Jeremiah, the doomsdayer of his day, felt the flux around him. In a context of sloshy-morality and iffy-commitment, he was the bearer of the promise of God’s judgment. And the people hated him for it. The waves came up and down around him and he, too, was no doubt seasick from the motion. But he fixed his eyes on what was stable. What was permanent. In that atmosphere of constant flux there is a great word of glorious certitude from the prayer of the prophet Jeremiah: Heal me, Lord, and I will be healed; save me, and I will be saved, for You are my praise (Jeremiah 17:14).
Certainty is hard to come by in the world today.
School? Don’t even get me started.
It can feel a little bit like being on a small boat in the middle of the ocean. The waves aren’t massive; they’re not going to capsize you. At the same time, though, even those small breakers play havoc with your equilibrium. Up and down. Up and down. Up and down. Over and over again until the queasiness that starts in the soles of your feet makes its way up to your stomach. You are nauseous with uncertainty, and every fiber of your being starts to cry out for stability. For something rock solid on which to stand.
Once upon a time, I thought I had an iron stomach until I found myself on a literal small boat in the middle of a literal big ocean.