Why bother putting it away? Lately my suitcase lies open in my room. Wedging it back into the closet just to un-wedge it days later seems pointless. Besides, throwing stuff in it as I think of it makes me feel that, somehow, this time I’ll be prepared. 

In a few days, the contents of that bag will be all I’ll have to rely on in a land of heat and sand. I’m sure you know the feeling. How many times have you read in global correspondence, “…and pray all our luggage arrives…”

I treat my spiritual life the same way. I try hard to “pack” … to look to Him, talk to Him, and follow Him. Some days I even memorize scripture and pray for those on my list. These are solid disciplines, and arguably, they are commanded. They feel essential, like underwear and a toothbrush. The shock comes, though, when God graciously reminds me that what I have packed simply isn’t enough. 

He did this recently when cold, hard fear revealed my lack. Just like Peter when he stepped out of the boat and the “boisterous waves” caught his eye, my splashing revealed two things: fear had viciously diverted my attention, and I had a trust issue that over 35 years of spiritual disciplines (catch the pride here?) hadn’t even begun to touch. 

What to do when sleepless nights, Google searches, and constant “what if’s” don’t help? My help came when I faced the humbling reality that what I had in my “spiritual suitcase” left me bare. It wasn’t enough. My knowledge of prayer, bank of memory verses, and theology might be neatly packed, but somehow God’s presence wasn’t. 

Gradually I poured out my fears, and gradually He poured out His sovereignty, power, and love. Even as fear anchored my feet, He grabbed my hand and pulled. He was with me. Each day He seemed to give me the next step. Choices became clear. The verses I’d memorized? They came back–not as some card to whip through, but as promises to walk on and comforters for my freezing cold soul. Somehow, as I admitted to Him the depth of my fear, the depth of His presence grew.  

Currently, my suitcase still lies open, but prayerfully right beside it, so does my heart.