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Without warning, a furious storm came up on the lake, so that the waves swept over the boat. But Jesus was sleeping. (Matthew 8:23, 24) (NIV)

We shot under the Golden Gate Bridge, skimming at full throttle into an enormous swell. Our little boat plunged on the bias into the pit of a trough, and lost sight of everything save walls of saltwater. We raced up the mounting face to hurl the bow from the top. There was a moment of weightlessness before crashing down on the wave’s backside. I nearly panicked, but then . . .

I looked into the face of our pilot. He was a friend I knew well enough to detect any concern. What I saw was a Cheshire cat grin. He liked this.

My tension eased. I anticipated the waves, and enjoyed the intervals of defying gravity. My senses sharpened as my face pushed through an icy aftershave of brine wind. We flew off the crests, and I had to suppress a corny urge to yell, “Wahoo.”

Life’s waves are intimidating. Abandonment, illness, anxiety, addiction—they seethe and foam above my head like so much hateful seawater. Then I look into the face of my Pilot.

Jesus takes great pleasure at being on the ocean. He likes the feeling of salty wind and trusting his Father at each leap over a wave. He delights at swooping into the valleys. 

Am I relaxed yet? Jesus is. Look at that face, he’s laughing. I don’t see fear there. I see confidence and resolve, calm and sovereignty.

My Pilot knows what he is about. We are not headed for disaster, but for some other destination to which he’s steering. He knows his course, and he’s sure of the landing he has already experienced. I can loosen up and relax, because Jesus is at the helm, and life is under his feet.

Prayer: Strong Savior, I look into your face and take on your confidence.