Deb Entsminger

Several months ago I had an argument with someone I’ve known for years. It was an unexpected clash, not par for the course of our relationship at all, and I came away from it shocked and a little bruised.

The gnarly part was that there didn’t seem an obvious way to resolution; as well as feeling awash with the emotions of it, it wasn’t clear how to move forward.

Such incidences are unwelcome aren’t they? In this situation it was a conflict, but it could very well have been an illness, or an accident or any kind of bad news. Something happens and the waters of life are stirred up. We’re disoriented and don’t know what to do next..

My strategy for the last few months has been to keep this incident on a shelf in the corner, attempting to pretend it doesn’t exist. In the main that’s worked quite well, but every now and then something will happen that brushes up against the as-yet unhealed bruise, and I find myself unable to ignore the discomfort. The throbbing pulsates right through me, and it’s as painful as ever.

This happened a few weeks ago. A completely different person did something that hurt my feelings a little, and I found myself reacting disproportionately strongly. I was awash with indignation and feelings of being hard-done-by, and even as I was experiencing them, I knew the throbbing was the original wound, rather than the current smite.

So the next morning, I reluctantly took the conflict down from the shelf where it had been gathering dust, and sat with it and the Lord.

Before me I had the words of Matthew 11:28-30

Come to me, all you who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you and learn from me, for I am gentle and humble in heart, and you will find rest for your souls.  For my yoke is easy and my burden is light.

Words poured out of me as I described to the Lord the stew I found myself in. Disappointment. Frustration. Anxiety. A litany of injustice and hurt.
As I sat with the words, I felt low. I’m drowning.

Then, as sometimes is my habit, I started to draw a stick man, carrying a big weight. I knew that in order to put on the easy yoke of Christ, I would first need to shed the yoke that was currently weighing me down. Release and receive. So I sketched myself with a bundle of hurt, bigger than I could carry.

I didn’t want it any longer.

When it came to sketching the yoke of Christ that I had been given in exchange (for it is not possible to wear two different yokes at once), I drew it as a soft collar around my neck, and coloured it in with the orange highlighter I had next to me. I scribbled the word grace on it.

As I sat with the image of a stick man wearing an orange collar, it immediately reminded me of a type of buoyancy aid we might wear while watersporting. A buoyancy aid of grace.

The significance of this picture hit me straight away. I was awash in choppy seas and couldn’t see dry land. I’d spent the last few months treading water with this issue, and I was tired: not at all confident that I wouldn’t sink.

The relief was immediate. I could almost feel the soft inflated plastic around my neck, inviting me to rest my weary self.
Beneath, the waves remained dark and choppy; I still couldn’t see the shore. But my legs no longer had to uselessly flail.

I could float..

In the weeks that have followed, the gnarly unresolved situation has continued to aggravate. But something significant has shifted internally.

I’m no longer afraid.

It’s strange to say, but there have been moments when being aware of this buoyancy aid of grace has led me to feel something of a playfulness, which seems odd when the situation remains prickly. I’ve got enough experience of being out on the water to know that being held upright, safe, in a large choppy loch is actually quite…fun. I’ve found myself internally challenging Jesus Come on then, the pressure is off me, show me how you’re going to resolve this situation with your grace. It’s not an abdication of responsibility as such, but a sort of sacred detachment, an acknowledgement that my life is not my own.

I don’t know what I need to do to get to steady ground with this issue, but one thing I’m confident of is that his grace IS sufficient; his power is made perfect in my weakness. .

When we come to Jesus with our tangled situations, what we’re effectively calling out is Save me! We’re crying out from the midst of the storms.

The buoyancy aid we’re handed doesn’t immediately remove us from the squall. Circumstances don’t immediately ease.
But we are safe. Our heads are above water. We will not be drowned.

And that’s true whatever the cause of the gale. Life has unexpected weather almost every day. We are utterly dependent on these buoyancy aids, but often we try and swim on our own. There’s no need! There’s no need at all, yet our stubborn instincts are so quick to tell us otherwise.

Such is the miracle of life in Christ that our hailstorms are an invitation to be carried. To float, safe and free, in the arms of the One who is our buoyancy aid. Who always keeps our head above water. Who always leads us home.