Eternally Immovable
This summer our family, including my parents, spent a week at Lakeside Chautauqua on the shores of Lake Erie near Marblehead, Ohio. It was a wonderful retreat, perfect for kids with bikes and adults with books. The setting has something for everyone, and feels a little like Mayberry USA from a bygone era. The freshly-made donuts, shuffleboard, evening concerts and the penny candy store were favorites for young and old alike. Several families from Cincinnati have made it their vacation spot over the years and we joined in.
My favorite times are generally early mornings, whether on vacation or not. I got up early, hopped on my bike went riding before everyone awoke. With the breeze in my face, I loved crisscrossing quiet streets, usually arriving at end of the concrete pier, looking to see if the early morning fishermen had any luck. Always they tell what they’ve caught, if not that morning, certainly the day before, and they usually have a good handle on the weather.
The lake was rough on one side of the pier, whitecaps tripping over each other in the wind. Under overcast skies, the waves were breaking against the pier, sloshing up and then out again. However, just 30 feet across the cement barrier the water was nearly still and unbothered. It was an odd thing to see the two different water responses so close together.
The fishermen cast their lines on the still side. “It’s much easier to feel the tug of the fish, or see the bobber hop on this side,” they said, and I agreed.
Barriers in life are often seen as a negative, something to avoid, or go around. Sometimes they are, but not always. Sometimes they’re the very things in which you put your trust. The things to which you tether your hope.
We have several large oak trees in our front yard whose branches are a canopy over our lawn. They’re hard to mow around, they drop tons of leaves, acorns and sticks, but I love these stately trees. Over the years, often in bad weather, speeding cars have lost control maneuvering the tight curve in the front of our home, and careen into our yard. Were it not for these immovable giants, they might have collided with our house. The cars were badly damaged but the oaks stood firm as silent guards.
I find a lot of comfort knowing that some things are immovable, some eternally. When the God of Abraham makes a covenant, He commits Himself, He’s immovable. I’m so grateful that I’ve been grafted into His promises.
I like how the writer in Hebrews states it:
“So when God desired to show more convincingly to the heirs of the promise, the unchangeable character of his purpose, he guaranteed it with an oath, so that by two unchangeable things, in which it is impossible for God to lie, we who have strong encouragement to hold fast to the hope set before us. We have this as a sure and steadfast anchor of the soul. (Heb. 6:17-20)
Being fastened tight to the immovable anchors the soul in hope, and hope advances the heart. It’s the safe harbor to aim for.
The winds blew from different directions the mornings I made it to the pier. A weather system was moving through, yet I stood with the fishermen, secure at the end of the pier near the depths. Experience told them where to spend their time.
When the winds of life come sweeping down, and your prayers seem lost off your lips, it’s good to reposition yourself out upon the Rock, who doesn’t move. It’s good to cast your prayers into the quiet waters, like seasoned fishers of men.
What side of the pier are you fishing these days?