Floating

Early one morning, I took a walk from my neighborhood to a nearby lake. I situated myself on a log, facing the water, communing with its stillness. A mallard duck glided effortlessly across the surface, drawing pencil like lines behind itself. I noticed the water surface was solid, yet permeable.

How ironic that giant ocean liners and barges can press upon its surface, held up by the sheer strength of its breadth and depth. At the same time, the surface of water is impressionable. With little effort, it is jostled, dented, rippled across its face.

I immediately made a connection with God. With effortless exertion, He holds the weight of the world in the palm of his hand—each life within earth’s colony precious to Him. Yet, God’s strength is matched by His resilience. He is permeable, affected, and responsive.

As I sat, collecting my thoughts, I envisioned the sensation of floating on the water. With complete surrender, entrusting my weight to its faculty, I am buoyed up.

That is the image I need right now in my life—the image of floating on the surface of God, allowing Him to buoy me, imagining His presence coming up underneath me, able to hold the weight of my life.