Present Over Perfect

So, of course, that’s the story I see in this one. But on
that Sunday night, something clicked and released.
Before Jesus scolds Peter, first he rescues him. I’ve had
that wrong all my life. I always picture the falter, the failure,
the scolding, then finally the begrudging hand of help: I
knew you couldn’t do it yourself. Do I have to do
everything?
But now I was seeing something entirely new: the rescue
came first. When Peter faltered, Jesus reached out a hand
before saying a word. What an extraordinary thing! For a
girl who’s been failing and faltering all her life, bracing
myself for the scolding, enduring the disappointment and
gritting my teeth till the hand is finally extended and I am
safe, the rescue coming first changes everything.
And this is what really undid me: it’s not a scolding at
all. It’s a loving post-game analysis—hey, pal, what
happened out there? How can we, together, help you stand?
It’s so loving, so parental, so protective . . . why haven’t I
ever seen it this way?
Because I’m trained for shame, and I see it everywhere,
even when there’s not a shred to be found. But here’s the
thing: what if it’s not there? And what if shame actually isn’t
in many of the places I think it is? What if all my life I’ve
been trying to walk with a Jesus who reprimands me while
I’m drowning and grabs me at the last second, rolling his
eyes? No wonder I don’t tell him when I’m scared or fragile.
Why would I? No wonder most of my prayers sound like
minutes at a board meeting, an underling giving the