The Presence of the Deep

Tonight I knelt before you, With sorrow weighing on my soul. My heart felt distant and alone— My spirit aching to be home

Somewhere along the winding way,
I had wandered farther than I knew. The world had grown so loud around me—
I had grown so far from You.

And there, beneath my lowered head, With eyes closed to the night, You drew the veil from my own soul And brought my heart to sight…

A little child in a little boat,
Upon a sea of endless dark,
Alone beneath the vastness,
Adrift without a compass, map, or chart.

No comfort of a shore in sight. No gentle hand to hold.
Just a fragile boat upon the sea.
And a heart so far from home.

Oh, how it grieved me then to see
The distance I had made,
To feel the ache of all my wandering,
The quiet cost of my delay.

I thought myself so far from You,
Beyond the reach of where You'd be,
Until You gently turned my gaze
To the waters surrounding me.

The sea was still.

No towering waves to swallow me,
No angry winds to rend my sail,
No rising tide to pull me under,
No gathering storm to make me fail.

The waters were not wild with fury.
The night had not become my grave.
And though I felt alone upon them,
I was held within their quiet tender waves.

Suddenly I understood.

You were not waiting on some distant shore,
Beyond the waters I had crossed. You were not standing far beyond me,
Counting every mile I'd lost.

You filled the depths I feared to tread,

The water dark and wide. The sea I thought had drawn me from You—Held You on every side.

How often have I feared the silence,
As though Your quiet meant goodbye?
How often have I called it absence
When You felt no nearer than the sky?

I thought that being distant
Meant I must be far from grace,
That I must cross a thousand waters
To once again behold Your face.

But You did not ask me to find the shore.
You did not command me to steer.
You did not ask me to calm the waters
Or make the darkness clear.

You showed me only what was needed,
one simple truth for me to see:

Even here, upon this stillness,
You are near enough for me.

No mighty stroke against the current.
No desperate struggle to get home.
No striving to undo my wandering.
No proving I could row alone.

Just one small hand from one small vessel,
One heart willing to believe
That my God whose presence fills the waters
Was near enough to reach.

And perhaps that is the mercy
I had been too distraught to see:
Though I may drift from Your presence,
I never drift beyond Your reach.

You do not need a storm to find me.
You do not need the waves to break.
You can meet me in the quiet,
In the tomb of my mistake.

So let me learn the sacred lesson
of the child upon the sea:
The distance I have wandered
Is not greater than Your reach.

And when the night feels long around me,
When I cannot see the shore,
Let me remember what You showed me
As I knelt upon that floor:

The waters may be dark and endless.
I may feel far from home.
But I am not abandoned in them.
I have never been alone.

For You are here within the stillness.
You are here within the deep.
And though my heart has drifted, Lord,
Your hand is still within my reach.

Tonight, I do not ask for shorelines.
I do not ask to understand the sea.
I need only the grace to lift my hand
And reach again for Thee.

And if the waters remain silent,
If the darkness lingers on,
Let me trust the One who fills the deep
To guide His child back home.

The sea that once seemed endless No longer holds my gaze; For now I see Your presence Through the darkened ocean's haze.

My Lord, my Friend,

You are ever here, as constant as the deep.

I need not outrun the waters—

Only take my hand and reach.

For in this stillness, deep and wide, Where grief and longing ebb and flow, I’ve learned that though I may drift from You—

Your love will never let me go.

-Christie

(Your friend at Biblical Womanhood)

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