The Water, the Teacher, and a White Stone

Many people read Bible stories as a chore or an obligation, but once you realize (as in become fully aware of) how these stories parallel the journey of the human mind, the words are no longer the disjointed verses of long dead people, they become the ley linesLey lines are believed to be invisible alignments of energy that crisscross the earth, connecting sacred sites, ancient monuments, and More of the mind. Or a heuristic, if you prefer.

One such experience for me is the story of Peter stepping out onto the waves in Matthew Chapter 14.
As a child, I used to hear this story and wonder,
How could Peter doubt Jesus?

But then I lived it.

After all the studying was complete, after the Message was downloaded,
after the Grace, providence and provision.
I still doubted my ability to carry what I’d been given.

Every time I tried to step out on faith, it was as if the roaring winds of
anxiety and the crashing waves of stress were waiting just for me.
I’d lift one trembling foot over the side of the boat, heart pounding, eyes
fixed on Jesus, and then whoosh, my mind would spiral.
What if I can’t do this? What if I fall? What if I drown?
And sure enough, I would sink.

But every time, His hand would reach down. Strong, sure, merciful.
He’d lift me back up and ask gently,
“Seriously. After all you’ve seen why do you still doubt Me?”

This cycle repeated a dozen times, maybe more. What’s time in this place?
Step out – sink – save – repeat.
It was like respawning after a big boss defeat.
Over and over again I sank.
Finally, frustrated, I blurted out,
“Jesus! Next time… don’t save me. I’m not meant to do this. I belong with the monsters of the deep.”

He gave me the smallest smile and simply said, “Whatever you ask in my name, this I will do.”

So, the next time I respawned on the water, I felt the panic rise,
the fear clawing at me, and as usual I went under.

This time, no hand pulled me up. I sank, down and down, into the cold dark.
What have I done? My lungs burned. My vision blurred.
So this is it, I thought.
I asked for this.

And then, out of the deep, they came – black and white shadows silently slicing through the blue.

I should definitely learn to choose my words more carefully, I thought as a pod of OrcasDiving Deep into the Mind of Orcinus orca: The Killer Whale's Brainy Side When you picture the majestic Killer Whale, More enveloped me.
The Matriarch, the lead female, massive and graceful, circled me.
I knuckled up.
What was I going to do? Be eaten of course, but not without a fight.
I asked for this, I wanted to fight the monsters of the deep.


But when my eye met hers, I felt something ancient and knowing.
My fists relaxed.
She nudged me gently, as if to say, “Be still and know, little sister.”

The Matriarch taught me how to undulate with the currents rather than fight them. She showed me how to conserve my energy, to feel the push and pull of the great waters, how to sense the shift of tides and the pulse of the sea.

She taught me to dive deep without fear, how to comply with the buoyant force and rise up with joy, slice the vastness without losing myself and how to sense the predation of man.

I learned to listen to the song of the water, not to master it, but to belong to it. I learned that buoyancy wasn’t something I forced ; it came from attuning myself to the undulating rhythm that was always there.

When I finally broke the surface of the sea, gasping and wide-eyed, Jesus and John were on the shore. John was sitting by the fire frying fish, while Jesus leaned on a large white stone. They were, laughing heartily as if they’d been watching me whole time.

I waded through the shallows, half laughing, half crying. I sat down, dripping wet, smelling like the deep, and said,
“I guess some of us have to go the hard way!”

Jesus handed me a piece of fish, smiling warmly. “You seriously are like Peter,” He said gently.
“Sank like a Rock every time, John chimed in, then added – “but you breached the surface like you were born for it.”
“The Matriarch taught me well,” I said.

And as we sat by the fire, the stars rising overhead, I realized: He would never abandoned me.
Even when I sank, He sent what I needed.
To teach a Rock the ways of the buoyancy.
Not to be saved, but to learn Salvation.

I am Seriously like Peter.
A Rock, and rocks have trouble being riding the waves.
I am Seriously like Peter, when in fear, I denied Jesus.
I am Seriously like Peter because when He told me the truth, I said “No it couldn’t be.”
I am Seriously like Peter because even after all of these things, I was redeemed.
So Sirius Leigh Peter I am.

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