On a recent vacation to the beach, my youngest child did her
very best to gather up every seashell on the shore. One after
another, she'd bring them to me, marveling over their
intricate beauty. Sitting on a quilt on a small piece of the
edge of the continent, looking over the vast expanse of the
sea, I inhaled the wonder of it all. There is a God, above
and beyond my imagination, who has created a universe so vast
and so intricate that His design genius is staggering. This
God, the one who has attended to every detail of the smallest
seashell while also filling the land with oceans deeper and
wider than we can see, asks me to cast my cares upon Him.
And I don't.
I mean, I do, but not really. I arrived on that seashore more
tired than I've ever been. Life had thrown me one challenge
after another, and, because I am just a child in the surf,
every time I stood up, another wave sent me tumbling. I
struggled under my own power to wade to shore when really He
was waiting and wanting to lift me on a wave and carry me
there.
As I fought the current and worked hard under my own power to
fix all the things I saw awry, I grew exhausted and very,
very anxious. My mind filled with a myriad of "what-ifs."
Increasingly, I began to focus on the possible problems
instead of fixing my eyes on the One who calms the seas.
Anxiety took a stronghold as I scanned the horizon, and I was
overcome with the potential storms that might blow in. Like
Peter, who strode across the water until he took His eyes off
Jesus, I felt myself sinking into despair.
Life just doesn't work without God. All the "what-if"
questions, all the fear over the next phone call, all the
struggle over the next bill are, at their roots, a blatant
lack of humility. Anxiety is when I think that the God who
created the universe cannot calm the storms in my small life.
Further, anxiety is fueled by the pride that tells me that I
have to rush in and make everything better instead of waiting
patiently for the blessings of the God who parted the Red
Sea. He has a plan.
I have to trust.
There on the edge of the ocean, surrounded by His vast and
wondrous creation, I am reminded that I am very small,
indeed. I am limited in my knowledge of God, and honestly, I
am limited in my ability to fully submit to Him. I am small.
He is great. The waves can crash around me, and I can stumble
in fear while I try to control them or I can be knocked over
by His glory.
It is pride that compels us to try to control, and it is
pride that fuels anxiety. Both St. Thomas Aquinas and St.
Augustine called pride the essence of all sin. Pride keeps us
from knowing God, and it keeps earnest but anxious seekers
from resting in the peace of Christ. We are people desperate
for humility. C.S. Lewis wrote, "If anyone would like to
acquire humility, I can, I think, tell him the first step.
The first step is to realize one is proud. And a biggish
step, too. At least nothing whatever can be done before it.
If you think you are not conceited, it means you are very
conceited, indeed."
Every day presents a choice. I can choose to muddle through
on my own power, pridefully believing that all good things
depend on my ability to make them so, or I can choose God. I
can awaken and submit the day to the master and creator of
the universe. I can call out over the roar of the surf. In
all humility I can beg for His help and also acknowledge that
His plans are better than mine, that He is present in both
the pleasure and the pain, that He works all things together
for the good (Rom 8:28) if only I surrender to His majesty
and let Him carry me on the crest of the wave safely to
shore.
Foss, whose website is elizabethfoss.com, is a
freelance writer from Northern Virginia.