Seas of emotion, waves of doubt.
Tossed by the winds of false doctrine.
Unable to see the horizon.
Shifting sands beneath my feet.

Satan’s target for ridicule and despair.
So lost.
No place to turn, let alone run.
Plagued by failure. Tormented by fear.

And yet for a time, any heathen can prosper,
Because what he speaks comes from his heart.
And from the abundance of the heart
The mouth speaketh.

So many life-rings tossed my way,
Yet I could see them not.
As I went down for the third and final time,
A hand bound in power reached to me.

I was lifted.  Naked, cold and broken.
And this hand set my feet squarely upon a rock.
I was overwhelmed by a great and mighty sense of love.
A love not of this world.

So I set out to follow the footprints in the sand.
The footsteps of Jesus.
No longer naked; now clothed in armor.
Calm, yet so powerful in Christ.

This then, is the calm after my storm.

T.D. Scearce