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I haven’t written in a while: I’ve been in what I can only describe as a glory swirl. I’m not used to this level of ‘Christmas morning’ in the Spirit. That is what so much of this year has felt like—like receiving from a doting Father who lavishes love and gifts onto a long-awaited adopted child, finally out of the orphanage. Every week, it seems there have been new, unexpected presents to unwrap. I have been in the family of God for a long time, but perhaps I have been more used to seasons that feel like the ‘orphanage’ or long night. Adulthood, marriage, motherhood, ministry, church, and life have been beautiful in SO many ways, but often, of course, profoundly hard. Not at all the ideals I dreamed up when I was 18 years old, staring at the stars, excitedly telling God how I would change the world for Him.
Yeah, I was adorable.
In John 21, we see the disciples, disillusioned and disoriented, return to their known trade of fishing after the death of Jesus.
Simon Peter said, “I’m going fishing.”
“We’ll come, too,” they all said. So they went out in the boat, but they caught nothing all night.
At dawn Jesus was standing on the beach, but the disciples couldn’t see who he was. He called out, “Fellows, have you caught any fish?”
“No,” they replied.
Then he said, “Throw out your net on the right-hand side of the boat!”
So they did, and they couldn’t haul in the net because there were so many fish in it. Then the disciple Jesus loved said to Peter, “It’s the Lord!”
When Simon Peter heard that it was the Lord, he put on his tunic (for he had stripped for work), jumped into the water, and headed to shore. The others stayed with the boat and pulled the loaded net to the shore, for they were only about a hundred yards from shore. When they got there, they found breakfast waiting for them—fish cooking over a charcoal fire, and some bread.
“Bring some of the fish you’ve just caught,” Jesus said.
So Simon Peter went aboard and dragged the net to the shore. There were 153 large fish, and yet the net hadn’t torn.
“Now come and have some breakfast!” Jesus said.
None of the disciples dared to ask him, “Who are you?” They knew it was the Lord. Then Jesus served them the bread and the fish.
There are layers of kindness all over this text. And yet my eyes won’t skip past the story conveyed in those six words:
“But they caught nothing all night.”
Things have not gone as expected. The storyline has taken a traumatic turn. They sacrificed three years of their lives, careers, families, and prospects for a purpose that now seems to be murdered and missing with their Rabbi. They feel aimless, so they do what they know: fish. But the long, unproductive night exacerbates their already wounded hearts.
Does that sound familiar to anyone? I know that salty sting. I know the feeling of blow after blow to deeply tender places. I know the cold, dark air that feels void of His presence, and where hope is a whisper you have to repeat again and again with your aching, hoarse voice. Because otherwise the trauma might just cause you to close your eyes and slip into the merciless black waters, forgetting altogether that one day the sun will rise.
I’ve found my sea legs in these places. I’ve learned how to navigate the dark night. I’ve found my song and sung it loud at the shadowy three AM.
But what happens when you see the first light of dawn pierce through, and a familiar silhouette standing on the nearby steady shoreline? When His voice rips through the silence, and a ‘suddenly’ moment breaks in, and you now have 153 large fish all at once? Even better, your nets aren’t breaking. And this man, this man is your longed-for Lord. He’s making you breakfast. He’s giving you credit for what He clearly made happen. And He’s letting you be a part of the provision of the meal, even though it was all.Him.anyway.
Yeah. That’s the ‘suddenly’ I find myself in right now.
Suddenly, it feels like daybreak.
Suddenly, His voice pierces the silence of the long night, and there’s direction and clarity and fruit.
Suddenly, I see Him everywhere.
Suddenly, we have all these fish—and our nets are not breaking! He said, “I will increase your capacity.” And He has.
Suddenly, I’m invited to a hot meal I didn’t have to make, waiting for me and my friends on the shore. I’m also told by Jesus, “Bring some of the fish you’ve just caught…” (He’s funny!) He is so kind to let us take part in what He’s doing! Like a good parent, He lets the child stir the batter with ingredients she didn’t pay for or gather, in a house she doesn’t own, with a recipe she knows not much of, and yet lets her feel ownership and partnership like a special chief who’s made a cake! It’s wild and lavish.
But it’s not all roses now that the sun has risen. That Galilee beach is still jagged rocks, the nets still need hauling in, there’s work that needs to be done, and there will be disappointment and pain. And there might be some reckoning. Jesus might need to have an honest conversation with us that hurts. And life is going to life.
But these moments, these sunrise moments—they are meant to be marked. Treasured, cherished, rejoiced over, written about and told about again and again.
So, I really hope to write about them in time. I really hope to capture them beyond just my heart. I want to tell you about the many surprises He had waiting for us this year. Some I’ve shared a bit about, like my trip to Israel. But most I have not. If I had taken a peek into this year even as recently as last year, I would not have believed my eyes. Things He has done in our hearts, in our relationships, in our prayer room, in our community, in our region, in our longings, in wild provisions. The way that He has woken me up in the middle of the night (three times now) with such awareness of His Presence and overwhelming joy that I begin to laugh from my belly (and have attempted to do it quietly so I don’t wake up my husband!)1. Or how I was alone in the prayer room early one morning, and gold dust suddenly appeared in my Bible as I was reading and praying.2 There have been other signs and wonders. Dreams. Healings. Story after story, and many of them aren’t mine to share. Wild things He is doing across denominational and racial lines that we have gotten a front-row seat to. The heart cry of Jesus in John 17 being fulfilled in real time. We still have a long way to go, but the firstfruits are delicious!
My prayer and earnest desire is that whether I am in the valley or on the mountaintop, I will walk worthy of the call. I want to sing in the night and sing in the day. I want to cling to Jesus when I feel Him everywhere and when I feel nothing. I want to be faithful in all of the seasons. And see the gift in each one. And, Lord-willing, write!
It has been hard to write in this season, however, partly because each experience has felt so precious and personal (and I’ve struggled to find the words to adequately express it all). But also because it has felt like a floodgate of happenings all at once. You can’t very well process 153 large fish quickly. But in the coming days I hope to try to write some of these stories. (Although we are off to Ireland soon3, so I’m not certain when or how often it will be. We will see what I have grace for and what the Lord allows!)
Let me know if there’s anything in particular you’d especially love to hear about. My sincere hope is that somehow, these stories will encourage you to press on. If I could cup each of your precious faces in my hands and look you in the eyes, I would say:
“Carry on in the valley of the shadow—it is not forever. Carry on in the prayers that you’ve been praying for years, because one day the “suddenly moments” really do come! Sing your song in the middle of the dark night; it is what He will use to awaken the dawn! He loves you! He is for you! He has good things in store! The best is yet to come!”
Have you ever attempted to belly laugh quietly? Yeah, it doesn’t really work! Fortunately, my husband told me he wants to be woken up anyway when this is happening!
It’s weird, I know—I’ve heard about this kind of thing but have never experienced it. And honestly, I’ve questioned it. But it happened, and it’s still in my Bible just on that one part, and no one can tell me it wasn’t God confirming and punctuating His Word—I later found out that the day it happened was the Day of Atonement. There are layers to this story.
That’s another story in itself! Both how we get to go and what God has been speaking around that land and even our time there. Things He’s had us pray into, that we didn’t even know were super relevant at the moment, but found out later that they really are, with all that’s been happening recently in Northern Ireland. This really deserves its own post.
Beautifully said and truly written!
I LOVE how you write Lana Shaw; it's a precious gift 🎁 for you, and for those with whom you share it 😇❤️