Living a Significant Lifeনমুনা

I’ve read the story of Peter walking on the water hundreds of times. Each time, I’ve imagined what that mystical encounter with Jesus must have been like—seeing His ghost-like figure on the water. And Peter takes that first step out of the boat, only to discover a miraculously firm (albeit soggy) footing on the waves.

Yes!—I’d think. I want that! I want to be like Peter. To be bold, a risk-taker, the first to step out in radical faith. All good things.

And on the surface, the desire is admirable. Who wouldn’t want to be brave like Peter, stepping out onto the water in faith? That intrepid, head-first leap into trust—believing God for what seems impossible. Miraculously providing for the budget when there’s more month at the end of the money. Or trusting Him to heal when the test diagnosis is grim. Or depending on Him to protect our kids, soften the heart of a spouse, or guidance when the way ahead is dark. Bold faith is a good reason to step out of the safety of the boat.

But I relate to Peter for other, less admirable reasons, too, like the desire to be first among my peers to do something impressive, something flashy. Something everyone else is too nervous to do. To be the first dog to the dish. Numero Uno. Sometimes, I’ll jump, not to give everyone else an injection of boldness, but as a way to prove that I’m the most gallant, the most courageous, the most faithful. Truth is, I like to be first—a lot.

This side of me—the Me-First side that clamors for significance—runs dark and deep. It shows up when I feel pressure to distinguish myself on “a big stage.” It leaks out when I peacock and posture myself to be a bigger deal than I actually am. Like Peter, I’m attracted to the idea of being first, out front, the plucky leader of the pack.

As you keep reading past Peter’s barefoot waterskiing story, you eventually see that his brazenness backfires. After Jesus is betrayed and arrested, terrified of angry opinions, Peter’s fearlessness turns to vapor as he pretends to not even know his Friend and Master, denying Him three times. Misplaced boldness turned to betrayal. Hubris became humiliation.

I’ve had my share of humility moments—times when circumstances drove me to my knees. Times when my strength failed in the face of my weakness. I’ve had my crying out for help moments. And it was in a recent humility episode that my attention was drawn to something new in this famous story. A character I’d never really considered before.

I noticed the boat.

I appreciate Peter—bold and ready to take the first step in faith. And there are times I need that model to instruct my next right step into the storm. But sometimes–maybe a LOT of times–I’m simply the boat. The boat–carrying the hearts of hurting people through rough water. The boat–journeying with friends as they’re searching for a Savior. The boat–just a humble vessel bridging where people are in the storm to where Jesus wants them to be as their Savior.

I like boats. I WANT to be the boat. Nothing flashy. Not always first in her class. Ready to serve, ready to support, ready to point people to Jesus. Just a boat–available to be used by God, in sunshine or in rain. Just a boat–so that when the Savior calls, I’m prepared to help people take their bold next step of faith.

My husband says, “It’s always good to have a friend with a boat.” I like that. I want to be the boat. Maybe you’d be available too.

What would life look like today if you decided to look for opportunities to be the boat for someone near you today? Choose to focus less on being first, on making a splash, on being the bravest, the biggest, or the flashiest on the crew. And today, just be the boat.

REFLECTION:

How might your life and relationships change if you chose to focus more on being the "boat"—a humble, steady presence that supports others in their journey toward Jesus?