The Anchor of the Soul

“We have this hope as an anchor for the soul, firm and secure. It enters the inner sanctuary behind the curtain, where our forerunner, Jesus, has entered on our behalf.” – Hebrews 6:19-20a (NIV)

My friend and fellow Air Force Veteran, Bill Tate, tells the story of a San Salvador scuba diving trip he went on in 1979 with his son, Steve. As the dive boat headed out to the island’s point, the divers were joined by “Sandy,” a juvenile bottle-nosed dolphin who became separated from his pod and lived in these waters in the late 1970s. Sandy loved to swim alongside the dive boats as they motored out to their dive site and then swim and frolic with divers as they exited their boats. Bill suspects that Sandy swam with tourists as a substitute for swimming with his long-lost pod.

Bill captured pictures from the trip on a home movie camera in an underwater Plexiglas housing. After several minutes of filming his son and other divers playing with Sandy, he released the camera, allowing it to float above his head while still tied to his belt. With his hands free, he was able to pet and ride on the back of Sandy. They even did barrel rolls together—such fun! 

A short time later, Bill was surprised to find that he only had 200 pounds of air left in his tank. It was time to ascend to the boat. Since they were diving in 30 feet of water, a five-minute rest stop was required at a depth of five feet to offload any excess nitrogen and prevent an illness known as the bends. 

Bill calculated he had enough time for the five-minute rest stop. However, when he looked for the anchor, which would lead him to the safety of the boat, he couldn’t find it. He had lost sight of the anchor—something amateur divers are trained never to do. To make matters worse, his dive buddy—his son—was nowhere to be seen.

Bill’s training taught him to go up and look for Steve floating on the surface or for bubbles which might identify the location of his breathing apparatus. Unfortunately, at the surface, neither Steve nor the bubbles were visible. Bill eventually spotted the dive boat about 700 yards closer to shore from his current position. His heart sank. It was apparent that the outgoing tide, the current, and the wind had swept him away from the anchor and the boat while he was playing with Sandy. 

It seemed to Bill that his only hope rested in his ability to swim back to the vessel, but the surface forces continued pushing him farther out to sea. He tried swimming 10 feet below the surface with his scuba system, but five minutes of anxious, rapid breathing emptied his air tank. He then tried to use the snorkel but found that he needed much more air to swim against the current and tide than what was available through the small snorkel tube. 

Next, he tried swimming on his back with his flotation device providing support, allowing him to breathe easier. However, after swimming several minutes, he discovered he had made no progress toward the safety of the boat. His situation was dire.

Bill recalled he had a whistle attached to his flotation device. He blew on it for several minutes, hoping to call attention to his predicament. Unfortunately, the other divers, 700 yards upwind from his location, didn’t hear him. At that point, Bill was exhausted and simply gave up. He quit struggling and resigned himself to his fate—he would drift farther out to sea and die there.  

Just then, Sandy swam up beside him. Bill hooked an arm around the mammal’s dorsal fin and got a ride back toward the boat. When they were about 20 yards away, Sandy turned to swim back out, apparently not wanting to become entangled in anchor lines and other nearby dangers. Just as Sandy turned, the divemaster yelled, “Let go of the fish!” When Bill did that, the divemaster swam out to help him back to the boat, where he found his son.

Bill believes God taught him two important lessons that day. The note from my Bible’s margin reads:

  1. Never lose sight of the anchor for your soul. When Bill became entangled in the fun he was having in life, he says he lost focus on his anchor, Jesus. In the process, he also lost his son. When we lose sight of our anchor—Christ—we may not only lose ourselves but those most precious to us.
  1. When we quit struggling and trying to do everything by ourselves, perhaps only then can we see what God has in store for us. The psalmist writes, “Be still, and know that I am God” (Psalm 46:10a). Sandy would not have come to help Bill while he was thrashing around. But when he became still, Sandy appeared and saved the day. God is ready to do the same! 

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The In-Law Chronicles, Episode 9: Trees in Winter

“Even to your old age I am he, and to gray hairs I will carry you. I have made, and I will bear; I will carry and will save.”      – Isaiah 46:4

My live-in in-laws occasionally comment on being past their prime. At nearly 90 and 84 years of age, respectively, Raymond and Shirley lament having outlived their usefulness, especially as it relates to ministry. They can no longer do the things they once did. Of course, we remind them that although the way God is using them may have changed, He’s still using them. They continue to make a difference in the lives of the people around them.

Their concern is common; some seniors have it even worse. Walking down the halls of a nursing home, I glance inside rooms full of people in the homestretch of life. Some have no family or friends. Others spend their days staring at a television screen or a wall. I struggle to find meaning in these infirmed seniors’ bleak existence. Why is God keeping them around?

Brother Lawrence, a medieval monk, offers a more enlightened perspective. In The Practice of the Presence of God, he sees all of humanity as trees in winter. Though having little to offer, stripped of leaves and color and growth, each soul is loved by God unconditionally anyway.

How are we to treat aged family members who are no longer useful in the traditional meaning of the word? How should nursing home workers approach yet another wrinkled resident staring off into space? The note from my Bible’s margin reads: We are to love seniors unconditionally; the way God loves them—like trees in winter.

In Bird by Bird, Anne Lamott writes, “Dying people can teach us this most directly. Often the attributes that define them drop away—the hair, the shape, the skills, the cleverness. And then it turns out that the packaging is not who that person has really been all along. Without the package, another sort of beauty shines through.”

I have learned more from my in-laws in their physical decline than I ever learned from them at the top of their game. I’ve gained more from hearing Raymond speak a few kind words to a struggling former prisoner than from any of his longer, more robust sermons. I’ve been blessed by watching Shirley’s cane-assisted hobble to the back porch, easing herself into a sunlit chair, and pouring over God’s Word like a treasure map.

Like trees in winter, my in-laws have lost some vitality—they’ve shed some leaves. But I love them unconditionally anyway. I also watch them carefully because they are teaching me how to live.

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