Held in the Middle of Something Vast

The water is impossibly still.

Mountains rise on either side like walls of stone.

Glacier ice drifts without urgency.

Even something ancient and powerful has slowed here.

From the deck of a ship, you are not steering.

You are being carried through something vast.

Held in motion without needing to force a single thing.

Many of us learned to survive by gripping the edges of life.

Controlling outcomes.

Scanning for danger.

Trying to steer every current before it surprises us.

Shrinking often hides inside that vigilance.

It tells people that rest is irresponsible.

That surrender means disappearance.

That safety must be manufactured through constant effort.

But Christ keeps bringing people into waters like this.

Places where the scale of God’s care makes striving feel unnecessary.

Paths where movement happens without panic.

Narrow corridors where you are not required to widen them yourself.

Stopping shrinking sometimes looks like letting yourself be carried through what you cannot command.

Trusting the channel.

Allowing God’s power to surround you without threatening you.

There are seasons when stillness feels unnatural.

When quiet makes your mind race.

When release triggers fear instead of relief.

Jesus does not shame those reactions.

He stands in storms and on glassy seas with equal authority.

He speaks peace in both.

If today all you can manage is to loosen your shoulders by one inch, that counts.

If you stop rehearsing catastrophe for a moment, that is faith.

If you allow yourself to be small inside God’s vastness without becoming erased, that is healing.

You are not drifting.

You are being guided.

Held in the middle of something far larger than fear.