“Are we getting anywhere?” Thomas groaned, pulling an oar. “We’ve been rowing all night.” The windy darkness hid Peter’s wry smile as he pulled with the others, not wasting energy on wit. Dawn couldn’t be far off, and they weren’t even halfway yet. He guessed three, maybe three and a half miles at best.

Suddenly, James let out a long, low moan, “Nooo …”

Oh, not again, Peter thought. Some people just never get used to boats. “Just do it over the side!” he growled.

But then, the others took up the chorus. “What is it?” one cried.

“What? What? I still don’t see anything?” another complained.

“There, right there!” James dropped his oar and jabbed emphatically with both arms while trying to stand against the tossing deck.

The boat pitched and tipped, losing all headway as the men leaped up crying, “Demon!” and “Ghost!” Peter stopped rowing and, still seated, turned slowly. There, off the starboard side, movement in the shredded, cloudy moonlight. It looked like a man on a walk, about to pass them by. Something about the gait, though, the way the arms swung loosely like a child with nothing to hide, drew him. Could it be? Of course! It had to be!

“Lord, is that you?” Peter called out.

“Take courage. It is I. Don’t be afraid,” the wind-whipped voice responded.

“Lord, if it really is you, then,” he took a breath, “command me to come to you.”

“Come,” the man beckoned simply.

Certainty. Absolute, solid certainty banished question and quiz—the same that filled him on the beach that first day. A silent island in the chaos, he rose, swung a leg over the side, stood, and brought the other out to pace towards his desire. Neither hard nor soft, not squishy nor moving, but solid, the surface under his sandals held him more easily than rock or heath. As he crossed the distance, Jesus beamed a broad, delighted, open tooth, laughing grin. Peter wanted to run, skip, and dance all at once, but then another movement flashed in the corner of his eye.

He turned just as the wave slapped his face. Then he saw another, and the one behind it, and the next one after that. He knew the sea. He knew storms. He knew what they could do, what they did do. He could still see lost friends’ bloated, half-eaten, rotting bodies washed up with garbage at water’s edge. His feet seemed mushy, stuck somehow. His knees were wet, now his waist. Panicked and sinking, he turned back to Jesus, crying, “Lord, save me!”

Jesus reached out and raised him back up. “You of little faith,” he said. “Why did you doubt?” Together, they walked back to the boat, but the Lord’s smile lingered even as they climbed in.

We believe the rules of our realm, but Jesus demands we follow the laws of His. How can we do both? Should we try? Great faith is not blind faith. It does not say that heavenly principles negate creation’s regulations; we are all under authority, and all authority comes from Him. Nor does it demand the impossible—the laws of physics are the same for everybody. Instead, it understands that Kingdom principles underlie our world and set its limits. Trusting the One who tells us that ‘anything is possible to him who believes’ reveals the key. And trust, of course, depends entirely upon Whom we know.

So, when you’re with Him, how far from the boat does He lead you?

Isaiah 55:1-13; John 1:1-5; John 14:1-4; Matthew 10:2-4; Matthew 14:22-36; Romans 15:13; Hebrews 1:1-3; Luke 7:1-10