For the most part, I consider myself to be a highly decisive person. Some would call it “impulsive”, and on occasion they’d be right, but in general I prefer “resolute”. Stubbornly self-sufficient and willing to face any resulting consequences, my first instincts are typically my lasting ones. I’m plagued by very little doubt or regret and, by God’s grace, I haven’t yet met any catastrophic repercussions.
Don’t misunderstand, I’m not claiming an extraordinary capability for discernment. It’s more a kind of inner resolution that comes from a life of privilege. My decisions, even the questionable ones, have always come with a safety net for failure. Such safety nets allow for a general sense of freedom.
It’s for this reason that I’ve always loved Peter. Simon Peter, who drops his whole life to follow a man he’d just met, because he was that resolute. (I’m pretty sure his mother was calling him “impulsive”). Peter, who along with Martha was the first to profess Jesus “Christ and Messiah”, guided not by evidence, rather by a small voice inside himself. He received the name “Rock” from Jesus, as he was trusted to be the foundation on which the Church would be built. The leader of the twelve.
It’s notable that in today’s Gospel it’s Peter’s idea to challenge Jesus to give him the power to walk on water! Jesus doesn’t ask him to. It almost feels like a two-sided dare. Peter says, in effect, “show me it’s you Lord by helping me do the impossible.” Jesus responds with “I am The Impossible.” The reader can sense the excitement that’s in it for both of them. With his eyes ultimately fixed on Jesus, Peter is solid. Decisive. It’s a temperament I can relate to. It’s a life lived in full color. Risk and all.
But like Peter, there are also moments of doubt and denial. There are moments when the wind blows up and the waves crash around during my own fourth watch (3AM-6AM). From the time babies are newborns, mamas’ bodies learn to recognize that window, where their little one’s grasp of sleep is most tenuous and they are often clamoring for comfort. For me that window never really closed. I manage to stuff a regular person’s daily dose of anxieties into that fourth watch. It’s a predictable, brief, dark window of uncertainty.
Staring at the ceiling, with my blissfully unaware, snoring husband beside me, I can make a meal out of every small decision. My over-packed schedule becomes a strong, driving wind. My daughter’s college course decisions become a seismic wave resulting in an earthquake in my own mind. An interaction with a coworker that just didn’t feel right at the time can catch fire. And, while I try to pray through it, God isn’t in the wind, earthquake, or fire. God is whispering, and my own mind is too noisy to hear.
I get the sense that for more careful decision makers, the day is littered with too much noise, and they are seeking God’s voice in the murmuring whisper found in the quiet of evening prayer. For me, the din of the day is the background accompaniment to the solo of the whispering voice. It’s the night’s silence that is cacophony.
Whether you’re a cautious and vigilant decision maker or a spontaneous and instinctive reactor, anchoring oneself to the voice of Jesus is the only path to freedom. Jesus, whose voice never diminishes and sings of your own infinite value. Jesus, whose voice comforts in the midst of stepping out into the dark unknown, assuring you that there is no reason to be afraid. Jesus, whose voice whispers in the day and in the night and every moment in between, telling you that the wonderfully impossible is possible now.
– by Kelly Meraw from the Build the Faith Blog