We waited several hours for the ferry to arrive. Soon upon its docking, it disgorged its contents: A bus, several 10-wheeler trucks, a few cars, some motorcycles, and then 250 people carrying luggage, bags, pushing carts, holding babies, returning home for some much needed vacation — their journey towards rest and relaxation nearing it’s end. 

Soon it was our time to embark for our return. We found our spot — comfy, cushy seats that seemed to be stuck on ‘Recline.’ An opportunity to sit back and enjoy the ride. Looking out through the windows, a wondrous revelation of God’s creation. A small gap between two rope-tied tarpaulins, just above a rusty railing. An imperfect vehicle used as a lens into a wondrous world. Waiting and wondering: Who else will join our journey home?

Turns out it’s kids. A young family. Mother and father lovingly spending this journey with their kids. Their kids that are noisy. Their kids that run around. Their kids that play. Joining me on my seat. Looking straight into my eyes with no shame. Exploring the outside. Having snacks. Enjoying their toys. A reminder of a lost innocence right here in our midst. 

The leisurely advance of the ferry over the waves allows me to immerse myself in the world around, and to reflect on what God is saying to me today through his creation that groans and speaks and reveals.

There has to be brightness doesn’t there? I mean a brightness brighter than the sun?Sparkling, listening, shining reflecting, colorful, kaleidoscope divided into planes. Shades of blue. Azure. Shiny. Faded. Solid. Liquid. Light. 

There has to be darkness doesn’t there? I mean a darkness darker than the blackest night? Inhibiting my senses. Developing. Overwhelming. Deadening.

But then there has to be both doesn’t there — a blending of darkness and light? Which tells me that neither is right or wrong. But they are complements. Partners. Joined together. After all if we only have one or the other, we can perceive or define nothing can we? They work together … 

… Sometimes forming a line as straight as straight can be with no variation. Sometimes forming a different line giving shape to the imagination as I try to compare what I see to what I know. Other times forming fuzzy fluffy, faded, blurry lines, and then no lines at all and finally distinction connects to imagination.

It’s a very big big big big picture — bigger than my own understanding. But it’s also the smallest picture you can imagine — detail with no end. The big picture made up of so many small tiny details, each one of them just as interesting and fascinating as the next. I could spend a lifetime exploring everything I can see just in the glimpse between the ship’s tarpaulin awnings, looking off into the distance … could spend time studying oceans and waves, and how the light shines on them and how they break in the gentle breeze. I could look at the islands beyond, exploring the beaches around them, working the way up through the lowlands into the highlands to the peaks of the mountains.

I could then look at the clouds and wonder where they come from, where they go, how they’re formed, what their purpose is. Ethereal turning to concrete. Is rain coming or not? Is it a storm or not? The sun not only perceives them, but adds to their wonder,  picking them out — giving shapes through lights and darknesses and colours at sunfall. 

And then, beyond that I can look to the sky that goes on seemingly … infinitely …. Taking me farther than I can even imagine. And realising, finally, indefinitely, that all of this is just a small part of all that exists and a small part in relation to who God is.

If I wanted to create — create! Haha! As if that word can apply to me! Perhaps ‘jury rig’ is more apropos — something as wonderful, I’d need to use what has already been made. I can’t do it on my own. I must explore and scrounge and scrape and gather and collect. I must experiment and question and discover. And finally fabricate. And then the glory of whatever it is that I make it’s only there because of the glory that reflects God through his creation. 

Even if I were to take a part of myself — that I could argue I’ve had some role in making — I still couldn’t do anything with it. Everything I do merely an imitation of what I perceive and a poor one at that.

The railing, serving the valuable purpose of keeping me safely on board, is also a reminder that all I see around me is marked by sin. Not because it’s a barrier, but because it is pitted and gouged by rust — rust that helps prevent even the barrier from doing its job of being a barrier. It’s the rust that’s a reminder that all that I see is enslaved. Trapped. Just a shadow of its former self. 

What would it have been like in its pristine, pure, unsullied, rust-free, unsinful state? I can’t even imagine.

I have rust in my life too. Sometimes it gets chipped away. Other times it gets painted over. But its constant presence is a reminder of not only the realities of the world, but also how the processes of nature can be strong-armed towards being evil. 

‘It’s OK to take care of myself isn’t it?’ Perhaps not if someone else needs taking care of, too. 

‘It’s OK to build a wall around myself isn’t it?’ But not if people around me are feeling unloved, too. 

‘It’s OK to walk the easy path isn’t it?’ But not if the difficult path bears more fruit. 

‘It’s OK to just do just enough to get by isn’t it?’ But not if there’s an opportunity to have something deeper and more fulfilling — a genuine relationship rather than dimensionless status quo. 

Paint covers and looks nice for a while, but eventually the rust emerges again. Much better to get a chipping gun and let it do its work at excising the rust from my life. Rat-tat-tat-tat-tat. And the chipping gun has many settings. The tried and tested word of God. The seemingly timeless doctrines of my faith. The instruction and advice of significant people in my life. My family’s loving guidance. And my own reflections that identify those rusty parts that need to be chipped away.

In spite of it all, I remain safe here floating on top of the waves, safe in a rusty ship, outfitted with lifejackets, lifesavers, and lifeboats ensuring that any perceived danger is kept at a distance as I live my life and try to do the tasks that God has in store for me today. Even this marred world inhabited by marred people can still do things that bring glory to the pure and perfect God above. And perhaps even more amazing than that, he permits us to do this and even guides our steps as we journey along, allowing the wonder of the creation around us to draw us back to himself. And when we arrive back with him, we experience the ultimate rest and relaxation. 

What glimpses of God’s grace have you discovered through life’s ‘rusty’ moments? Share your story below and let’s encourage one another on this journey toward renewal.

Between Rust and Radiance: Catching God’s Voice on the Waves first appeared on michaeljfast.com