…first in my mind, then it grips my heart. I am at the mercy of the wind and the waves, and as they tear at my body and bruise my face…I succumb to total fear.

Most of us can remember a time we felt the profound loss of control and paralyzing fear. Some of us manage it better than others, depending our level of experience and perspective. The experience of loss is the constant reminder that we are mere mortals, after all.

Loss of a job with no prospects in sight. Death of a friend or loved one. A dreaded, then realized crippling disease or life-ending cancer. A pandemic. A virus that Advil doesn’t cure. Dangling from the girder 50 stories high, with only a wrist-to-wrist hold on someone we don’t know their capacity to save us from peril. I’m 230 pounds… my immediate reality is that the one standing on the ledge is going to save themselves. And the quickest way to do that is to release me. And that thought makes me lose all sense of control.

Back to the boat. I see another man at the front of boat… curled up asleep. Peaceful even. I rub my stinging eyes as another wave nearly washes me over. The other sea worn fishermen are screaming his name and, wait, their trying to wake him up to help them as they fight for control.

They shout this man’s name again, “Jesus! Don’t you care that we are in peril! We are perishing in this wave surging sea! Wake up, Jesus!

“And on that day, when evening was come, He saith unto them, Let us go over unto the other side. And leaving the multitude, they take Him with them, even as He was, in the boat. And other boats were with Him. And there ariseth a great storm of wind, and the waves beat into the boat, insomuch that the boat was now filling. And He Himself was in the stern, asleep on the cushion: and they awake Him, and say unto Him, Master, carest Thou not that we perish? And He awoke, and rebuked the wind, and said unto the sea, Peace, be still. And the wind ceased, and there was a great calm. And He said unto them, Why are ye fearful? have ye not yet faith? And they feared exceedingly, and said one to another, Who then is this, that even the wind and the sea obey him? MARK 4:35-41 (R.V.)

Many of us, in the storm, have forgotten who Jesus is. We see his humanity, as he sleeps in the boat, riding out the same waves as are slamming into our face. We find ourselves hopeless. Some of us in the boat have never experienced His Deity and the grace manifested through salvation. And so we are fearful.

And some of us know what He can do as the Creator and King of Kings…the one of whom death holds no sting! We cry out, “ Don’t you care that we are perishing! Jesus! Wake up! Save us!” We question in the midst of the storm.

No matter what our view is, Jesus woke up in that boat and He spoke peace upon that storm and calmed the sea. His humanity shows he feels our fears and the stinging eyes from the waves. His Diety proves He is in control as He speaks a word and the world spinning out of control becomes peaceful.

Jesus is the SUBSTANCE of things hoped for…and the EVIDENCE of things not seen. It requires FAITH in the One sleeping calmly in the boat, who is capable of controlling the wind and the waves.

Get to know the man Jesus and know that he is God. Trust Him. And your faith will strengthen and your ability to be peaceful will be clear!

We completed a long trek across the United States this week by returning to the familiar, the comfortable and most definitely the place that moves me most: Lover’s Key!

I left our condo at 5am with my coffee and an anticipation of revisiting an old friend…a beach filled with memories, space, visual cues that prod and poke my external shell until I exhale fully…and find myself.

It was dark…awaiting the dawn is precious time when you can smell and hear waves swirling the sand beneath your feet. As I approached the shadowy bridge I would cross under, I saw a cigarette glow and heard voices. Warily, I stopped to grasp and assess what situation may unfold. I was about to embark on a moment, a present time stalling itself so that it could absorb me in a timeless pause.

Cautiously, I moved on to walk under the bridge a few steps from the shadowy pillars of the bridge…when out of the darkness steps a man with a dusky voice proclaiming, “You’re a fedora man!” Not the expected at 5 am, beneath a bridge, on Black Island on Lover’s Key. I hesitated to answer as I quickly took inventory of my situation. He was younger than me, about the same size and if he was intent on harming me…he had an unorthodox style: a guitar around his shoulders, a can of cucumber water in his front shirt pocket, and yes, a fedora tilted slightly forward on his head. I responded carefully, as someone else was still in the shadows behind the pillars, “What ya doing out here this morning?”

“Just singing songs for my mom…the acoustics are perfect under this bridge,” he countered. I knew I was present…in this moment.

I stepped through the darkness into the shadows under the bridge to meet Matt Freed and his momma, Anna Freed. Matt asked me what kind of music I like. I mumbled something about country. He queries further, asking my thoughts regarding the Zac Brown band. I gave him a thumbs up. My new friend asked me to accompany him into the water…in the dark…under the bridge…where, apparently the acoustics are the best. And he serenaded me and his mom with “Island Song.” Under the bridge, in the dark, on the beach.

We walked out of the water and he asked if I play the guitar. I nodded and launched into my story of teaching myself to play at 11, trading guitars with my sister without her knowledge, and choosing an Ibanez 12 string instead of a high school class ring, purchased by my mom as a graduation gift. Thus began our swapping family stories until the sun began to rise as dawn awakened. He closed our “in the moment” with a love story of his poppy and the love of his life, following his fearful days in Vietnam. His Poppy challenged Matt on his death bed to not waste his great gift.

Matt then shared one last song, one he had written about his mom called, “Anna.” We walked back in the water and stood together. Myself and a man freed by his Poppy to do what he loved. Matt Freed and I shared numbers, hugged, and I walked on down the shore to contemplate my good fortune…in this moment.

You see…we are often held bound by proposed necessities, the tyranny of the urgent, an impasse caused by the imminence of living. Matt’s Poppy “Freed” him by a death bed blessing. To pursue that which he is called toward…a destiny changed by his involvement in each moment.

Show people you happen upon, the grace of God; by re-enforcing that god-like image you see in them when upon you meet…Present-in the moment.

The Paramores song lyrics:

Creep past the hours like the shorter hand on the clock
Hanging on a wall of a schoolhouse somewhere
We wait for the bell
And we dream of somewhere elseDaydreaming, daydreaming all the time
Daydreaming, daydreaming into the night
Daydreaming, daydreaming all the time
Daydreaming, daydreaming into the night
And I’m alright

We sit around a lot of campfires: vivid in-the-moment enhancers. For daydreamers, a campfire feeds your imagination addiction, taking you down the infamous rabbit hole of inherent plausibility. A campfire rarely results in a male species dominated “nothing box” haze, but rather, blazes a maze of tunnels in and through the past, present and potential of our lives!

Last evening was unremarkable as fires go…but then Christine asked a question, “What kind of kid were you?” She gave example that she was a hider. Loved to find hiding places and hang out there. Ok. Interesting.

Back to me…I replied that I could have been characterized as a “daydreamer.” My imagination was wild and free. Oh sure, there was the typical child plans to be a superhero, policeman, fireman, truck driver, Lemans race car driver…you know, all the usual trains leaving the station with no clear track to return.

Here’s the deal: I still daydream! A lot! I’m 61! I still develop both realistic and unrealistic “plans” that could happen…or not.

Here’s the cool part: God often meets me in that recessed internal daydream place! As the reel is clicking and the tape is rolling, God is directing the lines of the script…making suggestions and rewrites as the thoughts flourish. He reminds me of the past and it’s relevance or lessons. He makes me think of scripture I’ve read and it’s meaning to me as I live and breathe in my moments.

Is this a new look at “prayer?”

Some truths to hang our daydreams upon:

Psalm 139

To the choirmaster. A Psalm of David. O Lord, you have searched me and known me! You know when I sit down and when I rise up; you discern my thoughts from afar. You search out my path and my lying down and are acquainted with all my ways. Even before a word is on my tongue, behold, O Lord, you know it altogether. You hem me in, behind and before, and lay your hand upon me. ..

Psalm 94:11

The Lord—knows the thoughts of man, that they are but a breath.

Hebrews 4:12

For the word of God is living and active, sharper than any two-edged sword, piercing to the division of soul and of spirit, of joints and of marrow, and discerning the thoughts and intentions of the heart.

Plug these time-worn understandings of scripture regarding God the Father’s intimacy with His creation-children and sit back on your camp chair and fire gaze…it might clarify a few things.

God meets you in the moment and in your heart and mind.

Keep your heart with all vigilance, for from it flow the springs of life. Proverbs 4:23.