Walking on Water

​I think the most common statement people said to me following the death of my son Miles and on occasions such as today (he would have turned 25) is, “I don’t know how you get through this.” That is an interesting statement and one that I always assume comes from a sympathetic heart. Like the last two birthdays for Miles, I’ve decided to write a bit about my own journey in grief with the hope that it will help someone else.  This letter is my answer to the common statement noted above: I have learned to walk on water!
 
This sounds like an audacious claim but it has become the best metaphor for me this past year in understanding how I managed the incredible wound to my soul following the loss of Miles. There isn’t anything that really prepares you for the loss of a child. I knew from early in life that it isn’t about fairness winning out in the end. Good people can die too early, and bad people can live long lives of prosperity. Some are born in pain, live in suffering, then die in tragedy. No fault of their own. No rational thinking or moral calculus can ever become the justification for the suffering of the innocent or the success of the bad. My brother was born with multiple disabilities. He is a wonderful human, born from wonderful parents. And I worked enough as a pastor to see suffering that didn’t make sense. So I knew going into adulthood and parenting that all of the goodness I could live, all of the prayers I could muster, and all of the teachings I could instill wouldn’t be a guarantee of safety or success for my children.
 
This still didn’t prepare me for the loss of Miles. We live with so much hope for our children and I had such a strong vision of Miles’ future life. To have these shattered with his death was horrible. It was a death of my own future and hope.
 
I wrote in the last two letters about how running was instrumental in moving through grief. The theme of movement seems to be important to me and this time it is about walking on water. In Matthew, the disciple Peter is in a boat with rough seas. He sees Jesus walking on water. Jesus tells Peter to come to him by walking on water. Peter steps out of the boat onto the choppy water, sees that he’s walking on water, starts to sink, looks to Jesus, and is able to continue walking on water. Whether you believe this story to be real, or symbolic, we know what Peter did in the future. He hid out when Jesus was killed, then became the leader of the early church – a move that took great courage and skill which he hadn’t shown in the past. His walking on water mirrors his future in the fear (hiding out) and courage of faith (preaching and facing persecution).
 
1800 years later, Abraham Lincoln framed the abolition of slavery in much the same way in his address to Congress a month before signing the Emancipation Proclamation: “The dogmas of the quiet past are inadequate to the stormy present. The occasion is piled high with difficulty, and we must rise with the occasion. As our case is new, so we must think anew and act anew.”
 
Great, great events that never would have begun in safety. Peter and Lincoln were both killed. Maybe they would have lived longer if they’d played it safe. Our world would be a place of greater inequality had they done so. They stepped out knowing that the choppy waters were dangerous, necessary to travel, and entirely built on faith.
 
In my own small way; in the way of others who have lost greatly through death, divorce, abandonment or financially you know that the hurt can be so bad that, like the other disciples, staying in the boat can feel like the only thing you can do. Cling onto the rails and hope for the storm to subside. But you realize that recovery of hope, or redemption of your purpose cannot happen in the boat, the bed or in isolation. You know the old ways don’t work and you have to find a new way of seeing the future.
 
My encouragement to you is to take a step out of the boat on faith that the future is where purpose can be found and hope can be resurrected. Eyes on the future, not on each step you take. The old ways don’t always work after a crisis. Peter focused on Jesus and Lincoln saw a more perfect union for all. I have my faith as a focus. Not only as a Christian, but faith that my days would find a new purpose and voice to keep the memory of Miles alive for the benefit of others. Our family has given $12,000 so far in scholarships to six graduating seniors at his alma mater. We started at $1,000 and are now at a $4,000 award. Additionally, we started a series of dinners to raise funds, talk about Miles and the scholarship
 
This new purpose never replaces my loss, remove the scar on my soul, or keep me from crying about my loss. It does help me know joy again, have confidence in hope and trust in my purpose. If you’re experiencing loss now, I hope you can find your focus and take a step out on faith. The boring term for this is to ‘trust that right practices lead to right results.’ I like to say that ‘we can walk on water.’ I’m Eric Christensen and I’ve walked on water.