When I was a boy living in the panhandle of Florida, my family visited our little beachfront cottage in Gulf Shores, Alabama in the summer. One July evening when there was no moon and calm seas, my dad announced conditions were just right, and we would go floundering that night.
Now you may have floundered plenty in life, as have I, but this was different. It involved wading out into the Gulf of Mexico on a pitch-black night, hunting for a strange flat fish called a flounder that boasted razor-sharp teeth, both eyes on one side of the head, and which buried itself in the sand at the ocean bottom.
My dad woke me just before midnight. I excitedly arose as he gathered the necessary supplies— an inner tube to float a round metal tub that would carry the heavy battery that powered our underwater light as well as hold the fish we caught, plus the flounder gigs with which we hoped to spear our quarry.
My dad sternly warned me as we stepped into the surf to pay attention to the buried shapes in the sand and to shuffle my feet as we walked, because it would be easy to stumble upon a stingray. He’d had one of their venomous barbed tail blades removed from his leg once, and did not wish that for either of us. That, on top of risk of sharks and the possibility of painful stings from a Portuguese Man of War jellyfish, made the venture a bit scary. But my dad kept us safe, we caught some flounder, and I eventually returned to bed with a new experience under my belt.
Another summer night, just a few years ago, I had a dream in which I was in a large social gathering inside a beachfront building where people were discussing the Old Man and the ocean. Was it safe? While I knew it was turbulent and dangerous at the surf, way out past the distant breakers with the Ancient of Days, I sensed it was safe. In this dream, I felt drawn—called—out there.
(I am reminded of Ezekiel 47 and the vision in which the prophet was led out into a river, first at ankle depth, then the knees, then into deep water. And of Jesus walking on the water, beckoning Peter to come.)
While the others continued to talk in my dream, I left the group and made my way alone through a dark, deserted ballroom to the pitch-black seaside, where I knew God waited for me, beyond the waves.
He waits for every one of us, beyond the shallows of our preoccupation with the cares and diversions of life. He longs for us to wade past starched religious conceptions and to freely pour out our hearts to Him as our loving Father who cares about our every concern. Through the Word and the Spirit, He wants us to discover His profound wisdom and to plumb the depths of His love and goodness.
My shoes are off—I can almost feel the sand between my toes… how about you?
Wonderful, JB! Boy did that bring back memories of floundering at Gulf Shores. And floundering through life…. I love your analogies – well put and helpful to think about. Thanks.