He sat, excited as could be, drawing his vision of a tropical beach and sky and palm trees. Make-A-Wish Foundation had asked for a picture of his dream-trip destination for their files, and we’d (his parents and sisters) been told to resist the urge to sway his choice. So though I’d secretly been rooting for a land-bound trip, I sat quietly and drank in the sight of my sweet boy, who’d been through so much, drawing away. This child, who’d already endured three years of chemo had his 11-year-old heart set on “seeing white sandy beaches.” I was all for that.
I just had a vague, amorphous phobia of the cruise required to get to his Caribbean island. Something about boarding a boat (yes, I did know the ship would be the size of a small city) and launching away from the dock out into the deep ocean made me feel unsettled, unbalanced, frightened. For me, no matter how shiny Royal Caribbean’s premier ship, I dreaded feeling un-anchored and lost in the middle of a big, black sea.
To be un-moored and un-anchored felt unsafe and unstable. We might capsize as we cruised off into the choppy unknown.
A spiritual similitude
But I choose to do just that in my spiritual life — I un-moor from the dock. I haul up the anchor. And, I drift — either purposefully away from my Lord, toward an idol to meet my needs; or lackadaisically, sliding away down stream. I neglect the great salvation given me. There actually is no in-between. We either moor to the dock/anchor to the sea bed — or, we drift.
“Therefore we must pay much closer attention to what we have heard, lest we drift away from it. For since the message declared by angels proved to be reliable, and every transgression or disobedience received a just retribution, how shall we escape if we neglect such a great salvation?” (Heb. 2: 1-2)
Hebrews 2 begins with a most serious of warnings. The words draw a picture of the same sort of drift I feared. This time, though, God talks of our need for an anchor spiritually. We must be anchored to the truth of Christ’s supremacy and our desperate need of Him. We are to give the whole of our every moment to the Lord.
All boats drift down even the laziest of rivers if untied from their mooring. And if not anchored in His truth, we drift, pulled by the weakest of currents away, away, away from Jesus.
When do you?
When do you cast off your moorings? When do you decide to pull up anchor? When do you become tossed about, unfastened from truth?
Do not treat lightly your salvation! For every transgression (refusal to follow) or disobedience (refusal to heed) merited punishment in Old Testament times, and it is no less so for us now. The salvation you neglect is a Person, not a concept. His name is Jesus — do not neglect Him and His saving work for you!
Oh, what to do?
If you find yourself lacking concern, neglecting your relationship with Christ, or refusing to follow (blatantly disobeying truth you know from the Word), cry to your Father for mercy! Seek to remember what you’ve forgotten — that Jesus sits at the Father’s right hand, and is not ashamed to call you sister (Heb. 2:11.) Ask the Lord, by His Spirit, to convict you of your sin, your drift. Open the Word and ask Him to pull you back to the refuge of true Hope in this life.
For your true hope is a Person, Jesus, a “sure and steadfast anchor of the soul” (Heb. 6:17-20.) Plead with Him to bring you back through repentance — to pull you in from your down-stream drift toward an un-moored ocean. Ask Him to convince you of both His matchless rescue and your great debt, that your wandering heart would desire Him more than anything:
Jesus sought me when a stranger, wandering from the fold of God; He, to rescue me from danger, interposed His precious blood.
O to grace how great a debtor daily I’m constrained to be! Let that grace now, like a fetter, bind my wandering heart to Thee.
Prone to wander, Lord, I feel it, prone to leave the God I love; here’s my heart, O take and seal it, seal it for Thy courts above.
Today, heed His warning! Do not pull up anchor. For the casual drift always slides away from your only real Hope.
Hymn: Come, Thou Fount of Every Blessing, Robert Robinson, 1758