Lessons Learned From A Waterslide

It’s summertime and that means it’s time for water-parks. So recently I ventured with my niece, nephew, and sister-in-law to White Water.

Our afternoon of family fun moved along with lots of laughing, splashing, and playing in the sun. That is, until I found myself waiting in a line in which the rides to my left and right looked like pipelines surrounded by heavy concrete. While this type of a waterslide was a favorite as a child, I no longer felt drawn to sliding down a tube in utter darkness. To this recovering control-freak, no thank you.

My sister-in-law seemed to notice at the same time. Would this ride be alright for me she wondered. What could I do? The line crowded in behind me closing off any escape. Plus, I wanted my niece and nephew to know that I am in fact a very cool aunt. So while inside a slow panic started erupting, I responded, “Yeah, sure. Besides it looks like only a small part of the ride is enclosed fully.” And then I started praying.

After my anxiety had ample time to swell in line, we finally reached the top. Armed with a double-tube, my excited nephew claimed me for his partner and we begin “boarding” our tube. The ride felt fun the first few seconds. Then the tunnel appeared.

Before I knew it darkness encompassed me. My heart rate quickened. Panic coursed throughout my body. My breathing all but stopped. How long will this uncertainty last? I felt us moving but had no idea where. Would there be a big drop? Would we curve? Would we be in here forever?

Finally light appeared and my whole body relaxed. Just as I felt pleased that I braved my fears, my niece ran up to me and shouted, “That was awesome! Let’s do it again, and this time I get to ride with you!” People really will do anything for the kids they love because I braved the darkness once again. And the second time wasn’t nearly as bad.

Later as I described my experience to a friend, a light dawned in my heart. I realized how this ride exemplified my walk with God in the midst of my present circumstances.

I don’t know the future. I can’t see the next steps. A current pulls me along that I’m unable to maneuver. I have no control. I feel stressed, worried, anxious. I struggle to trust in God’s provision as Jesus promised (Matt 6:25–34).

Yet I hear God whisper, “When you pass through the waters, I will be with you; and through the rivers, they will not overflow you” (Is 43:2). He promises to walk with us through, and not necessarily deliver us from, the raging rivers. His presence then is our hope.

Instead of seeking deliverance from darkness, God invites me to lean into the arms of comfort already present. Think of movie scenes in which people suddenly find themselves in an unlit, creepy house at midnight. They usually step toward, and even grab the arm, of the person with them. Dark places, as such, seem to lend themselves to drawing us closer to those around us.

Perhaps you too find yourself in similar times. You need answers but only have questions. You seek direction but get more turned-around. You look for relief but only feel more grief. You long for love but feel lonely. You crave strength but can barely stand.

In the shadowy moments, God offers Himself. Besides that’s what life is, knowing Jesus and His Father (John 17:3). That’s why the disciples constantly experienced joy in the midst of trials, heartache, persecution. They focused on drawing close to Christ. When He’s our passion, the twists and turns of life offer a new joy.

So in our confusion, pain, doubt we can move toward the Person present with us. To the One of whom David writes, “Even the darkness is not dark to You, and the night is as bright as the day. Darkness and light are alike to You” (Ps 139:12).

Far From Home

“For our citizenship is in heaven from which we eagerly await a Savior, the Lord Jesus Christ.” - Phil 3:20 NASB


I remember the first time I visited a foreign country. The landscape, people, and culture captured my attention. While I enjoyed my stay, however, I knew I did not belong. My skin color, language and food preferences differed from the natives. Clearly, I was a visitor.

So too I often feel out of place in this world. I want love, but often find indifference. I long for perfect relationships, but have constant conflicts. I yearn for life, but see death. While sorrows usually only bring me pain, I find they also give me hope. They serve as tour guides pointing out the broken landscape, the wounded people, and the distorted culture of earth, ever reminding me of my absence from home.

As various problems arise, from spilt milk to loss of a job to the death of a loved one, I’m learning to understand the language they speak. I hear the whisper of hope. We can use our trials to remind us to look toward Christ’s return, to living in harmony with each other, and to enjoying life forever in the presence of our heavenly Father.