It’s a New Year. Deep breath.
A crisp, fresh page.
A clean slate. Pristine.
A blank screen stares back at me. The cursor hovers over empty space—taunting.
Just a few minutes into this new rotation around the sun and the unknown becomes a shape-shifter.
Once promising, now looming, the “what could be” morphs into the predictable “what if” worry,
and I’m undone—just before the sun rises on this day, after the exodus.
I find myself stuck between rock and deep water.
I’ve been led here, yet I feel lost.
I like to know the plan—so I can form an escape route, if necessary.
But how do you make a way when the stakes are made of shale and sea?
It’s like being on a treadmill, sweating, stepping, striving—facing resistance yet going nowhere, fast.
Eyes on horizon, you see the island,
yet the only way there is to step off the mill of self-reliance and wade past the shallows.
What will you do?
Shore feels safe but it has limits.
Abundance awaits on the horizon,
but the only way there is to tread water. And you hate treading water.
It’s scary. It’s unpredictable.
It’s vulnerable; when feet cannot touch ground.
Treading water requires deep trust.
Here we go.
One step in, and another, keep going…keep going.
You close one eye, bracing yourself for a coming wave.
You determine to step forward again —no turning back now.
You quickly revert back to what you know. Labor. Toil.
You can no longer touch. Your kicking legs and circling arms keep you afloat.
You try not to panic. Breathe in, breathe out.
The horizon sways as your legs churn the water.
The clock ticks in your mind. Its steady beat marching in rhythm as your strength starts to slip. Your movements less machine-like and more desperate now.
God, help! Please help! Daddy, do you see? I’m going under soon if You don’t intervene. Why did You bring me out here in the deep, in this foreign sea? I hate treading water. You know that, right? It’s hard.
What do I do now?
Oh My child. It’s not what you do. It’s what I AM doing.
Have done. Will do.
See? You’re on My watch.
Watch and see.
All of a sudden, right there, in the midst of “see” a wind blows and the waves suddenly turn to walls.
My feet find rock. Right there in the impossible, in the midst.
In the place I feared, I find I’m not alone.
In the unknown, the Way-Maker, Red Sea Parter, Foundation Layer, the Good Father, He provides.
When I reach the end of myself, I find that I’m not alone out here, treading water.
I thought it was up to me.
I had forgotten that He never leaves, us.
We are not orphans, we are chosen.
We’ve been led here. Heirs in the wilderness. Children of the Promised Land because the Promised Child came into our land and the home of our heart.
We are on our way Home.
We won’t sink for we’ve already been rescued.
We walk through the sea as if it’s dry land because He removed the veil that once clouded our vision.
We have new eyes. A fresh start. A New Hope.
And one day, a new body. Because His was given for us.
We have a clean slate.
Hope is on the horizon and it lives within.
We get off the treadmill. The horizon stops swaying.
We remember we are on solid ground—even in the midst of sea.
We are His beloved. Son. Daughter. No turning back.
We go forward and we are not alone.
We walk with Him, within.
We are new.
Kelly Balarie’s book, Fear Fighting: Awakening Courage to Overcome Your Fears is now available for purchase! Head on over to Amazon to pick up a copy and start the year off with courage!
P.S. Link up an encouraging post with Kelly for the #RaRalinkup over here.
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