The Human Paradox

On Counting the Cost and Bad Surfing Metaphors

“Learn to ride the waves that slam you into the Rock of Ages.”¹

I’ve never been surfing. But if its anything like white water rafting,² I’d imagine it’d be a lot of time with me in the water rather than on the board. When the waves surge overhead, and I’m gasping for air. I can see the bubbles in front of my eyes, feel the iciness of the churning sea biting against my skin. I bob below and then up again. It’s a struggle. It’s an ache. But it’s a glorious effort of again and again and again.

Or at least that’s how I imagine it going in my head.

The same metaphor rings true in my life.

We talk about the highs. How it feels when you finally can stand on that board. The adrenaline rush of getting up and trying again. The way the sun hits just right. The way the ocean swells and the birds take flight.

But not the moments that it took to get there. The way your lungs constrict and your stomach dips. The fears. The failures. Those moments are the ones we sweep under the rug.

This is the paradox of being human—of two things equally true that seem to contradict.

There are many such instances I avoid talking of.

The silence from Heaven. The uncomfortable quiet.

Pride. Shame. Guilt. Grace.

The humanity in me wrestling with my soul in pursuit of purity.

The moments where I break down and weep, when fear is more than a feeling. When all I want is to stay home and hold my loved ones close. To live my life fully comfortable. I want my bed, and I want my dog, and this community where my roots grow deep. I want my house and my routine and the friendships I’ve been blessed to keep.

I am in this sort of paralysis at the crossroads of which I am called to walk—of laying down my life and taking up my cross. So this season has been a sort of season of grief: an uprooting from where I’ve once found peace.

There are those moments in the dark, back against a closed door, where I want nothing more than a Savior. Where my tears are stifled by a hand over my mouth. Where I feel like I’m drowning under waves and I can’t get out. There are moments where the gravity of my calling hits me like a ton of bricks. Where life feels like a mountain upon my shoulders and I know I am not fit to bear it.

There’s an ache in the depths of my soul—something all-consuming that strips me bare and leaves me utterly alone. There are moments where the breath is stolen from my lungs. Where life is a scatterbrained haze as I strive into religion. A hopeless void as I enter a paradox of wanting all yet never capable of it. Highs and lows, fire and cold. I stand unfit.

And yet, this, I know, is not just me—this is the state of all humanity.

When prayers are only answered with more questions. When the waiting ends, but there’s still confusion. Where distraction holds your attention and rest is nonexistent, even in moments of silence.

Where your worship feels like a broken melody more grief-laden than “hallelujahs” and “He is worthy’s.”

It feels like being tossed about in a storm without an anchor. Pulled under the waves. Lightning and thunder.

This is what happens when you lose sight of your Creator.

It is the paradox of being human. Your flesh battling your spirit as your whole self groans for stillness. It is attempting to grasp the wind in the sails. It is trying to understand that which is incomprehensible.

Where divinity and humanity cross the threshold of the earth. Where Heaven was brought down through virgin birth.³ Jesus Christ, the Servant King who died to give us life.⁴ When night is darkest, the greater the light.

And this ache, this wrestle, this great despair—it is a mirror, a reflection of Him as He walked here. Though He lacked our sin, He bore our guilt.⁵ He was no stranger to this tidal wave of emotion, which all humans feel. Kneeling face down in the Garden of Gethsemane: “Father, father, if it is Your will, take this cup from Me.”⁶

All we are is an attempt at an echo of Him, to become holy and righteous, yet held back by our sin. Our humanity cries, “Father, take this cup from me,” while our spirit cries louder still, “Father, do as You please.”

Even our Lord counted the cost—yet His love drove Him to the cross.⁷ And we, imagebearers of the Most High, must also choose this road to die.⁸

And so I ask myself this question when I feel I am on the verge of breaking, when I am just about spiraling—is He worth more?

Is Jesus worth more than the life I have been blessed with?

Yes.

Is Jesus worth more than my family and my friendships?

Yes.

Is Jesus worth more than my comfort and security?

Yes.

The answer is always yes. And it is He who talks me down from the ledge. It is He who embraces me as I tremble and weep. It is He who comforts me.⁹

Those hands that have been pierced through hold me too. He lifts me from the waves, and with one word calms the storm.¹⁰ And I know without a doubt:

He is worth more.

So though I’m pulled under, I reach out my hand and swim back up again. Because He is worth more. My Jesus. My wonderful, almighty, perfect Jesus looked at me in my brokenness and chose to die for me. And so I hope to choose the right response of surrender and death again and again, because He is a God of rebirth and resurrection.¹¹

The waves that pull me under, I’ll choose to ride them.

Because no matter what happens, I trust they’ll bring me back to Him.

1. Paraphrase of a quote from Charles Spurgeon: “I have learned to kiss the wave that throws me against the Rock of Ages.”

2. White water rafting is actually so fun. Maybe I’ll edit this post when I learn to surf for realsies.

3. Isaiah 7:14, Matthew 1:23

4. 1 John 4:9

5. 1 Peter 2:24

6. Paraphrase of Matthew 26:39

7. Romans 5:8

8. Luke 9:23

9. 2 Corinthians 1:5

10. Mark 4:39

11. John 11:25