He is in the boat with you.

Last year was dark and stormy. Seas that had long felt like home, raged in painful barrage.

Each morning I awoke to a wall of water, menacing attacks I couldn’t see around. The dark presence of despair camped next to my bed at night. Sunlight seemed hidden, and at times I lost sight of hope.

People say we can’t let circumstances toss us. And they are absolutely right. But when they do so anyway, we human vessels can feel like creaky wooden boats, riding against colossal winds and waves, small children who face towering bullies that threaten to crush us.

Sometimes we are brave, and sometimes we are not. As I look back, I believe the bravest thing I managed last year was the one thing I thought was the smallest of all.

I didn’t give up.

I faced the storm. When it pushed me down, I got back up. And because of the story I am about to tell, I am that frightened girl no more.

I will start at the beginning. It’s a story I loathe to share, but I’m not the only one whose been tossed at sea. And what’s more, the hero of this story is someone I want you to know.

Details are not included because they matter little. The storms that threaten each of us are unique. When darkness prowls to devour the lighted places within, to drown out sparks with blackest void, there is something abiding that will always see us through. And It was this one thing that kept me from being swallowed by the thunder’s roar:

I was not alone.

In my creaky little boat, with paint peeling, parts broken, battered about by belittling bombardments, I was not alone.

In the greatest storm I’ve known so far, I found there was a man in the boat with me, one I was told had faced the most epic storm of all. The stories had been circulating that in the creakiest of tiny boats, he had once been roared at by an aggressive sea-at-war; raged upon by giants offended with his very existence, words and deeds lodged in indignant attack, showered upon him from all sides in a deluge of opposition.

And there he was, standing with me in my little rickety boat.

In the middle of a wrathful storm.

I was not alone.

He knew these storms better than I did. Captivated, I watched his every move. He stepped forward, turned to stand facing me, his eyes holding mine, he said, “Look at me, child.” I already was, but he tenderly reached out, drew my face upward to cradle between his hands. Our eyes locked in unison. He made sure I experienced a long enduring look into the powerful depths within the circle of his eyes. I couldn’t look away. For a few moments I forgot the wind and waves surrounded me at all.

What I saw steadied my racing heart. He knew this pain I was experiencing. He knew it all. I could see it in his eyes. I could see storms that had tried to swallow up his light. I saw them, reflected in his eyes as through glass. His eyes revealed that he knew what it was to be spitefully spat upon. I saw he had once been imprisoned, held captive. I saw he had been harshly abused, his flesh ripped apart by angry waves of darkness. He had suffered more than I ever would.

I was not alone.

I didn’t want to look away. He nodded, acknowledging that I had seen rightly. His mouth never stirred but somehow his voice, like melting butter, warmed my insides with the words, “Keep looking into my eyes.” I nodded back. Holding my gaze for a moment more, I watched him do what made no sense. He sat down upon the tossing bench, plumped a fading pillow and closed his eyes as if for a nap.

Wait! I needed help! Why was he not fighting this storm with me?

And how could I keep looking into his eyes as he instructed when now he appeared to be asleep?

This storm. So big. So angry. I was no match for it alone. But as I stood in that tossing boat watching him sleep with strange confusion, I grudgingly had to admit,

I was not alone.

There was something about admitting this, something about acknowledging him there with me in the boat, that suddenly gave my eyes a different frame of sight. I looked to the right, to the left, everywhere I still saw the storm raging, but now as through a window’s reflection. The storm ranted and raved around me, but from the other side of a portal. The portal of my perspective had become a gaze through the circle of his eyes.

Just as I had seen the storms he had faced through his eye’s reflection, I could now see the storm I faced the same way: a reflection in his eyes. Through this portal, the erupting madness around me appeared so much smaller.

I was not alone.

When seeing through his eyes, I could hold my ground. Strength arose. I could stand and not be tossed aside. I could remain. I could breath. I could remember sunshine on the other side of the clouds.

Yet sadly, there were also moments I blinked with doubt or fear and lost sight of his eyes. The storm would grow more menacing. Surely it had been sent to erase me off the map! I could see him asleep nearby and I worked harder, fought faster, with more might than ever before. In a storm like this there was no room for mistakes. I must do everything right.

But it wasn’t enough. Not quite enough.

Worthlessness tried to crawl into the boat with me on such occasions. Yet when it became apparent who else was in the boat, it had to shrink its way back out again.

I was not alone.

This sleeping man had come to tie his fate to mine. If this ship went down, we both went with it. He had placed himself in the throws of danger, he had become vulnerable, for me. For better or worse, he was riding this storm out here in this boat with me.

But how could he sleep? What did he know? What was I missing? Why was he not afraid? Or angry? This storm had beaten me to shreds. I barely had the strength to stand. Why wasn’t he stepping in?

It was then that he sat up. The storm hadn’t shaken him awake, the tossing in my heart had. I could sense it as surely as I felt the spray of sea against my cheek. He held my gaze again.

I was not alone.

He stood and repeated words I had heard somewhere before, “You of little faith. Why are you so afraid?” This question poured into my insides like dripping honey. The words carried his heart. He did not condemn me. He saw me. He saw how I was wrestling, he saw how I was desperately trying to hold on. He saw how big the storm was to my eyes. He saw how small I felt. And he saw that in the wrestling, I still stood. I could feel him see all of it.

Next he turned and it was then that his rebuke finally came. Of course it must. surely I deserved it. Clearly, I had become a wretch, tossed at sea with no help in sight. But magnificently, as he opened his mouth, his rebuke was not sent in my direction at all. The rebuke that came was aimed sharply at the storm. Like waves of sound I saw the air shake in ripples as he declared with authority I never knew before, “Peace. Be still.”

And so it was.

I was not alone.

A calm sea, quiet waters, sunshine, bright, brilliant blue sky, all sparkling back at me. As if in a dream, but really there.

Peace.

At the sound of his voice, in the fullness of time, the harsh battering had all faded away. In a moment.

I had was not consumed. And

I was not alone.

The greatest lie a storm can hiss, is that we are alone… lost at sea, out of sight of heaven. Bullies who beat and batter, all the while making sure to remind us that we are too small, too helpless, too friendless to stand… LIE to us. Worthlessness, despair, hopelessness, fear, doubt, confusion, all these enemies appear to hinder the kindnesses of heaven with dark clouds and whipping winds. But they are lying too.

The truth is that,

Heaven is in the boat with you.

And heaven is not worried.

You are not alone.

I know some people who seem quite tough enough to handle whatever squall arises with grit and grace. Without him, I’m not one of those people.

I need him in the boat with me.

He has rescued me. He has resurrected me. And I, as good as dead, am alive today. In his eyes I find my place, my home. In his eyes I see more than what appears in front of me.

Whether in ferocious storm or fairest sea, it is his eyes that hold me steady.

In his eyes, I see the world reflected back as it really is. Without his eyes I can only see things as they appear.

Often quite distorted.

Storms do come. But when they surround us with a roar, we will not be tossed if we unequivocally know, that in every dark and stormy sea,

We are not alone.

He walks on waves, straight into storms to be near you, whispering through the wind, calling your name, inviting you to see.

You are not alone.

He wants you to gaze into the intimate depths of his eyes. He wants to reveal to your heart the power of his love reflected there.

You are not alone.

He holds your face in his hands and sees how you’ve wrestled, he sees how you’ve desperately worked to face it all.

He sees when storms rock and deride you. And he also sees that you have not given up. He sees that you have fought with all you have to stay afloat, to steer ahead. And he wants you to see too, that

You are not alone.

In the coldness of every storm, you can look for the lighted warmth of Heaven’s presence. For it is not truly hidden behind the clouds after all. The truth is that if you look for Heaven in the middle of any stormy hell, you will see