“‘Lord, if it’s you … tell me to come to you on the water.’
“‘Come,’ He said.”
—Matthew 14.28–29 NIV
She sat at the water’s edge with her legs bent and feet toward the sea, pulling piles of sand together in her hands and lifting them up to let the sand sift down beside her. The salty air soothed her lungs, purifying her breath. Strands of her long, black hair glided across her face. Her eyes never left the horizon where the sea met the sky and where the sun had stopped.
She had a decision to make. And pointing her face above the waves felt right.
The water touched her toes every few seconds, carving a curved path in the wet sand as it slid up and back. Her heart beat slowed to match pace. The wind picked up a bit. She pulled her coral cardigan tighter around her chest and put her hands back to the sand. Scooping. Lifting. Sifting. The once bright yellow of the sun had burned to blood-orange. The sky above reflected the sea below. Deep blue spotted with globs of gray. The clouds moved with the waves. But the horizon singed with firelight as the sun sent a molten line of glass along the water’s edge. She was sure it shot out into forever.
“Is this what happens in the In-Between?” she thought. “When we hold both sky and sea?”
She wanted to stay.
To be born not of this world but in it was her burden and her gift. She couldn’t deny her eyes since the day the veil had lifted. It would lift for everyone eventually, but when precisely that time would come she didn’t know. All she knew was that He had lifted hers. She had seen it happen in the Others before her, though she hadn’t realized it at the time. But it was different being on this side, the side of Sight. And not only because so many of those around her couldn’t see what she could. She had tried to describe it to them, but their veils were still down. Dark. Full of “knowledge” and “experience.” They believed her to be fooled.
It is a difficult thing to convince those who think you’re fooled that you’re not.
“When one is given Sight, one is burdened to share it. You will feel this burden grow.” These had been His words to her. And she believed them. She believed Him. But it was hard being an Other.
She had tried for a while to melt back into life before Sight. To stay with those in her before-Sight world, the world she was in but no longer of. But she had seen too much. She couldn’t ignore the brighter colors, the flashes of gold, the echoes of Him all around.
So she left.
She came to the In-Between, the place where those who see, the Others, come before they take their first steps after receiving their Sight, if they so choose. One day, when He returns, the In-Between will vanish and there will be no difference between worlds. Until that time, it remains a holding place, a true but temporary haven for all Others when they come to where she had come now.
To decision.
It felt safe here on the shore. She could see both worlds from a distance—a distance which demanded nothing of her. That felt nice. She could stay here for a while. She could. He would let her if she chose it. But that’s just it—He was letting her choose.
Her fear had begun melting away long ago. He had been kind to prepare her heart before her body. It wasn’t fear that was keeping her here on the shore. What was it?
“In this life you will have trouble,” she whispered to remind her soul, “but do not grow weary in doing good. Doing good … doing good … doing good.” Her hands lifted and sifted sand with each repetition of the phrase.
She scooped one last pile of sand and let it slowly sift down. Then she stopped. She spread out her fingers, palms to the ground. Her body obeyed her heart. Her mind would catch up in time, but it would need constant reassuring. She was certain He would provide that, for He is gracious. She shifted her weight to the side, curled her legs underneath her body, and pushed herself up. She stood tall, strong with His strength. Her hands hung at her sides, gritty with sand she would not brush off. She would need it to keep her hold faithful and true. Her face fixed on the horizon, steadfast. She knew where to set her eyes.
“I can do nothing if I stay here,” she thought. “And nothing is not what He made me for.”
She filled her lungs with the purifying salt sea air. Her faith was hers and His.
She kept her eyes open and stepped toward the sea. If He could do it, so could she.
Editor’s note: The New International Version translation does not capitalize pronouns referring to God; these have been added by Cultivating editors.
The featured image, “Wild Waters Waiting,” is courtesy of Sam Keyes and is used with his kind permission for Cultivating.
Melody Trowell is a wife, mother, published children’s book author and poet, college professor, and amateur
gardener. She holds degrees in English and Linguistics and has taught middle school, high school, and college
English since 2004. During her time as a stay-at-home mom, she built a small business doing photography and
sewing children’s clothing and goods. She and her husband live in Texas with their three children in a little home
with big bookshelves and even bigger ideas. She has been writing stories and poetry since childhood and believes
language is one of God’s most beautiful gifts. Her desire is to show others how childlike faith and wonder lift the
veil between the spiritual and physical realms to help them see the evidence of Christ and His creation. Find her
online at www.melodytrowell.com.
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