I had no reason to feel pensive.

This was only day three of our interstate holiday. We were on our way to visit good friends. I was glowing, in the second trimester of my long-awaited first pregnancy.

Yet the lifeless grey sky and the stark landscape had little to offer. The road was harsh, stretching out in front of us; a bitumen intruder slicing mercilessly through the countryside.

We drove in silence.

There is a sense of isolation in traveling through unknown territory. An aloneness when entering into a city you have never visited before. Anonymity. Disconnection.

Even when life is at its best, the memory of its fluidity and ambivalence is only too real and present. A tiny squall can disrupt the boat; the anchor of joy lies frighteningly shallow… Fickle.

When the gusts come, I try to claw my way back to a place of equilibrium. A place of peace and quiet. Of calm waters and unsurprising constancy. Of happy predictability. But it is in vain. The boat rocks and sways. I buckle. I despair. I howl. Circumstances, emotions, the most minuscule of throwaway comments can derail me and throw my life into temporary chaos.

I yearn to be steadfast. Rock solid. Unswerving. Not swaying. Constant in faith and joy in the face of life.

I am not. But He is.

His hands enfold all. They cup around my boat, my sea, my waves, my wind, my storm, my anchor, my shore. Everything He holds. Everything He sees.

He is steadfast. He is rock solid. Unswerving. Not swaying.

My Lord. My God.

My Father.


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