One Holy Moment

Craig and I just returned from a wonderfully soul-restoring time in Belize. We celebrate 46 years of marriage on June 9, but a couple years ago we decided we wouldn’t wait until our 50^th to do something special. We’d known too many couples who did that…and then they couldn’t, for one reason or another. So we booked a trip to Belize at Coco Plum, an island resort that’s known for its snorkeling (only a quick boat-ride away from the second largest reef in the world) and lovely, restful accommodations. It was so quiet there—exactly what our souls needed!

If you’ve been reading our newsletter for couples, you know we prepare meaningful questions to share with each other every evening we’re away. This trip was no exception, and so that very first morning we began a discussion about the next season of our lives together. I immediately teared up, sharing with Craig how anxious and worried I was about coming changes—not a surprise at all to either of us, knowing how I’ve never sailed through the dozens of changes we’ve experienced in the last 46 years! But I needed to release the torrent of worries and fear I’d been carrying…about where we’d settle and how could we afford this and would God continue to take care of us when we’d gone wherever he’d sent us—no matter how painful or hard or scary—all these years we’d served him. Would he send us someplace we didn’t want to go? Because we couldn’t afford what our hearts desired? And how would I feel about that?

I’d been through the “God is cruel and makes us do things we don’t want to” phase years ago. Hadn’t I left all that behind? I was embarrassed to reveal that to Craig. Hated to even hear myself voice those fears out loud. I felt immature and self-centered and so very, very sad to be circling back to what I thought had been hard-won victories in trust in my loving God. Yet here I was. Again.

We knew we’d have a mountain of stuff to talk through that night. But for the time being, we set it aside and returned to the books we’d begun reading. I lay on a lounge chair positioned on soft white sand, facing the ocean, feeling the gentle breeze, listening to the soothing sounds of the waves hitting the shore at my feet. I picked up my kindle, returning to Ghost Boy by Martin Pistorius. I have no recollection where I came across this book (I constantly search book recommendations in magazines, papers, wherever), but I was instantly absorbed in the true story of a boy who succumbed to a brain infection when he was only twelve, eventually robbing him of any bodily movement, including speech. When his brain came back “alive,” he spent over 10 years completely unable to tell anyone that he was cognizant of everything going on around him. Can you imagine being treated like an inanimate object when inside you were fully aware? Finally, Martin was tested and began a long, painful journey back to communicating, first by using his eyes and then eventually by typing through a computer that simulates his voice.

That morning I began reading about a point in Martin’s recovery when his family took him to the ocean. Martin was terrified as his father supported him to take some shuffling steps into the surf. Reading his son’s signs of utter terror, this is how Martin describes what happened next:

Suddenly I felt Dad lean closer to me.

“Do you really think that I would let you go?” he shouted above the sound of the waves. “Do you think that after all these years, I would let something happen to you now?

“I’m here, Martin. I’ve got you. I won’t let anything happen. There’s no need to be scared.”

And it was only in that moment, as I felt my father’s arms holding me upright and his strength keeping me steady, that I knew his love was strong enough to protect me from an ocean.

And as I do again right now…I wept. Tears streamed down my face, and I knew God had visited me right then and there. In a holy moment, tenderly speaking to me through Martin’s words as clearly as the sound of those waves hitting against the shore at my feet.

Every morning we were on that island, I repeated to myself all the many passages of Scripture I have put to memory. They give me such incredible comfort. And then I would re-read those few but impactful words from Ghost Boy—Martin’s words, and yet, God’s. Words meant for me just as clearly as if my God had written a message across the ocean that curled in the waves before me.

What love. What unfailing love. Strong enough to protect me from an ocean of doubts, fears, worries, I raise my face to the Son. And weep again.