Love, Take My Hand.

Minutes before Drew and I shared our first kiss (<-huge deal, by the way), we found ourselves swimming in the frigid waters of British Columbia’s Howe Sound. Our mutual enthusiasm for Canada was discovered early on in our dating relationship, so every couple of months we headed north from Seattle to discover more of the beautiful land that had begun to feel like our own magical kingdom.

On one such trip, we were driving south along the Sea-to-Sky highway after a hike in Whistler when we began to see signs for Britannia Beach. “Let’s go!” we decided with the spirit of spontaneity aglow in our eyes and the fires of young love emboldening our hearts. Life was beautiful and all was right with the world.

Except that when we arrived at the beach just in time for sunset, there was no beach. We swiftly discovered Britannia Beach to be the name of a loosely designated area near the sound which was essentially comprised of an expansive barrier of unscalable rocks. I was a little angry about this and super hangry but I had brought my swimsuit, darnit, and was determined to swim at “the beach.”

After changing in a trash-strewn, un-serviced public toilet, I joined Drew for our sojourn across railroad tracks and down a steep embankment towards the water. Crawling over slippery rocks and algae with towels and sandals held high above our heads, we finally made it to a rock that was large enough for us to both sit upon and decided that was the best we could do. From a dock further down the water, I heard the sounds of a wedding celebration and could see the silhouettes of people dancing.

The sun was slipping behind the mountains as I entered the water that was now tinged with pink and gold. As distant music played, soft rays of light streamed through the gaps of the mountain range across the sound, creating a perfect symphony of peace and wild glory. I was in heaven.

Drew, bless his heart, was not. Silently debating the pros and cons of leaving our sun-baked rock for the frigid Canadian waters of a non-designated swimming area, he remained frozen with indecision. As the water grew even colder and I determined to head back to shore, I turned and saw a sweet blonde Drew head bobbing above the water as he paddled towards me, gritting his teeth but smiling with his eyes.

In that moment, I knew I was ready to enter fully into a relationship with Drew even though I was terrified of getting hurt. He had conquered his fear of water to come closer to me, and this made me want to draw even closer to him.Later Drew told me,

“I really didn’t want to get into the water because I knew it would be cold and uncomfortable, but then I looked at you and thought to myself, ‘But what kind of man do I want to be for her?’ And then I got in the water with you.”

Early on in our relationship, I told Drew that I would only kiss him if I felt certain we would be married one day. That evening as we dried off in the sun’s fading light, I chose love in spite of my fear and never looked back. (Spoiler alert: we’re married.)

* * *

I’ve never forgotten that experience of being utterly swept up together in a sunset beauty and glory, water and mountains, conquering fear for the sake of love. Since that evening, as I’ve grown in my relationship with Drew but especially with God, I have come to realize that true love does not allow us to avoid our fear; rather, it invites us to overcome our fear by swimming right into the middle of it, to the place where our feet no longer reach the bottom and faith takes over.

I picture the disciples in the middle of a lake during a terrifying storm who witness Jesus walking on water. The disciples fear he is a ghost, but Jesus calls out:

“Take courage! It is I.”

Boldly, Peter asks Jesus to invite him out of the boat and into the storm.

“Yes, Come,” Jesus says.

As he stepped out of the boat, I imagine Peter had expected his fear to dissipate the moment he began to experience the miraculous. And maybe it did, for a moment, as he walked on the water towards his savior. But then he looked down and began to sink—thrashing and flailing as the waters of fear rose over his head.

“Save me, Lord!” he shouted.

Jesus immediately reached out and grabbed him. 

“You have so little faith,” Jesus said. “Why did you doubt me?” (Matthew 14:29-31)

For most of my life, I have interpreted the emphasis of this passage to be Peter’s lack of faith, which has left me feeling guilty about my own lack of faith. In reading it afresh, I now wonder if this story is not about Peter’s lack of faith, but about the One who meets us in our fear and overcomes our lack with perfect love. Perhaps in this moment Jesus is telling Peter,

“Your faith only took you as far as your fear could see. Look at me, and take my hand; this is possible if we do it together.”

I think it is safe to assume that after saving Peter, Jesus did not pick him up like a baby, walk across the water, and dump him in the boat. Matthew’s account tells us that when Peter and Jesus climbed back into the boat, the storm ceased. This implies that there was some walking involved—that when Peter walked back across the waves towards the boat, he was focused on the presence of love instead of fear. This made even walking on water in the midst of a storm possible.

When we—like Peter—focus on our lack, absolutely everything is terrifying. I am very gifted in this department.

But when we focus on Christ’s powerful love, what is terrifying fades into the background and what is possible comes into focus.

This is a love that cares too much about who we are becoming to let us remain safely in the boat, unchanged. Instead, the love of Christ invites us to step out in the midst of our fear and discover that this is precisely the place where God awaits us. Admittedly, I pour a great deal of energy into arranging my life in such a way that I avoid having to deal with fear at all costs. But this is not the path to abundant life that Jesus died to give us.

When I avoid stepping into my fear, am I also denying the chance to encounter Christ?

When love calls us out into the storm, will we focus on our wobbly steps and the raging sea, or will we fix our eyes on the one standing in the middle of the waves with his scarred hands still reaching for us, telling us all will be well?