Monday, July 23, 2007

Lighten the boat

The boat vanished.

I told you recently that I had a vision. In that vision, the boat vanished. The boat that I hit, was later interpreted to be a problem, that in real life was resolved. The boat vanished.
It didn't sink.
It didn't smash into pieces.
There was no debris to avoid.
I did not have to load up debris to carry with me.

The boat simply vanished.

Even if the boat had sunk to the depths of the sea, it would still exist, and some curious person is always diving down deep to find old sunken boats.

They'll never find the boat I hit.
Because it vanished.

Ok, follow me will you?
The boat = problem.

God knows me. God knew I needed my boat/problem to vanish or I would hold onto a lot of debris. I would carry the debris around with me, as a reminder of why you should be afraid to go boating. I might make a memorial to the debris. To the destruction. I would always be able to point to the spot where I struck my problem and say "This is it, this is the place, and if you look deep down you'll find the remains of that boat that I hit"
I can't do that. Because He made my boat/problem vanish.

If you asked me though, I'd say it was necessary to hold that memorial. To carry around that debris as a reminder. I'm entitled to it. The hurt and devastation it caused was my purchase price. I own it now. It's mine. I deserve to carry the debris around. You just can't tell me that I can't carry around the debris if I want to. It struck MY boat. I had to spend weeks fixing up my boat, and I don't think my boat will ever run the same!

I've struck a lot of boats in my few years. And each time, I've faithfully loaded up the debris onto my own ship, trying to clean up the area so others boating along won't hit the mess. My boat could only hold a certain amount of weight though before it got sluggish and barely moved. Any storm that came along threatened to sink me because well, I was too weighted down.

In the story of Jonah, some of the first actions of the crewmen when the storm began raging against the ship: Lighten the ship. They threw off unnecessary things. They threw off necessary things. All just to make the ship a little lighter so it would survive.

In my life, the very first thing I had to throw out was the deed I had written up, declaring my ownership of the debris. I'd paid a price for this debris, it cost me, and it's mine. That's what my deed said. I ripped it up and threw that out first. Then I started throwing out the debris.

Sure, every now and then a storm comes along and I find some little cubby that was crammed full of stuff and I didn't realize it. But I no longer own it. It's as unwanted as a stowaway. It's taking a free ride on me and I throw it over board. My ship is lighter now. Easier to steer. It moves faster. It doesn't quite turn on a dime, but it's at least improving.

Taking it out of the symbolic: Sometimes I've allowed myself to be afraid because hey, I've had xyz happen before and it made me afraid. I claim this event, and I'm going to carry that because it hurt me. You can't tell me it didn't hurt me and that I don't have a right to be hurt over this!
I've adamantly defended my right to be hurt, angry, afraid, bitter, resentful.
And worse yet, I've used my past as an explanation for the sins in my life today.

I've had to choose. Sure, xyz happened, but I claim I have a right to toss it overboard. I have the right to sail on past it. To move past the hurt. Because you know what? It's not my mess. Now, if you come over here and ram your boat into me and make a huge mess all around me and I may very well tell you, YOU made this mess, YOU clean it up. I've got somewhere to go. And I'm not stopping for this.

But, as I said in a recent post. Sometimes it's easier to hold onto lies, sometimes it's easier to hold onto hurt feelings and pain, than it is to hold onto the Truth. Letting go of the hurt and the past means one thing: I have no reason not to be what God would have me to be and act the way He would act. And I'm loathe to give up my excuse. Oh, but what a difference it made when I did.

May God hold you and shelter you in His peace.


Mikey's God Talk said...

I believe what you said to be absolutely correct. I clearly see that my boat crashed a long time ago but I contiue to cling to the wreckage.

Thanks for sharing you vision.

Mikey <>< <>< <><

flyawaynet said...

Thank you for your comment Mikey, I'm glad my experiences and what God pointed out about what He showed me helped you.

Thanks also for the link. I've had a couple of visitors here brought here by your blog and I thank you.

I'm curious how you found me - but however it happened I'm glad for it!

I covet more people breaking the comment barrier and fellowshiping and encouraging. We all have no real idea of just how much it means, even when it's only something brief. It's encouraging to know other people have grabbed onto the wreckage sometimes just like I have.

Thinking of the mental picture of someone in the water and holding onto the wreckage, I realize how natural it seems. God holds out His hand for us, but in the waves and turmoil, we don't want to let go of the hurt in order to grab Him. Hands are wet and slick, He might drop us. But clinging to the board seems like more of a sure thing.

Amy said...

I read this yesterday, but only applied it theoretically to my life. Then, on my way home from work I was feeling bitter and angry about a shipwreck that I went through several years ago. I'll always have to live with the consequences of another person's choices that hurt me deeply. Today, I came back and re-read your post and this time it hit me: I'm still clinging to the wreckage and my "right" to be bitter. Today, I'm letting go and moving on. Thanks for sharing your life.

flyawaynet said...

I'm not sure whether to shout or cry Amy! I'm so glad it helped and that something I've experienced made a difference!

Thank you for letting me know. Like I told Mikey - It's nice to know I'm not the only one holding onto wreckage.

Sometimes I wonder if that's part of why God loves us so much. We must look so pitiful clutching our brokenness so angrily.