Following him through life’s storms
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Welcome to “Beautiful Word,” a weekly collection of devotional readings from CT Women that will draw you deeper into the life-changing Word of God. This week, author and Alaskan fisherwoman Leslie Leyland Fields explores themes from her new book Crossing the Waters, inviting us to reflect on what it looks like to follow Jesus through challenges like doubt, anger, fear, and failure. To receive these and future Beautiful Word devotions from CT Women emailed to you for free, click here.
Monday: Jesus Only Wants Sinners
“When Simon Peter realized what had happened, he fell to his knees before Jesus and said, ‘Oh, Lord, please leave me—I’m such a sinful man.’ . . . Jesus replied to Simon, ‘Don’t be afraid! From now on you’ll be fishing for people!’ And as soon as they landed, they left everything and followed Jesus.” (Luke 5:8, 10–11)
Was that a knock on my door? I was startled. No one appears at my house on our wilderness island in Alaska. I went to the door and opened it cautiously. It was a man who looked vaguely familiar.
“Leslie! It’s you! I was hoping to find you.” He smiled.
“Aaron?” I barely recognized him. It had been five years since I last saw him. Five years ago he lost his son, his marriage, his sobriety, and, it seemed, his faith. He had just disappeared.
We sat for two hours, talking about God, and his great love and forgiveness. We cried. I gave him a Bible as he left.
In such times, I feel like Peter flailing in the miraculous boatload of fish. His joy at the stupendous haul suddenly turned to fear as he caught a glimpse of who Jesus might be—and then horror at his own unworthiness to receive such attention and bounty. “Go away! I am a sinful man!” he cried.
Those terrified words of confession are exactly what qualified him to be a disciple. It’s the same for us. How many times am I slain with the same horror when I’m given gifts and responsibilities I do not deserve and I’m not sure I can fulfill? Yet the very recognition of our sin and our need for Jesus is exactly what qualifies us to serve him. Yes, of course we’re unworthy. Those are the only kind of people Jesus saves.
Tuesday: Mending Nets
“Stop being angry! Turn from your rage! Do not lose your temper—it only leads to harm. For the wicked will be destroyed, but those who trust in the Lord will possess the land.” (Psalm 37:8–9)
My husband and I had a fight in the boat four days ago while commercial fishing together. In our final words, Duncan told me to “shut up.” I did. For four days.
We’re standing at the fishing nets on the beach now, sewing up the holes that lose us fish. Since that fight, I’ve been staging a bitter chorus line of hurts and wrongs committed over the years.
I look at the ragged holes in the net which look so much like our relationship right now. I watch my hands swiftly weaving in and out. Needle-stroke by needle-stroke, the torn net is cinched as I graft in the other webbing, the old into the new. My spinning, knotting hands speak to me. I see my own part in all of this, my own bent toward selfishness and destruction. I am guarding my heart, nursing my wounds, holding on bloody-fisted to my rights, turning away from those I love most. I am causing rupture and division. Only the gospel of peace, the gospel of forgiveness, can mend me—can mend us.
I look over at Duncan, who is concentrating on a hole, his brow furrowed. Duncan, who works so hard for all of us. I stand up straight, look at him in the eyes until he sees me. I smile and blink my eyes. He watches me for a moment, then smiles and blinks back. We nod, looking at each other for a few seconds, then we laugh and turn back to the last meshes in our hands. This net is almost mended.
Wednesday: Let Nothing Be Wasted
“Then Jesus took the loaves, gave thanks to God, and distributed them to the people. Afterward he did the same with the fish. And they all ate as much as they wanted. After everyone was full, Jesus told his disciples, ‘Now gather the leftovers, so that nothing is wasted.’” (John 6:11–12)
“Pass the fish, please!” It’s my second helping. We’re supping on a sumptuous meal of deep-fried halibut, quinoa pilaf, a green salad, crusty bread. Nearly all of my children are here. We’re laughing, telling stories, spilling our iced tea. We’re celebrating the enormous 200 pound halibut—our favorite fish—that two of our sons caught this morning.
I cannot help but think of the miracle on the hillside that day, when thousands were fed from two tiny fish and five barley rolls. How does Jesus do this, multiply so much from so little? My husband and I stumbled upon the beach of this uninhabited island 30 years ago with nothing. Over the next decades, God multiplied the work of our hands and backs as we dug a well, built a house, as the rooms gradually filled with six children and all their laughter and fights, their mischief and songs.
When the feast on the hillside was over, Jesus instructed the disciples to gather up all the fragments. “Let nothing be wasted,” he urged them. They collected the scraps as directed, but their “hearts were too hard” to understand, Mark records in his account of this event (6:52). They didn’t understand that the broken bread delivered to all would soon be his body, broken for them. The bread and fish meant to feed them both body and soul fed only their stomachs.
Too many times I miss him too. In my daily feasts, I forget all he has multiplied. I don’t see him in the bread, the fish, the food on our table. But today, I reach for the last crust of bread. I chew slowly, eyes closed, not dropping a crumb. Let nothing be wasted.
Thursday: Finally Safe
“When Jesus woke up, he rebuked the wind and said to the waves, ‘Silence! Be still!’ Suddenly the wind stopped, and there was a great calm. Then he asked them, ‘Why are you afraid? Do you still have no faith?’ The disciples were absolutely terrified. ‘Who is this man?’ they asked each other. ‘Even the wind and waves obey him!’” (Mark 4:39–41)
One April, I was lost in a snow storm on the ocean—alone, in a tiny wooden boat. The blizzard erased all vision of the land and sea. I tried not to panic, but I had no idea where I was for mile after mile of cliffed shoreline. Just when I was certain nothing could be worse, the engine broke down, leaving my skiff drifting toward the waves surging against the cliffs. My skiff could smash and I would end up in the frigid winter waters. I realized I could die. Where was Jesus?
The disciples knew they might die that night as well. For hours they fought the stormy seas with arms and oars until they had no strength left. They knew they could soon drown in those waves. At their lowest, a ghost suddenly appeared on top of the water! They screamed in terror. Even when Jesus clearly identified himself, they would not believe it was him until he stepped into the boat and calmed the storm. They could not believe he had such power. They could not believe he could love them that much. Finally they knew. They bowed and worshipped in awe, safe in his presence.
That night when I was alone in my skiff, just after dark, I too was saved. Jesus calmed my storm as well. Both for the disciples and for me, the true danger was not impending death, but disbelief. We didn’t believe that Jesus was who he said he was. We didn’t believe he could love us that much. Jesus came to us anyway. I bow and worship: “Truly you are the Son of God!” We are safe, now and always.
Friday: Unfollowing Jesus
“‘I tell you the truth, when you were young, you were able to do as you liked; you dressed yourself and went wherever you wanted to go. But when you are old, you will stretch out your hands, and others will dress you and take you where you don’t want to go.’ Jesus said this to let him know by what kind of death he would glorify God. Then Jesus told him, ‘Follow me.’” (John 21: 18–19)
I’d run away from my own life more than once. But this time, at 27, I meant it. I filled a backpack with food, waited for low tide, and hiked down to a remote derelict cabin. I wanted to give up on everything, even on Jesus. I had chosen to follow him as a teenager, but life seemed to have gotten harder rather than easier. Maybe life would be better without him.
Who hasn’t “unfollowed” Jesus at some point? We’ve all distrusted him, even betrayed him, in ways large and small. We’ve all been like Peter at one time or another. Yet when his best friends abandoned him, Jesus wasn’t shocked or even angry. Instead, after his resurrection, he showed up with bread and fish.
What happened next in those moments around the fire reveals the astonishing power of the gospel. Peter was entirely forgiven of his faithlessness, his selfishness, his fear. And I am as well, and every one of us who has ever run away from the one who is our very life. This is the truth about following Christ: When Jesus said, “Come, follow after me,” it also meant that he would come after us. We tend to think it’s our responsibility to walk perfectly, to always know our way, but we don’t. We stumble, we faint, we take the wrong turn, and still he comes after us. He will walk on water to find us. He comes after us through storms, through fish, through doubt, through whatever seas we are sailing. Do you hear him? Come, follow me. Do not be afraid.
Leslie Leyland Fields is an Alaskan commercial fisherwoman and award-winning author of several books, including Crossing the Waters: Following Jesus Through the Storms, the Fish, the Doubt, and the Seas. Learn more at www.leslieleylandfields.com. This devotional content is adapted from Crossing the Waters, copyright © 2016 by Leslie Leyland Fields. Used by permission of NavPress. All rights reserved. Represented by Tyndale House Publishers, Inc.
