“Be not far from me, for trouble is near;
For there is none to help.”
Psalm 22:11

Her weary, red eyes were dull as she shielded her face from the sun’s harsh rays, flinching in pain as another piece of driftwood crashed into her. It was bad enough that her boat had capsized in the waves caused by the great storm, but now she floated helplessly as the restless water continued to toss the splintered pieces haphazardly about, mindless of her plight. She had lost track of how long she had been drifting along, sometimes trying to swim, but mostly just grasping at pieces of her old boat as they drifted by and clinging tightly, it hopes one would carry her to shore.

She no longer cared upon what shore she landed for she was despairingly desperate to feel solid ground beneath her feet once more. The dreams she cherished when she first set sail, the plans she painstakingly mulled over as she planned her trip, and the boat she had meticulously crafted herself all had descended to the deep, destroyed and swept away by what only could be described as a perfect storm. A storm so unexpected and intense that she never could have planned for it.

She was not even sure how she survived.

But here she was, clinging to a splintered piece of driftwood as she drifted along in the current, alone and afraid, searching for land but seeing none. Her will to fight was fading fast, her desire to live seemed to be sinking with the setting sun. Hopelessness encircled her, ever-threatening like the fearsome sharks that lurked nearby. Her grip on the driftwood was slipping as her eyes slowly blinked once — then twice — and then remaining closed as she let go, her body sinking silently into the depths.

It seemed the storm had won and the deep waters were eager to claim their prize as darkness began to engulf her lifeless body as she sank lower still. But suddenly a brilliant flash of light tore through the waters, enlightening the blackness as a strong hand reached down and grasped her limp one, quickly lifting her from the depths, bringing her into the light once more. She gasped as new life was breathed into her lungs and slowly opened her eyes to see the eyes of her savior.

In my most recent posts, I have alluded to what I perceived as unanswered prayers from the past, as well as, my concerns for the future, specifically as it pertains to my son who has autism. You can catch up with those posts here, Taking the Next Step and Thoughts on my Son’s Birthday – How Deep the Father’s Love.

For this post, I intended to delve deeper into those prayers of the past and how the Lord is changing my understanding of prayer and teaching me to fully trust Him in all matters of life. That is what I started to write but, as I sat in a quiet place and pondered the past, old memories rose to the surface, details that had been lost in the stress of the season, seemingly irrelevant at the time. I wrote down a timeline and then began putting some of the old shattered pieces together and soon, I saw a picture I had not seen before. It was a picture of the final blow that sent me floundering for years, destroying the boat I had built to reach the land of my dreams, and leaving me adrift in the ocean’s current.

It was the picture of a storm — a perfect storm.

If I were to develop the above story a bit more, I think it would illuminate the life of a woman determined to reach a desired land, desperate for the safety she was certain it held. I would have to ponder it a bit more but I believe if we picked up her story at the beginning and followed it through, we would have seen how she built her little boat on her own and placed all her earthly possessions inside, believing she had no other choice; Not seeking guidance, but rather, relying on her own understanding and instinct while being driven by fear.

We all have a story and sometimes I tell portions of mine not because I am particularly comfortable opening the doors of my past but because stories have a way of illustrating the way God works in the life of a believer — even when she thinks He is nowhere around.

Just over 15 years ago, I stood in my little log cabin with my three young children — a four year old son with autism, an almost two year old son, and an infant daughter. This was the day the storm sent the wave that finally crashed the little boat I had built myself and repaired time and time again. This day is forever lodged in my memory as the day I shattered as my boat, or the very foundation of my life, finally fell apart.

I know the years that led up to this cataclysmic moment and I’ve always known it was more involved than PPD (Post-Partum Depression), but there was one detail I had forgotten — one event that I’ve talked about before but I never pieced together with this season of life.

2005 ~ I was expecting my third baby, just 20 months after my second one. The needs of my firstborn son with autism had escalated to their highest point and this was the season where he rarely slept. I usually dozed on the floor of the tv room while he watched Thomas the Tank Engine or Veggies Tales all night long. Days were spent keeping after my toddler, who was a challenge, and running my older son to therapies, appointments, or preschool. This was also the season where I began to understand the realities of my marriage and the utter helplessness I felt in it. The way my mind worked during this pregnancy began to change and I shifted to a life lived in overdrive, always striving towards something.

I was intent on reaching a land of stability and love. A world where things felt normal and secure. Years before I had built my little boat and in it I had set sail, certain I would reach my dream. But, by the time my third baby was due, my ship was battered by the harsh storms that had already hit it. There were leaks and missing pieces but I drove myself and my ship hard, determined to reach that distant shore. The harder the storms hit, the harder I pushed.

The night I gave birth to my daughter, my third little love, I had already been awake for over 24 hours. My son had not slept the night before and I had been pushed hard all day to keep up with him. When it was time to bring my sweet daughter into the world, I did not have any strength left and my body began to fail. It was the frantic yelling of my midwife that kept me awake long enough to finally birth my little girl. The only thing I remember in the moments after was the now quiet voice of the midwife telling me she was so sorry she had to yell at me and then softly telling the others to let me rest — I was too exhausted to remember anything else.

Despite this, I made sure I was discharged from the hospital 23 hours later because I was needed at home. Once there, I promptly drove myself to the store because we needed groceries and I knew I would be completely on my own the next day. I never stopped moving. I never stopped trying to fix my little boat. I never stopped watching for the destination I was so desperate to reach.

This much I remembered and this is what I thought led to an emotional crash later that year that was so devastating but, as I reflected this week, I remembered what else happened that year — that was the summer I took my oldest son to see the Developmental Pediatrician, the one who officially diagnosed him with autism. I remember I left my toddler with my parents but I had my infant daughter with me when we entered the doors of that office. This was the appointment where I was told my 4 1/2 year old son had severe autism and would likely never talk and would never be independent. There was no kindness or compassion but rather, a harsh telling of facts.

I don’t remember anything after that until one particular spot on the way home — a stop light at the top of a hill just a few miles from the hospital. It was there darkness overwhelmed me, completely obscuring the far shores of the land I hope to reach one day. It was then I lost hope.

On the outside, all continued as normal. I still ran my oldest to various therapies with two little ones in tow. I still cared for my home, ran a small business, and did as many of the ‘Mom things’ I could. I still drove myself with an intensity that sometimes amazed others. I still never slept and dealt with countless autistic meltdowns. But on the inside, I had detached. I had lost the hope of reaching dry land. My boat was listing badly and taking on water but I no longer had the means to repair or cover the holes.

It was the perfect storm and those waves that started after my son’s appointment stirred up more waves that dredged up hidden memories of the past. All of them combined continued to pummel me for days, weeks, and even months. These waves hit under the shadow of that darkness, telling me that God obviously did not care about me or my prayers. The lightening strikes that accompanied the storm hit me with the harsh words that He had left me alone in this fiercest of storms. It was in that storm I began to repeat to myself the words I heard in the darkness that I was truly alone and God was not there.

The final wave hit that day as I stood in my little log cabin with three little loves all around me. My boat shattered beneath the force of those waves and I was tossed into the depths of the sea, grasping for anything to hold onto, constantly pummeled by the debris around me.

I floated helplessly along, carried by the currents, subjected to the fiercest of elements.

I would have told you all was lost.

I would have told you there was no hope.

I believed this completely for there seemed to be no other explanation for the storms in my life.

Yes, I believed there was a God and that He was holy and good —

I just stopped believing that He loved me.

My eyes were dull and blood-shot with exhaustion as I cast one last glance towards the land of my dreams and then they slowly began to blink, once — twice — and then remaining closed as my hands slipped from the wood to which I had been clinging. The darkness cheered as I began to slip into the depths of the water that were so anxious to claim me as their prize. But the darkness had not reckoned with the Light that broke through those depths, nor the Hand that reached down to grasp mine. The darkness had forgotten that it was trying to claim a life that belonged to another — One who never lets go of His own.

It was a perfect storm most certainly —

But it was no match for a perfect Savior.

I share these words cautiously, as they represent difficult memories I prefer to hide. Memories that have long been shrouded with a sense of shame and failure. But now looking back, I no longer see it exclusively as a devastatingly hard season but rather, I understand it as when God stepped in to rescue me. As I study and learn more of His sovereignty, I realize that the One who created the water and could calm a storm by simply speaking, is the same One who brought the waves that destroyed that boat of my own making. As long as I was self-sufficient and depending on myself, I did not need my Savior. As long as I worked to build my own identity, I could not find it in Him. As long as I believed He did not love me, I lied to myself and mispresented the truth of Him to others — especially my children.

That day now represents to me the turning point of my life. The beginning of a new journey — at times, an even harder journey than before for the way of the cross is a life of sacrifice and dying to one self.

Then Jesus said to His disciples, “If anyone wishes to come after Me,
he must deny himself, and take up his cross and follow Me.
Matthew 16:33

I am not sure entirely how to close this post. It has taken a few days to process and write these words and I planned this morning to pen an ending that would offer encouragement and hope to a reader who might be in a season of life when the storms are heavy-hitting. But my autistic son must have decided I needed a refresher in sleep deprivation so he has kept me awake since midnight — just like old times. As a result, my brain is a bit muddled this morning and I simply cannot find the words to express the point I long to make. So, I am going to close this instead with a passage from the Bible that I held onto through some of my hardest years — a passage that offered hope when I thought there was none.

I waited patiently for the Lord;
And He inclined to me and heard my cry.
 He brought me up out of the pit of destruction, out of the miry clay,
And He set my feet upon a rock making my footsteps firm.
He put a new song in my mouth, a song of praise to our God;
Many will see and fear and will trust in the Lord.
Psalm 40:1-3

There will be storms, fierce storms in this life —

But they are no match for A Perfect Savior.