Powerless

I woke this morning in much the same place I have been the last few days: overwhelmed by the steady onslaught of "issues." It seems I have no time to address one thing and move on before another wave hits. The last few have not been things over which I have any control, but things that leave me dumbfounded and stunned at their impossibility.

For the most part I am a feeler and when crises come my way, I like to acknowledge what is happening, process it (hopefully with one of my people), and if I'm lucky, have a good, cleansing cry. This usually goes a long way toward moving me into acceptance. Most of the time, I appreciate my bent towards feeler, despite the common cry of doer and thinker friends, "Oh, she's such a feeler!" I prefer this perspective.  But this latest batch of crises have left me numb and speechless, bracing for the next wave. I wonder to myself if this is what it feels like to lose my faith. I can't hear anything but the crashing of the waves and panic starts to rise. I feel completely powerless.

I think of snorkeling on our last day in Kauai. The sky is dark and the clouds gray and threatening, but it is our last chance to get in the water and maybe see something wonderful before heading home. Snorkeling is not my favorite. Well, water isn't my thing at all, truth be told. But it is something J loves and was one of two qualifiers in determining how to celebrate our twentieth anniversary trip. I wanted to bike ride, and he wanted to snorkel, so we planned both, completing a four day bike tour of California wine country before flying west to Kauai. I had managed to snorkel with him three or four times at different locations on the island during that week, but I was never completely comfortable in the water. I was happiest when J was very close by, or holding my hand as we floated.

The water is rough and the waves crashing violently on the short beach in front of our condo, as we awkwardly flop our way into the water, fins fighting us all the way. We kick off and away from shore, swimming out beyond the crashers. The water there is choppy, and it splashes me in the face as I tread water and try to quickly put my mask and snorkel in place. The surface of the water is chaotic and I feel panic rise in my throat. I am treading frantically, and my heart is pounding as I attempt to keep my head above water.  I am wearing myself out, so I tentatively put my face in the water, hoping the seal of the mask to my face is good. It is, and I feel my body relax as I scan the sea floor beneath me. I force my panting breath to slow, and my heart is no longer racing as am drawn into a world away from the chaos, the activity on the surface a dull white-noise in my ears. I float and bob and I see a flashes of color as beauty darts past me, oblivious to the storm-threatened sea above it. J holds my hand and points excitedly to a school of butterflyfish as they dart behind a rock formation. My body is jostled by the waves but I feel relaxed as long as I keep my head immersed and almost brave as long as one of my fingers is linked with J's.

I remember this today as the waves of impossibility crash over me.  I grab a daily devotional sitting near me-a particular one that I haven't opened in eighteen months or more.  I turn to today's date and read about how His power is made perfect in my weakness. I read that "we have not strength in ourselves for a single moment. More than this I am sure we are not to expect to be conscious of power. We will be conscious of weakness, and the Spirit's power works through our weakness." My body relaxes into this truth, knowing that I am nothing if not weak in this moment, and His Spirit promises to respond to every situation in power through my weakness. And I float, weightless.