I’m never going to tame suffering.
It is an ocean of unpredictable waves.
In my youth, I surfed like a barney,
thinking I knew the right moves.
But I was a rag doll with a christian vocabulary
tossed from my flimsy board of faith.
A Maverick of despair pinned me,
revealing my desperation for a savior.
Still the waves kept crashing,
drowning me in sorrow,
Until God rescued me and
set my feet on ground solid with his love.
We trained for hours.
I looked silly hopping up on my board of faith,
awkwardly balancing between grace and works.
Up daily for dawn patrol to
study the Hall of Faith surfers,
men and women,
though scarred by Great Waves,
who rode life to the fullest impact.
They testified to the reward of daily discipline,
and increased my quiver. The right board for the right wave.
Self-control stretched and retrained my weak muscles.
Jesus taught me to respect suffering;
lean into the lessons rather than fight their powerful surge.
I now know what it is like to run my fingers down the barrel,
relax into the beautiful hollow of not being God.
I use suffering from top to bottom,
carving hope from impossible odds.
I respect other surfing sufferers, rooting them on to ride well.
I persevere when rung through the washing machine of trials.
Experiencing epic peeks with God towards the glorious impact of gnarly suffering.
Podcasts post every Monday at 10 am.
Devotionals post every Tuesday at 7 pm.
Poetry post every Thursday at 7 pm.