A Must Read Part II

If you remember, I posted a must read last year titled " A Storm Is Coming" by Baron Batch. Well he wrote a second part to his first entry called "A Storm Has Passed". I love it. It has been so encouraging to read and has things in it that I can apply to where I am in life.
I decided to copy it over so that I'll have it when I print my blog.

Diary 44 (A storm has passed)

After 7 months of rowing I feel my little wooden canoe run aground onto the beach. With my last bit of energy I pull myself out of the small boat, and fall to the sand stomach first. Rolling over to my back I prop myself up with my hands looking back over the vast ocean that I has been navigated. Simultaneously I dig my toes into the cool sand and breathe deeply filling my lungs with air. A distinct aroma fills my nose. It is the smell that satiates the air after a storm has passed. It is the smell of ‘new.’
Immediately I am re energized.
The blisters on my hands are bloody from rowing, and stinging with the oceans saltiness. I can hear the billowing echoes and claps of thunder behind me, and beside me I hear a voice. A voice so softly soothing that for a moment the pain and stinging from my torn hands dissipates.  The voice whispers to me, and she says.
“A storm has passed.”
The voice belongs to that of Faith, whom accompanied me on my journey through the heart of the storm. Over the last 7 months I have learned a lot about Faith, and she I. Our relationship has grown since I chose her hand over that of Doubt. While rowing through the storm I learned more about Faith than I could have ever imagined. She never left my side. When I tired?  Not once did I turn and not see her beautiful face smiling at me simply saying,
“Row Baron, don’t stop. Whatever you do, don’t stop. You are strong enough.”
So I would row. Day after day I would row, with wind and rain whipping at my face. Month after month I would row with blisters that formed and covered the palms of my hands bursting, and then forming again.  Pulling at the oars to power the canoe through the rough dark waters, my back and arms would tire. And when they did, Faith’s voice was always present whispering….
“Row Baron, don’t stop. Whatever you do, don’t stop. You are strong enough.”
So I would row. Learning more and more about Faith with each row of the oars,  each time I would tire, and in ever blister that formed… and she I.
After rowing for several months there came a place where I became weary and decided Faith should take the oars and row. I begged and pleaded telling her.
“I have nothing left, please row me the rest of the way. I cant do it.”
Faith replied. “If you quit you will die here. I can’t help you. If you are willing to quit I can no longer help you on this journey. I am not here to row for you; I am here to encourage you to row. I am here to get you safely through the storm, but you must row.  I’m here to reassure you that you have the strength it takes to make it through this storm, but I can’t row for you Baron.”
So I took the oars in my blistered hands and began rowing with strength I didn’t think existed.
Then and there I finally realized what Faith meant. I finally realized her meaning.
Faith was not there to help me row my canoe through the storm. In fact she was incapable of taking an oar in her hands at all. Faith was simply there to tell me that I was strong enough to make it the entire way. She was there to tell me not to quit. She was there to show me strength I didn’t think existed.
In a storm if you choose to quit rowing the consequence is simple.
You drown.
Faith cant save you. She can only reassure you of your own strength. And when you feel like you have nothing left, help you search for strength you didn’t think you had.
So 7 months later I have reached the shore that seemed so distant when I originally set sail.
I have finally been medically cleared from my injury. It wasn’t an easy journey by any means but it was definitely a beneficial one. I have learned and grown more than I would have imagined.
But this isn’t the finish line; it is simply the starting point.
So as I lay on the shore with my toes buried in the sand. I watch the 7-month storm dance slowly over the horizon two stepping out of my sight, and I think to myself…
“A storm has passed”
“I made it”
I look over to hug Faith but she is nowhere to be found. For the first time through the entire journey she is not by my side. I look around frantically for her, calling her name.
“Faith Faith!” I cry.
I hear no response.
I shakily stand to peek inside the canoe. But she is not there. I begin to panic as I slouch against the side of the canoe to gather my thoughts, as my heart races. As the shallow waves lap at my heels I run my hand over the tiny old wooden canoe and feel something with my fingers that I had never noticed.
It is an engraving in the wood. I quickly glance down to see what it says, and the engraving simply reads.
Faith.
Then it dawns on me. Faith was never a woman in the canoe with me. Faith was the canoe. That’s why she said she couldn’t row for me. That’s why she said if I quit rowing I would die. Because once you make up your mind that you are going to quit, Faith can no longer serve you. Faith was my canoe to the distant shore. But in order for her to serve me I had to row, and never stop. I had to do my part. Faith is not one sided.
Through this injury I have come to the realization that I have been viewing Faith wrong for quite some time. I have always said, “Have faith.”
But I don’t think that’s the correct way of stating that.
If we possess faith like its something we own. What happens when we tire and decide to quit? What happens when the pain from the blisters becomes to great and we stop rowing? If we own faith… and end up drowning because our inability to persevere….
then faith drowns too. She sinks to the bottom right along with us.
I encourage you to let Faith have you. Let her encourage you. Let her guide and direct you. And above all else never stop rowing.

Blessings,
Baron