The Anchor To My Heart: A Short Story

Life feels like one big juggling act at the moment. All the things are being juggled – wife, mom, work, friends, finances, schedules, meal planning, fitness, time with Jesus, I’m juggling, but it doesn’t always feel like I am doing it very well. Balls are being dropped. Some days it feels like a struggle just keeping one ball in the air, never mind multiple balls. As the old adage goes: so much to do, so little time.

So, what gives first? How do I prioritize everything? Where do I start? Well, if I am really honest, I know exactly where to start – time with Jesus. But I am tired. I am overwhelmed. I am frustrated. So I won’t start where I know I should. Instead, I am going to rebel. Push against what I know I should do, what I know will truly fix everything. My reasoning for this rebellion is totally flawed. It makes no sense. But I let it take hold.

At first it feels good to rebel. I get to sleep in a little longer in the morning. I am making plans, sourcing resources wherever I can, juggling pretty well, if I do say so myself. But, it’s lonely. I don’t want to share this rebellion with anyone.

“Why?”, I ask myself.

Oooh, don’t open that door. Just keep rebelling. So far so good.

There aren’t really good days and bad days. All the days are similar – some things go well, my plans are working. The balls are being juggled well…for the most part.

Then suddenly, one ball wobbles, mid air. One of my plans has been changed or altered – through no fault of my own of course! But that wobbly ball makes me wobble. And I don’t know how to make it stop. So I come up with a quick fix, something along the lines of slapping a plaster over a bullet wound, and I just hope for the best. I don’t pray for the best though. I simply carry on, on my own.

But this starts happening almost daily. Plasters stuck everywhere. All over the show. Not really holding as well as I hoped they would. The overwhelm grows. And the loneliness. And the guilt. Guilt at not doing what I know I should be doing. Guilt at not including those closest to me in my struggles. Guilt at actively choosing to ignore that Still, Small Voice.

You know that voice I am talking about – the One that reminds me that I don’t have to do it alone. There is a better way. But I ignore it. And I start distracting myself with other things. The more balls I try to juggle; the more balls start wobbling. So I keep distracting myself. And ignoring. It is starting to get a little out of hand. Balls are actually starting to drop. One by one.

Now, I don’t necessarily feel like a juggler anymore. Instead, I feel like a sailor, lost at sea, in a terrible, terrifying storm. No balls left to juggle. No other options. The wind is howling around me. Angry waves crash over my boat, threatening to sink my boat, with me in it, at any moment, Thunder and lightening thrash across the dark, scary sky.

I have never felt more alone. More terrified. I can no longer distract myself with things – scrolling social media aimlessly, reading just one more chapter of my book, so I reach my Good Reads goal at the end of the year, watching mindless tv – just one more episode – and on and on and on.

Time is up. Sink or swim. Here comes another giant wave. Ready to crash over me. It’s getting closer. Bigger. Scarier. Will this be the one to make the boat sink?

Right before it is about to crash over me, take me down, sink me in my boat, everything stops.

There is quiet. Could I be in the eye of the storm? It’s weird. I am still seeing flashes of lightening, the angry waves around me. Yet, exactly where I am standing on my boat, there is peace.

There is calm.

There is tranquility.

How though? What is going on? Then I hear it again.

That still, small voice. It’s a little louder now though. But still a whisper. I can just make out what this voice is saying:

Drop your anchor, Megan. You’re not alone. Drop your anchor. This storm is not taking you out. Drop your anchor. Trust me.

I’m confused. Drop my anchor? What anchor? There the voice is again:

I am your anchor. I will stabilize you in this storm. You have tried to do it on your own. Now let Me help you. Drop your anchor. Let me in. Listen to My voice.

I’m still wary. I tried my best, I really did. I don’t understand why none of my plans worked? Why did none of the juggled balls stay in the air, in perfect rotation? I tried so hard.

That gentle Voice speaks again, firm, but kind and loving:

You tried on your own. You left me out of it. You had some good ideas in theory, but they were never gonna work out. They were flawed. We could have worked something out together – you and me. And there is still time to fix this – I still want to work with you. Drop your anchor. Let me in. Include me. And let’s fix this mess together. You and I – we do our best work when we work together. Let me help you. Start by dropping your anchor. Let me in. Spend time with me. Talk to me. Listen to me. Please.

I’m still nervous. Not because I doubt the Voice. I trust the Voice. I really do. But, I made a huge mess. I caused this storm. I made silly choices. Surely I need to clean up my mess now?

Drop your anchor. Let me stabilize you. Let me help you clean up this mess. Let me calm the storm. You can’t do it. But I can. So let me. Just drop your anchor first.

Okay. I will do it. I start turning the chain, letting the anchor to my heart drop – slow, slowly, slower.

Slowly, my boat starts to stabilize. The lightening and thunder subsides. The waves are still there, but they are not as big and scary as they were a short while ago. The sky is starting to lighten. The dark is fading away, light is breaking through!

There is still a mess on the deck of the boat. Balls rolling around, not being juggled, while the waves rock the boat back and forth. But, I am not feeling so scared anymore. My anchor has dropped.

I am stable and secure. In Him.

That still, small Voice is my guide. We formulate a plan, together. It’s simple really – I will prioritize time with Him, Priority number one. I will read my Bible. I will pray. I will share my concerns, my doubts, my thoughts and my opinions. I will thank Him, always.

He will listen to me, to every word, with a grace and a kindness that I have never known before. Then it will be His turn to speak.

And I will listen. Intently. Focused solely on the sound of His Voice. I will not question what He says. I will not doubt Him. There is no need for any of that. I will simply listen to Him, follow His lead, take His direction, and do what He says.

That is the master plan. The blueprint for my life. This is how we will fix this mess, right the wrongs, together. Because I have now finally realized that He is the anchor to my heart. This anchor needs to stay dropped. I can never pull it up again.

Why would I? My stability is found in Him. It is rooted in Him. It all begins and ends with Him. He is my core, my center, the Anchor to my heart. I can get through anything with Him. Face anything.

Because He is the Anchor to my heart.