Most days, I read a Psalm, which are basically journal entries from people who weren’t doing very well. I recently read Psalm 18. In particular, these verses gripped me:
16 He reached down from on high and took hold of me;
he drew me out of deep waters.
17 He rescued me from my powerful enemy,
from my foes, who were too strong for me.
18 They confronted me in the day of my disaster,
but the Lord was my support.
19 He brought me out into a spacious place;
he rescued me because he delighted in me.
And so I wrote a poem (sort of), for all those who feel like they’re drowning. In it together, friends.
So there I was, drowning. Wave after wave crashing over me, into me, through me. Rising and falling with every swell, and no hope in sight. The waves had names: shame, despair, worthlessness, fear. I had almost given up.
He reached down and plucked me out of that ocean.
He took hold of me.
He drew me out of that death and carried me.
Exhausted, sputtering and shivering, I fought at first, thinking I was still drowning.
But when I looked around, the old waves had been replaced with new ones. Shame, despair, worthlessness, and fear were far below. Now, calm surrounded me, and then, joy.
He dropped me off in a wide open space, brimming with hope and possibility and sand; a canvas of beauty and life.
And when he looked at me, I realized he was a rascal.
He rescued me because he delighted in doing it: the drawing out, the holding, the dropping off. He held my gaze, and I realized he delighted in me even more than in the rescuing. And I wept an ocean, my tears waves of shame leaving my body, and he drew in the sand with a stick until I was done.
And then he pointed that stick at me, and asked if I wanted to play.
And I said yes.
So here’s to the Rascal who rescues.