by Cheríe
I
see this picture of the world as a large group of people crammed onto
a cruise ship. They laugh and party and enjoy the rocking of waves
and the thrill of the high sea. They are in their own world, caring
of nothing but pleasure and enjoyment.
What they don't realize is that the ship is sinking. Slowly and imperceptibly, but sinking. They have cast their anchor into the bottom of the ship and water is slowly trickling in. No one sees what will happen.
Far away, miles back on the safety of the shore, there are other people, some waving and calling for attention. They try to communicate the disaster that is coming. They know. They beg the people on the ship to swim to shore before the ship sails far away, out of sight of the shore, and sinks into the abyss.
But the ship-dwellers, they ignore the forms on land that are calling them. Some laugh and make fun. But most of them do not even listen.
Once in awhile, a ship-dweller makes his way slowly to the edge of the ship, longing to be free ... to be safe. They know that safety lies in the choice they make.
But then, they look down into the deep murky waters and it frightens them. They shy away, thinking that they couldn't possibly do something so daring as to leave the boat. They realize that freedom would mean to first jump in the water and swim to shore. They do not take the plunge.
They cannot.
I don't know why I keep thinking of this picture. It pains me. It pains me because I am dwelling on the shore in safety. I have jumped from the ship already, making the hardest but most important and fulfilling decision of my life.
My heart throbs for the people on the ship. I can faintly hear their laughing voices and the sounds of a wild party.
But I cannot reach them! For the life of me, it seems. I call softly from the sand, nervously ... afraid to shout. If I am too loud, I will disturb someone. I will stick out like a sore thumb and sound like a lunatic. But if I am silent, what will happen to the people on the ship?
I stop and look around me at the people beside me on the shore. I see differences everywhere I look.
Some people squat in the sand, building little temporary sand castles. They labor in vain. Don't they know that as soon as they look away, a wave will come and destroy the puny little sand castle? They act like the people on the ship.
Behind me, some people sit in groups with picnic baskets. I watch as one person from each group stands and draws a large circle around his or her group. Anyone who steps inside the circle with their little clique is scolded or ignored.
They are saved. Should they not be trying to help others? Yes. They should be doing more.
But then I turn, look to my right and gulp as my self-righteousness fades away into guilt. There stands a small handful of sincere men and women. I watch closely.
They are waving. Frantically and recklessly they are waving. Some are crying out as loud as they can. They stand out, that is for sure. But they are not afraid to stand out. They are only concerned about reaching the people who are headed for a certain destruction. They care only about getting the attention of the ship-dwellers.
I look closer. Can it be tears on their faces? Yes, I decide. It is tears, streaming freely down their cheeks. And I wonder ... how you could care that much for someone that you don't even know? Someone that does not listen to you?
Inside I desire to help them in this. I feel a pressing weight on my shoulders, calling me to help. I want to! I promise that I do. But I am stuck. Wedged between different groups of people. On my own.
I am too afraid to shout with the people on my right. But I can't possibly join the uncaring people on my left. They are too proud. They care only of themselves.
What shall I do?
I stand back, my feet in the warm sand, shading my eyes against the bright sun. I begin to survey everything.
And then I realize: This will not work! The ship is sailing farther and farther away. What can we do? There is no way the ship-dwellers will hear us now. We are only people. Our voices will not carry that far.
The ship is now growing smaller and smaller, blending in with the horizon.
We need help. Someone. Something.
But then, I see something else. Something that draws my attention quickly.
A small, gentle-looking man is climbing quietly into a lifeboat tied to the dock. This man has a look of compassion and determination on his face.
"I will help," He says. There is no arrogance or condemnation in His voice, only gentleness. Then He smiles and shakes His head."Did you really think you could do this without Me?"
His eyes are on everyone, but I feel that He is talking only to me. I walk closer and I recognize His face. I know who He is! He is Jesus. He is the whole reason that I stand in safety on this island with all I'll ever need!
Suddenly I know what I have to do. Numbly, almost without knowing, I step forward and climb into the boat with a few other people.
How foolish, I realize. How absolutely foolish I am to think that I could save souls without the assistance of my Saviour. I am only a messenger for Him! He only can save, because He has already given up His life for everyone.
We sit in silence as the Master grabs the oars and rows confidently out to sea. He is strong, I think. So strong, and yet so gentle. The people beside me in the boat are silent as well, content only to enjoy the presence of the Master.
Ah, yes. That will get us somewhere.
Before I know it, we pull up beside the noisy ship that towers over us. Our rescue boat bobs up and down on the merciless waves. Saltwater sprays my face.
My heart beats faster. I remember now how afraid I am of the water.
"But I have Jesus with me!" I whisper to myself."He is rowing the boat!"
Indeed, this gentle man I have grown to love. But still I am afraid. Afraid of stepping out. Of the unknown.
We both see the many people milling about on the deck, rocking in one slow motion. So many ... so many!
Jesus nods sadly, his strong hands gripping the oars."Yes, My child,” He replies, reading my thoughts. “And so very few will come with us.”
“And what of the ones that don’t?”
What they don't realize is that the ship is sinking. Slowly and imperceptibly, but sinking. They have cast their anchor into the bottom of the ship and water is slowly trickling in. No one sees what will happen.
Far away, miles back on the safety of the shore, there are other people, some waving and calling for attention. They try to communicate the disaster that is coming. They know. They beg the people on the ship to swim to shore before the ship sails far away, out of sight of the shore, and sinks into the abyss.
But the ship-dwellers, they ignore the forms on land that are calling them. Some laugh and make fun. But most of them do not even listen.
Once in awhile, a ship-dweller makes his way slowly to the edge of the ship, longing to be free ... to be safe. They know that safety lies in the choice they make.
But then, they look down into the deep murky waters and it frightens them. They shy away, thinking that they couldn't possibly do something so daring as to leave the boat. They realize that freedom would mean to first jump in the water and swim to shore. They do not take the plunge.
They cannot.
I don't know why I keep thinking of this picture. It pains me. It pains me because I am dwelling on the shore in safety. I have jumped from the ship already, making the hardest but most important and fulfilling decision of my life.
My heart throbs for the people on the ship. I can faintly hear their laughing voices and the sounds of a wild party.
But I cannot reach them! For the life of me, it seems. I call softly from the sand, nervously ... afraid to shout. If I am too loud, I will disturb someone. I will stick out like a sore thumb and sound like a lunatic. But if I am silent, what will happen to the people on the ship?
I stop and look around me at the people beside me on the shore. I see differences everywhere I look.
Some people squat in the sand, building little temporary sand castles. They labor in vain. Don't they know that as soon as they look away, a wave will come and destroy the puny little sand castle? They act like the people on the ship.
Behind me, some people sit in groups with picnic baskets. I watch as one person from each group stands and draws a large circle around his or her group. Anyone who steps inside the circle with their little clique is scolded or ignored.
They are saved. Should they not be trying to help others? Yes. They should be doing more.
But then I turn, look to my right and gulp as my self-righteousness fades away into guilt. There stands a small handful of sincere men and women. I watch closely.
They are waving. Frantically and recklessly they are waving. Some are crying out as loud as they can. They stand out, that is for sure. But they are not afraid to stand out. They are only concerned about reaching the people who are headed for a certain destruction. They care only about getting the attention of the ship-dwellers.
I look closer. Can it be tears on their faces? Yes, I decide. It is tears, streaming freely down their cheeks. And I wonder ... how you could care that much for someone that you don't even know? Someone that does not listen to you?
Inside I desire to help them in this. I feel a pressing weight on my shoulders, calling me to help. I want to! I promise that I do. But I am stuck. Wedged between different groups of people. On my own.
I am too afraid to shout with the people on my right. But I can't possibly join the uncaring people on my left. They are too proud. They care only of themselves.
What shall I do?
I stand back, my feet in the warm sand, shading my eyes against the bright sun. I begin to survey everything.
And then I realize: This will not work! The ship is sailing farther and farther away. What can we do? There is no way the ship-dwellers will hear us now. We are only people. Our voices will not carry that far.
The ship is now growing smaller and smaller, blending in with the horizon.
We need help. Someone. Something.
But then, I see something else. Something that draws my attention quickly.
A small, gentle-looking man is climbing quietly into a lifeboat tied to the dock. This man has a look of compassion and determination on his face.
"I will help," He says. There is no arrogance or condemnation in His voice, only gentleness. Then He smiles and shakes His head."Did you really think you could do this without Me?"
His eyes are on everyone, but I feel that He is talking only to me. I walk closer and I recognize His face. I know who He is! He is Jesus. He is the whole reason that I stand in safety on this island with all I'll ever need!
Suddenly I know what I have to do. Numbly, almost without knowing, I step forward and climb into the boat with a few other people.
How foolish, I realize. How absolutely foolish I am to think that I could save souls without the assistance of my Saviour. I am only a messenger for Him! He only can save, because He has already given up His life for everyone.
We sit in silence as the Master grabs the oars and rows confidently out to sea. He is strong, I think. So strong, and yet so gentle. The people beside me in the boat are silent as well, content only to enjoy the presence of the Master.
Ah, yes. That will get us somewhere.
Before I know it, we pull up beside the noisy ship that towers over us. Our rescue boat bobs up and down on the merciless waves. Saltwater sprays my face.
My heart beats faster. I remember now how afraid I am of the water.
"But I have Jesus with me!" I whisper to myself."He is rowing the boat!"
Indeed, this gentle man I have grown to love. But still I am afraid. Afraid of stepping out. Of the unknown.
We both see the many people milling about on the deck, rocking in one slow motion. So many ... so many!
Jesus nods sadly, his strong hands gripping the oars."Yes, My child,” He replies, reading my thoughts. “And so very few will come with us.”
“And what of the ones that don’t?”
“We
come again.” He
looks ahead. “Again
and again and again. We won’t give up just because we’re
rejected.”
Jesus looks straight at me."Child," He says, all authority in His voice,"call up to them now. Call loudly and tell them ... tell them that their salvation is at hand. We will take them safely to shore." He smiles and reaches over, grasping my shoulder."I ask you to proclaim this, dear one. I ask you to lift your voice for the lost souls."
I freeze where I am.
Jesus is not forcing me to do this thing. He is asking. I have a choice.
But at this moment, I don't know what to do. A huge, monstrous fear looms up in front of me. Why am I afraid? This is childish and absurd. There is no reason to be afraid.
But what if they laugh at me? What if they think I'm crazy? What about my reputation?
I sit there, weighing things over in my mind, gripped with fear.
My vision ends here.
Jesus looks straight at me."Child," He says, all authority in His voice,"call up to them now. Call loudly and tell them ... tell them that their salvation is at hand. We will take them safely to shore." He smiles and reaches over, grasping my shoulder."I ask you to proclaim this, dear one. I ask you to lift your voice for the lost souls."
I freeze where I am.
Jesus is not forcing me to do this thing. He is asking. I have a choice.
But at this moment, I don't know what to do. A huge, monstrous fear looms up in front of me. Why am I afraid? This is childish and absurd. There is no reason to be afraid.
But what if they laugh at me? What if they think I'm crazy? What about my reputation?
I sit there, weighing things over in my mind, gripped with fear.
My vision ends here.
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