Fierce Beauty (8 page)

Swimming in tandem, Troy and I skirted the outer fringe of a lava flow that dropped away in a rocky cascade of black boulders. All color deepened with the water. Simply looking downward revealed a visual feast of the richest blue.

Continuing to head toward the islets, we swam through what appeared to be bottomless waters. Doing so always makes me acutely aware of how small I am and how vulnerable I would be if approached by a predator. Hawaiian waters host a great variety of sharks that coexist peacefully with humans. Yet a few species, on rare occasions, will “taste” people. Of this menacing minority, the most deeply feared are tiger sharks. When these amazing predators—which can grow to twenty feet in length and are equipped with renewing rows of teeth—sample a human, the results are usually catastrophic.

I’ve seen several tigers. For me, their immense beauty is overshadowed by their chilling posture of pure menace. They can be as harmless as game fish, but just knowing they can bite a man in half inspires primal fear. I understand that nearly all encounters with sharks occur in shallow waters. Nevertheless, it’s always the dark, deep waters that make my toes curl.

Seeing the flanks of the islets begin to materialize out of the heavy
cobalt was both an ominous and welcome sight. The underwater landscape was dramatic, relating a history of fierce volcanic upheavals and violent collisions of molten lava with the sea.

Without warning, the brilliant folds of deep blue darkened into dismal, foreboding layers of dark gray. Unfortunately, my observation of the changing weather was correct. We were suddenly beset by a rollicking shower. We rounded the outside of the farthest lava dome, which was rimmed in pure blackness as the bottom plunged to depths beyond our comprehension. Together we began to cross the small distance between the two rocky zeniths.

At that moment, far beneath us in the darkness, a moving shadow caught my eye.

I reached out and squeezed Troy’s hand. He quickly looked in the direction that I pointed. Immediately I felt him stiffen with alertness.

We hovered in the soft drone of pouring rain. The dark figure was moving directly below us and traveling in the same general direction. Slowly it began to rise out of the shadowy depths in a vague line in front of us.

I didn’t realize I’d been holding my breath until I recognized the form and exhaled in a rush. It was only a green sea turtle!

Though I’ve swum with hundreds of turtles, each is still a special gift. I could see by the distinctively long, thick tail that this was a young male. The juvenile was surfacing for a breath of air. Turtles are usually shy, so I thought it strange that this one seemed unaware of our proximity. As he drew closer, I saw why. He didn’t see us. The truth was, he
couldn’t
.

When the turtle came more fully into view, deep sorrow gripped my heart. An enormous tangle of fishing line was wrapped around his head and front flippers. An additional wad trailed from this mass, under his carapace and out into silver lines a half-dozen feet behind him. Snarled among the heavy lines were the remnants of several dilapidated foam floats. One was tightly knotted between his right eye and right flipper. Perhaps because of repeated contact with the float, his right eye was completely white and unseeing.

There was more. The turtle was also afflicted with numerous tumors, some the size of softballs around the areas where the fishing line had contact with his skin. It appeared this beleaguered little guy had been carrying his burden for quite some time. The lines on either side of his head had sawed down nearly two inches into his flesh. These areas were white with what I assumed was infection.

Held motionless by sorrow, I watched him surface not six feet away from me. Even though every movement must have been painful, he was still trying to live. With his small snout lifted high in the falling rain, he drew in one deep breath after another.

My mind filled with questions.
Why, God? In the vast Pacific, on this day, in this place, at this exact moment, why would You guide this dying turtle to me? What can I do? What can I learn? What can I
—My thoughts were cut short by near-electric realization. Suddenly I knew I was in this place, at this time, with this turtle, for one reason
—to save it
.

Here, near the surface and away from the protection of hiding places in the coral far below, the turtle was vulnerable. He would remain close by for only a few minutes, if not seconds. I didn’t have much time.

Usually turtles will tolerate humans in their proximity only if there’s no overt or aggressive move toward them. Because the turtle had rotated to view us with his seeing eye, he knew we were there. Somehow I would have to casually swim closer to the turtle long enough for him not to view my presence as a threat. In a very short time, I needed to show him I wasn’t interested in harming him.

I told Troy of my plans and asked for his help. He agreed to gently block the opposite side of the turtle to keep him circling as long as possible. By doing so, we all slowly swam together. Though I was on his blind side, the young turtle knew I was with him. He swung his ailing head in small circles, trying to locate exactly where I was. After several moments he seemed convinced I was not going to hurt him and allowed me to move closer.

I knew I would get only one chance to free this little guy, and I needed to make sure I was in the best possible position. We were running
out of time. The turtle swung his head away from me. He was already beginning his slow descent back into the depths. This was it.

I darted in and grabbed the trailing line under his carapace and wrapped it twice around my hand. The turtle felt the line pull deeper into his flesh and instinctively dove straight down, taking me with him.

Together we plunged headfirst toward blackness. My ears popped repeatedly as the gray light from the surface rapidly dimmed. Unable to reach his head as he plummeted, in a final effort I yanked as hard as I could and felt a snap.

Kicking back toward the surface, I looked at the line I’d pulled free. It was only a portion of what I knew was still snarled around the turtle. For all my good intention and effort, what I’d done hadn’t helped the turtle at all. I looked down in mounting grief as the dying turtle dove deeper into the inky water from which he had come.

My frustration rose with my tears. I had failed. A dying soul needed my help, and the best I could do was cause it more pain.

Again I questioned:
Why, God? In Your world so full of beauty, how does this senseless tragedy fit? What am I supposed to learn from this?

The rain, which had fallen softly earlier, now came down so hard that the surface of the sea appeared to boil. It seemed that even the sky was crying for this doomed turtle. The firmament appeared even more gray. My attention alternated between the fishing line still in my hand and the black abyss into which the turtle had plunged.

With rain spattering on my head, the voice of the Lord began to gently fill my heart:
Look at this consuming blackness, My child, and never forget. This is—exactly—what it looks like when you allow yourself to become entangled in sin. You become snared and infected, blinded by all you choose to value over Me
.

In moments of despair you call on My Name … and I come. Releasing you from your bondage can be painful, especially the longer you let the bonds grow into your flesh. When I try to tear your entrapments away, you have a choice. You can be still and know that I am your God. You can patiently allow Me
to free you, to heal you. Or you can turn away from Me toward your own understanding and, just like this turtle, plunge into utter darkness, toward your own destruction
.

This is what it looks like when you turn away from Me and try to solve your own problems
.

Remember
.

Remember
.

I’ve kept a fragment of that fishing line to this day.

Sins—even “little” ones—have a way of turning into something terrible. They’re not content to stay in the corner where we believe we’ve confined them. Instead, our hoarded indulgences will mimic the invasive behavior of an abandoned kudzu vine. Left unattended, they send up growing tendrils that invade every area of our souls. Like any parasite they multiply at an alarming rate. Our sins wrap and curl a black, threadlike network around every thought and deed, stealing away our lives as they go. What’s certain about this insidious tangle of death is that it will
never
stop growing.

Most of us have experienced moments of feeling surrounded by the negative things we’ve permitted to enter our lives. Among these threads of destruction, we become like a hapless butterfly landing within a web. We believe the silvery filaments that surround us are no match for our ability to fly away. Yet moment by moment, day by day, season by season, the sheer number of these evil, multiplying strands subtly, silently overwhelms
our capability to extricate our hearts from their consuming grasp. Without rescue, a grim fate awaits.

It’s easy for us to feel trapped and helpless against the negative things we’ve opened our lives to. But there
is
something we can do.

Freedom begins with a single decision.

No knot of sin can withstand a repentant heart that honestly cries out to Jesus. No matter how we became ensnared or how confusing our entrapment might be, there is no bond of darkness that the redeeming love of Jesus cannot cut through.

Yet we must realize something first. The real truth about our bondage is this: the things that cause so much havoc in our lives
don’t
actually hold us.
We hold them!

Think about it. God’s Word is clear. He repeatedly warns us to be careful of the things we enjoy so they don’t grow into habits that control us: “Even though ‘I am allowed to do anything,’ I must not become a slave to anything” (1 Corinthians 6:12). Sadly, the overriding voice of this world calls us to reject any sort of control as an infringement on our right to have fun. Many of us believe that real freedom is doing anything we want. The truth is that when we follow our every sensual desire and a soft life of pleasure, we eventually become a slave to them.

Unlike the turtle, we’re not helpless in escaping from what binds us. Often it’s something we’re choosing
not
to escape from. Because God sent His Son to free the lost, from His perspective we are holding our shackles in one hand and the keys to freedom in Christ in the other. The real question is, which do we love more—our freedom in Christ or our bondage to sin?

Choosing to let go of sin and embrace Christ is only the first step. Like the helpless turtle that couldn’t escape the tangle of fishing line and floats, we are equally helpless to cause our sin to go away. If we truly want to be released from our pain, we must make the decision to stop bolting away from God once we’ve asked for His help. The removal of things that have grown into our flesh can be painful, but leaving them to fester in our souls can be fatal.

We must make the decision to be still, to stay with our Rescuer through the pain and allow Him to carefully extricate every strand of darkness.

This process reminds me of training horses in our round pen. Some of the horses that come to our ranch have little or no experience with humans. Because they view people as predators, when placed in a round corral, they will run in circles, looking for a way of escape. Some canter lap after lap around me, driven by their fear, desire for dominance, or pride.

No matter what motivates a horse’s flight from me, my first goal is to encourage it to slow down and trust me enough to stop running. Through subtle cues I help the horse understand that the best thing to do is stand still, turn to face me, and look at me with both eyes.

Once I’ve gained the horse’s trust and full attention, the foundation of our relationship is built on his choice to
come
to me. The horse must choose to walk into the center of the circle and stand with me. It’s here that the horse finds rest, peace, and love. The horse is free of any restraints and can bolt anytime it wants. But if it runs away, there will be no rest. The horse must keep moving its feet until it chooses to return. As long as the horse continues to run, it gains no freedom.

When the horse finally makes the choice to stop running—to come to me and stand still at my side—the healing of its brokenness begins. For it is only when it chooses to stand with me that I am able to gently place my hands over every part of its body. By doing so, I put all doubt about me to rest, and the horse is able to physically feel my gift of love and peace.

Are you held captive by sin wrapped around your heart? No matter how badly trapped you’ve become and how strongly you desire to bolt, you have a Rescuer. His name is Jesus. In the presence of His love, peace, and rest, no shackle can survive.

Will you choose to hold still and allow the One who made you … 
to free you
?