Scared little kid.
Intermittent whimpers grow closer together and combine into cries for attention. An exhausted Rachel breathes in, collects herself, and sits up. Her hands almost automatically reach above her head, collect her hair, and gather it into a compact stack. Chance the baby is uncomfortable and hungry and facing changes he doesn’t understand. Rachel brings him close, patiently rocks him, and whispers in his ear “It’s okay, it’s okay, it’s okay.”
Chance the baby screams. None of this makes any sense to him. Such a scared little kid.
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When do we stop being scared little kids?
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A 7th grade girl stares out into a sea of terror and chaos. A cafeteria can hold harrowing waters indeed. After a semester of unsuccessful attempts to connect with anyone in this new school, she starts to lose hope. She sits alone and eats quickly. Scared little kid.
A teenage boy is crushed beneath the waves. Feelings of worthlessness and fears of dying alone wash over him. He tries to come up for air. He’s sucked back down. He weeps in his living room over a breakup that came out of nowhere. Scared little kid.
A middle aged man looks up into the night sky. The clouds are thick, and they obscure the stars he’s been relying on for navigation. He’s lost. He set out from port with valuable cargo and a clear destination. Setbacks and closed doors chip away at his passions for life, the things he loves that make him who he is. He wonders how valuable his cargo can be if he can’t find his way to the place that needs it. All the same if he sinks to the bottom of the sea. He searches and strives. He buys things and fills himself with cheap thrills. He lies awake and looks into the night sky. Scared little kid.
An elderly woman readies herself to make the voyage beyond the horizon. She looks out across the waters. Vast and mysterious. She’s dying. She has days left. Others have gone before her. Some with confidence and expectation. Others with bitterness and resignation. She’s somewhere in between. She steps onto the dock, but grasps tightly to her family and friends. She can’t take them with her. What lies beyond the horizon? Only one person has come back, and she can’t remember what he said about it. Scared little kid.
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The disciples find themselves on a raging sea. Cursing the wind and cursing each other as they fight for their lives in a desperate attempt to maintain control of the boat. The effort is futile. They are sinking.
In a last ditch effort, the disciples run to Jesus.
“Teacher, don’t you care if we drown?”
Scared little kids.
Jesus gets up.
“Quiet! Be still!” He says to the wind and the waves.
And they listen.
“The wind died down, and it was completely calm.”
Jesus turns to his scared little kids. He asks,
“Why are you so afraid? Do you still have no faith?”
“Who is this man?” the scared-in-a-different-way disciples ask.
Even the wind and the waves obey him.
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When do we stop being scared little kids?
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To be human this side of eternity is to sometimes be uncomfortable and hungry and facing changes you don’t understand. It’s to occasionally find yourself in the midst of a storm, looking out over harrowing waters, braced against powerful waves, lost on a dark night.
When those days and nights come, the temptation is to respond by cursing the wind, cursing the people around me, relying on my own strength and striving to maintain control of the boat. To start believing and acting like Jesus doesn’t care. To be a scared little kid.
“Why are you so afraid? Do you still have no faith?”
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When do we stop being scared little kids?
When the reality that “even the wind and the waves obey him” becomes settled in your heart.
This reality is not settled in our hearts once and for all for most of us. This is a “one degree of glory to the next” kind of settling that is settled more fully trial by trial, storm by storm, to prove the character of your faith “which is more valuable than gold.”
That’s some valuable cargo.
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When do we stop being scared little kids?
It’s when we relax.
It’s when we realize just how closely we’ve been drawn in to our Father, wrapped tightly in his arms. It’s when we slow down enough to notice the rhythms of his movements, his patiently rocking us back and forth. It’s when we quiet ourselves so we can hear him whispering in our ear, “It’s okay, it’s okay, it’s okay.