Crossing the Line

The beautiful thing about this adventure called faith is that we can count on Him never to lead us astray.

Chuck Swindoll

Swimming. It is an expression of capability in the water. A word I write with regard and ambition.

I have never learned. I do not have the positive pleasure of using the word for personal description. I only can say, "I do not go swimming." and "I am not swimming."

When my doctor sent me to pool therapy, I knew a challenge lay before me. I nevertheless obliged, for I needed the prescribed care. Put wellness ahead of my fear. Pushed my comfort zone behind me while I waited weeks for an appointment. Dreaded the future proclamation I must make to anyone concerned.

When "the day" finally arrived, all my mentally rehearsed "can't swim" explanations were in vain. I did not have to wait for a proper moment to tell Andie, the physical therapist, about my shameful inability. She asked. I told. She replied that many who came to her did not either.

I felt better. But still looked at the vast body of water before me with a bit of angst and awe.

Andie calmed my fear. Reassured my safety. I accepted her words and felt relieved.

I entered the waters, at once filled with timidity and bliss. The pool was warm, waters a pale, greenish blue. The quiet surroundings, the soft background music, and jacuzzi bubbles gave me pause to wonder at anxiety I now thought silly. I felt embarrassed at my fear and lack of trust.

With floaters around my head and under my knees and legs, Andie guided me to water's surface. I was shy, but knew I was safe. "I won't let you sink," she said. I believed her, and so complied and focused on relaxation.

And therein found a historical precedent for myself at fifty years old, as I rested upon the top of water for the first time in my life. I was floating. Swirling about and hearing soft splashes surrounding.

What followed were days of therapy that challenged my fear, gave healing to my muscles, alleviated pain, and brought peace upon the water.

A door had opened. I knew a new world. Looked forward to each opportunity to face my opponent, the aqua, foamy sea.

But one day I did not remember a warning. Just simply forgot Andie's words, spoken on the first day of therapy. "Don't go past the blue line."

My fifth session had ended, and with time to spare, I decided to sit near the jacuzzi and enjoy its powerful warmth on my back. I walked across the pool, my eyes fixed on the prized place.

And then, it happened. I crossed the line. And dropped.

The drop was small. But I quickly found myself in water that almost covered my head.

I realized the power of tip toes, and used them to keep my nose and mouth above while I made my way back to my newly found comfort zone.

Resting at the jacuzzi, I heard inquiring voices. "Are you OK?" "Is everything all right?"

"Yes, I'm OK. I just forgot. I forgot about the line."

Enough said. I sat a few moments, regained composure, and soaked in the swirling waters.

And thought about the line. Wondered how I could forget such significant symbolism. In disbelief, I pondered my inability to see its bright blueness until it was too late.

The nearness of the safe mark made it invisible to me. Distraction drew my eyes away from danger. A present goal hid the purpose of a planned point.

And so it can be with lines. Even spiritual lines. Those lines put in our lives by God for our own good that for one reason or another are forgotten, ignored, or momentarily unseen.

God's lines are for our good. They are laid with purpose. They are points of demarcation. Progresses of movement. Courses determined for a specific reason. Sequences of related events that lead to a certain ending. *

God limits. Marks. Makes boundaries.

God draws our lines. They are very personal. Divinely His, and distinctively ours. Always thinking of our best, our heavenly Father carefully binds our borders and sets them in order.

Yet, when we fail to see them, deny them honor, desire greater distance, we challenge the Father's love that so carefully made these perimeters. Lines set to keep us safe, sound, unmoved from His will. Lines deliberately designed to dissuade fears, give liberty for worship, for service, for living the life of Christ, for walking His way, for sacrificing our hearts, for giving pure offerings. Holy, acceptable, works of love that are acceptable in His sight.

Offerings that overcome the ease of wood, hay, and stubble. Offerings that prove our testimony. Sweet sacrifices that speak a pure heart and fervent love for Jesus.

We are all guilty of crossing lines. From drawing too close to them to clearly see truth. From careless self-pursuits, from blind ignorance, from weak faith, from failed vision, from confusion, from fear, from egocentricity.

I have crossed the line many times in my life. I cannot return. Recross. Go back. Undo. See the uncrossed back then life.

BUT, I can see Jesus now. Listen closely for His voice. Wait for His ways. Worship Whom I have believed. Honor His wise words. Look for His lines today.

Lines of His Holy word. Lines of His lovely still, small voice. Lines of providence. Lines that close doors I must not open. Lines that open doors I must not close. Lines that lead me in the paths of righteousness. Lines that lead on lonely roads. Lines that bring me to high places. Lines that give me light in darkness. Lines of hope. Lines of peace. Lines of love. Lines that let me see Jesus. Keep my sight on His face. Keep my toes on the ground.

And, dear friends, please hear me now. We clearly know those lines that separate us from God. Lines that if crossed lead to sin. God has made brilliantly clear boundaries between good and evil.

How those must always in all situations be honored. But today I write of tailored lines. Those lines given us in our individual lives. Drawn just for us. Personally. Intimately. Lovingly. Written by God's finger in the sand of our own soul.

Several years ago, God warned me about an upcoming ear surgery. (It was not a life or death issue; the doctor suggested it to improve my quality of life.) I did not feel peace. Yet, I allowed my intellect, my own reason, to cry out and drown the voice of the Holy Spirit.

What followed was two months of misery and a reversed surgery. But God, in His sovereign teaching, in His mercy, through His lovingkindness, has used that situation many times to whisper the importance of hearing Him.

Oh, to always hear my God! To "Hear Him!" In Greek, "hear" means Akouo, to understand, to attend to, to consider what is said. And it appears 402 times in the New Testament! Allow that emphatic retelling echo through your soul!

To consider Christ's voice! To understand His will! To attend to His words! To see His lines!

To see Christ's lines that we may ever obey Jesus, knowing that the desire of our Shepherd is for our good and will always lead us to a certain end. His perfect goal. His best place. Made just for me. For you. Because Jesus cares. And loves us so.

Follow His line today, friend. It is a straight path to peace. It is a clear way of life that gives fullness of joy (Psalm 16:11). Now. Today. Forever.

*Taken from definition of "line," found in The American Heritage College Dictionary

Greek terminology is from e-sword

Thank you, dear friends, for your thoughts and prayers for my mother. The surgery was a great success! Glory to God! I thank Him for His close presence and healing touch. She continues to do well. I also thank Him for safe traveling to Georgia and back again and for allowing my dear aunt to return with me for a visit. The Lord is good!