How Finding Our Breath Comes in the Deep

The wind gusts cleared thousands of orange pine needles from our row of trees and deposited most of them onto our pool. As this rust-colored carpet floated on the surface, shape-shifting in the wind, my husband lamented that the sideways rain kept him from skimming the needles out of the water. I enjoyed watching them float from one end to the other, pinching in and spreading out, creating shapes like clouds as they moved from side to side. But my husband knew that once these fine four-inch needles dipped below the surface, they would be harder to remove.

And I think the same is true of us. Floating along doesn’t ground us. It’s the sinking deep that holds us in.

But sinking deep is daunting. After Hurricane Helene, where deep waters ravaged the safety of so many, it’s hard to imagine how going deeper with God leads to greater peace. The barrages we face are real, hard, and scary.

Even in pain, sometimes staying on the surface feels more comfortable. Sometimes, it’s simpler to live in the “I’m fine” places. I’d rather focus on tasks and schedules, leaving the fears, worries and pain over there for later. Because I just want to catch my breath.

But maybe our fatigue is greater because we choose to drift on the surface.

When the rains stopped, my husband went out to survey the sinking pine needles. Thousands of pine needles nestled serenely in a thick, solid line that traced the edge of the deep end. They’ve settled in and seem just fine where they are, thank you very much.

When I see them, I think again of floating, sinking and settling with Jesus. We lock our eyes on what’s in front of us—what we see, fear, or wish for holds us in place. When the hard things happen (because they do), why does it feel easier to fixate on them than to sink into trusting God? Choosing to meet Him deeper is hard.

Seeing these pine needles at rest is a picture of what He promises—no longer tossed. I’ve been in enough battles to know I must actively fight to quiet my mind and ask for Jesus’ perspective. I know this, yet I still hold onto things. And every time, it’s only when my deep calls to His deep that He settles my soul.

He offers peace – He is peace – but He can only calm my inner storm to a whisper (Psalm 107:29) when I invite Him to.

It’s staying immersed with Him that brings peace.

Paul encouraged Timothy to “Practice these things, immerse yourself in them, so that all may see your progress” (1 Timothy 4:15). The New Living Translation says to “be absorbed” in these things.

To be truly absorbed in these things means being absorbed by them, going under with Jesus into them.

We sink into quiet spaces with Him until we find our breath. Our immersion is our surrender.

It was in the deep of the soul where Abraham heard God in the provision of a ram.

Where Joseph waited on God in a prison cell.

Where Jonah found God in a fish.

Where Daniel experienced God in a den.

Where Elijah faced God on a cliff.

Where David met God in a cave.

Where Deborah stood with God in the battle.

Where Esther encountered God in a throne room.

Where Ruth joined God in the harvest.

It’s in those deep moments where we move beyond “the elementary doctrine of Christ” – it’s in those moments that we’re allowing Him to take us “on to maturity” (Hebrews 6:1). In the Message translation, Peterson wrote that we must “leave the preschool finger-painting exercises on Christ and get on with the grand work of art,” and grow up in Christ (Hebrews 6:1, MSG).

It’s in growing down deep with Jesus that we grow up in Him. The grand work of art begins in the transformation that comes from the bellies of fish and the ledges of rocks, from the heart-honest prayers and the soul-desperate pouring over of His words.

When we find Him in the deep, the distance between the surface and our hearts stretches wider. The wind can no longer move us.