Two weeks ago at the church retreat, I heard a message preached on Jesus and the storm, and because it felt particularly relevant at the time, I paid close attention.
If you’re subscribed to my author newsletter, which goes out every Friday (and includes snippets of personal news, plus new releases and book deals, mostly in clean romance, but also in women’s fiction, memoir, and books on faith) some of the pictures/stories you’ll see below will not be news to you. I don’t usually like to repeat myself, but in this case, it was too relevant to leave out.
Our church retreat was in Étretat.
And we stayed here.
While we were climbing Étretat, someone snapped a photo of Matthieu and me that I just love. I put it on Facebook with this scripture caption below:
“She seldom reflects on the days of her life, because God keeps her occupied with gladness of heart.”
(Ecclesiastes 5:20)
When I posted that scripture, I already knew that I’d be going in for an MRI because the routine mammogram revealed something that was worth looking into further. I decided during those three weeks of waiting that I would not reflect on the days of my life, but instead would only be occupied with gladness of heart. And, except for one sleepless night where worry and all the “what ifs” took over, I focused on just that: gladness of heart.
Focusing on gladness of heart is an easy thing when all is going well, but it’s a deliberate thing when you’re in the midst of storms. In the message at the retreat, two storms were referenced. The first was in Mark 4:35-41.
A furious squall came up, and the waves broke over the boat, so that it was nearly swamped. Jesus was in the stern, sleeping on a cushion. The disciples woke him and said to him, “Teacher, don’t you care if we drown?”
He got up, rebuked the wind and said to the waves, “Quiet! Be still!” Then the wind died down and it was completely calm.
He said to his disciples, “Why are you so afraid? Do you still have no faith?”
They were terrified and asked each other, “Who is this? Even the wind and the waves obey him!”
That was the first storm, and I shared my thoughts on it in this old post. The second occurs not all that much later, apparently, because it’s in Mark 6:45-56. That means that the disciples saw Jesus calm the storm twice, and they didn’t even have to wait all that long before they saw this miracle again.
Immediately Jesus made his disciples get into the boat and go on ahead of him to Bethsaida, while he dismissed the crowd. After leaving them, he went up on a mountainside to pray.
I started the story in Mark to show the chronology of the two storms, but I want to continue with this second storm by reading about it in the parallel story in Matthew 14:22, which contains more details.
Later that night, he was there alone, and the boat was already a considerable distance from land, buffeted by the waves because the wind was against it.
Shortly before dawn Jesus went out to them, walking on the lake. When the disciples saw him walking on the lake, they were terrified. “It’s a ghost,” they said, and cried out in fear.
But Jesus immediately said to them: “Take courage! It is I. Don’t be afraid.”
“Lord, if it’s you,” Peter replied, “tell me to come to you on the water.”
“Come,” he said.
Then Peter got down out of the boat, walked on the water and came toward Jesus. But when he saw the wind, he was afraid and, beginning to sink, cried out, “Lord, save me!”
Immediately Jesus reached out his hand and caught him. “You of little faith,” he said, “why did you doubt?”
And when they climbed into the boat, the wind died down. Then those who were in the boat worshiped him, saying, “Truly you are the Son of God.”
In the first storm, Jesus’s disciples were afraid because of the power of the storm, and they accused Jesus of not caring about them because he was sleeping through it. He got up and calmed the storm. Then they were terrified again, but this time because of the power Jesus held.
In the second storm, the disciples had not reached the breaking point where they could not go on without God. They did what they were accustomed to doing — that is, they got into the boat and began rowing to the other side. They were experts, right? So, of course they knew how to manoeuvre a boat. But, instead of succeeding as they usually did, experienced sailors that they were, they rowed and rowed, and basically went nowhere because the wind was against them. They were stuck in the middle of the sea, and they kept straining at the oars getting nowhere. All. Night. Long.
How often do we try to advance and achieve something, all on our own strength, because it’s the thing we know how to do? The thing we have a natural aptitude for?
In this second story, God helped the disciples see they were not able to go anywhere without Jesus. Since Jesus was not in the boat, Peter took a leap of faith and stepped out into the stormy sea, where — in doing so — he was able to accomplish the supernatural. However, the minute he took his eyes off Jesus and focused on the storm, he began to sink. He began to regret (one imagines) the safety of the boat, even though the boat was not where Jesus was. Jesus was out in the storm.
How often do we cling to what we know, even though we’re not really getting anywhere, rather than stay wherever Jesus is, even if it means staying in the storm?
These were the thoughts I carried with me when I went into the MRI. I decided I would fix my eyes on Jesus right through the storm. So even though I was nervous they wouldn’t find my vein to inject the contrasting solution, and even though I knew this might be the beginning of a new life for me, one that was perhaps more full of storms, I spent the entire MRI (with the loud beeps and terrifying noises and strange sensations as if my hips were being lifted off the table – some of you know this, right?) worshipping God with gladness of heart and praying for other people. I kept my eyes fixed on Jesus.
I found out the results right away and they were good. In fact, they were extraordinarily good in how very normal everything was. The doctor said that it was “strictement normale” and I could continue on with my life as I had before. I walked away from there with the words ringing in my head and my heart, strictement normale, strictement normale. The newness and wonder of the ordinary.
But the storm doesn’t necessarily die down just because we fix our eyes on Jesus once. We have to keep our eyes there or we begin to sink. On the same day as my good news, we got some not so great news. And even though I would rather have this bad news than health bad news, it was still a powerful wave, blown from a different direction, and knocking us under water.
We started a lawsuit a year ago to try to recuperate the money (around 75,000€) that was taken from us by the construction company – the money for which we are paying a 20-year loan. We thought our insurance company would pay for the lawyer, and they sent their expert to assess the damage in keeping with that understanding. In addition to the work we paid for, that the company did not do, we also suffered property damage under their hands to the tune of 5000€ (destroyed window guards and marquise and gutter pipes), and have lost the money we would have earned on the solar panels they took down in order to redo the roof. Our heating bill has also gone up because we’re leaking heat through the unfinished upstairs. (In the cold weather, we have to block the stairwell where the air current is with plastic sheets).
I’ve written about our spiritual struggles and our marital struggles over this problem here and the related post here. Needless to say, this event, if nothing else, has refined us. But earlier last week, we found out that, not only would the insurance company not pay for our lawyer because we didn’t have the right contract (after all), but also, it was up to us to go after the dishonest contractor’s insurance to get them to pay for the 5000€ in damages since they never bothered to show up to the goodwill meeting with our insurance.
Basically, our insurance was done with us. They could help no more. They would not pay for our lawyer, nor would they help us recuperate the money for the damages. This was a disappointment because we thought that if the insurance didn’t end up paying for the lawyer, at least we would have the money from the damages to help us cover the costs.
But no. Then on the same day I got my strictement normale news after the MRI, my husband spoke to the lawyer and discovered we’d be expected to pay between 3000-5000€ for a judiciary expert to come and write up everything that was needed for our lawsuit. And that it would be due in December (at the same time as Mission’s contribution at church and whatever we’d hoped to give our kids for Christmas). We have no idea where the money is going to come from for the judiciary expert, but we’re still going to give what we planned to mission’s contribution.
Yesterday I was in such a bad mood. I think it’s worth mentioning that a friend lent me the book, Battlefield of the Mind, by Joyce Meyers, and I’m reading it. So I’m conscious of what kind of attitudes I should be focusing on – what I should be putting my mind to. I know where the battle is. I suppose it’s no surprise that, as soon as I decide to focus my mind on all that is good, I should be presented with the … opportunity to focus on the good instead of the bad in the midst of these storms. (And that I would not necessarily win the battle on the first try).
What stole my good humor all of yesterday is how much I feel like a failure and how mad I am that everything is not in order as it should be. I’m finding it hard to raise teenagers, lovely children though they are, because teenagers talk back, you know. I’m mad that we still have scaffolding up after three years, and that we have a yellow, sad, weedy garden. I’m mad that our couches are sagging and ripped. I’m mad that everything needs buying all at once (my shoes and pants, husband’s business shirts, daughter’s clothes) because we keep putting things off until there are holes that let rain in, frayed collars that are not appropriate for professional attire, and short hems that are too obvious to ignore.
I’m mad at my own failure to take the bull by the horns and get out in the garden myself, or pick up a paintbrush, or do something, but I can’t seem to because the only projects I’m good at seeing through to completion are writing-related. I had hoped to make enough to pay someone else to do all that I’m not good at doing (gardening, construction, even house cleaning) but we are so far from being able to pay the bills we have already. And my husband, faithful, hard-working man that he is, has no time to do much more than me. He has his own buffeting waves to navigate.
So the storm is still raging, and I’m still out of the boat, standing next to Jesus, except that I’m not all that sure my eyes are still fixed on him. I think I started focusing on the storm again, and in doing so, began to sink.
A friend posted a scripture on Instagram. The scripture was so surprising, and it stood out to me so strongly, it was as if I had never seen it before. I actually had to go grab a Bible to make sure it was really in there. It was. And the scripture is this:
With the image was the caption: “Our prayers matter.”
Suddenly, my perspective shifted and I saw a different storm. I saw the storm of prayers upon prayers of the saints, shaking the foundations of the earth and the skies, as the angel hurls these fiery weapons down amid thunder, lightening, and earthquakes. I saw the storm of prayers that matter, and of Jesus, calm in the storm’s eye, in perfect control.
We don’t live quiet lives. Or — we don’t have to live quiet lives. And I don’t think I want to. I think I want to be out of the boat – in the storm where Jesus is – with prayers that shake heaven and earth.
Jennie, I knew about your MRI, and I am so glad that it came back normal. But I did not know about all the struggles with the contracting company and your efforts to get justice. I am so sorry to hear about all this, and I will start praying about these things.
Your perseverance with your writing in the face of all these conflicting calls for attention and adverse conditions is something I admire. When my husband lost his job nearly a year ago, I wrote for two weeks on my book (something I asked him for), and then went to work to help support our family. It took my husband a few months to land his current job, and then there was all the moving stuff to deal with, and he actually moved here to Albuquerque before the children and I did. I did not write for months – certainly not consistently. I waited for the storm to pass before feeding my writer’s spirit again. Again, I admire your commitment, especially considering the groups you manage as well.
As for teenagers, well…we’re finding it hard to raise them over here, too. 🙂
Thank you for sharing that last verse. I do not spend much time in Revelations, so I found it very interesting to read it in context here.
I wish you all the best, Jennie, with many blessings from God through this year and beyond.
Hillary recently posted…The genesis and the realization
Thank you, Hillary, for your prayers and encouragement. I think with writing there can be no comparison because you were working full time. I don’t think I could write if I were doing that. There just aren’t enough hours in the day. (Sometimes I feel like there aren’t enough hours in the day even without working full time). So the fact that you published your book with all these constraints is nothing short of amazing. Glad to know I’m not the only one trying to navigate teen-hood successfully (though I hope you do have success). It’s great to hear from you. ((hugs))