Until last week, an anchor didn’t mean much to me.  It’s a nice nautical symbol, but I’ve always been afraid of deep water, and I’ve only been on a boat a few times in my entire life.  But last week, the image of the anchor took on a whole new meaning.  On Sunday, March 2, my mom and I were involved in a serious car accident.  It happened that night.  It was cold, dark, and rainy.  A car suddenly pulled out of a parking spot right into my lane.  I swerved hard to avoid hitting that car and hit a slick spot in the road, which sent my car sliding into the intersection.  As hard as I pressed on the brakes, my car wouldn’t stop.  I saw another car crossing the intersection and it was one of the scariest moments of my life because I knew we were about the collide and there wasn’t anything I could do about it.  I remember screaming and then there was a loud crash.  My airbags deployed upon impact.  When the smoke cleared, I saw that my mom was okay, and so was the driver of the other car.  I remember a bystander running over to us and helping me get out of the car.  The whole front of my car was crushed, and my mom’s door wouldn’t even open.  It happened so fast.  It was terrifying, and I couldn’t stop crying.

The following week felt somewhat like a daze.  I felt physically and emotionally exhausted, and I kept wondering why it had to happen.  Interestingly, I had lost my journal several weeks prior to the accident.  It was a journal I kept while reading through the Bible over the course of a year, and it contained my favorite scriptures from each book.  Somehow, I misplaced it.  I searched our house from top to bottom and couldn’t find it.  I had been praying daily that God would help me locate this simple notebook that meant so much to me.  The week after the accident, I prayed again that God would show me where I’d put my journal.  At that moment, I remembered that I hadn’t checked in the storage bin that I keep in our office closet.  Praise God, there it was!  My journal had gotten thrown into the bin with my photo albums.  I could have cried tears of joy.  I picked up my journal and opened to a random page, and my heart stopped.  There on the page I turned to were these words – “We have this hope as an anchor for the soul, firm and secure.”  Hebrews 6:19.  And what it “this hope?”  It’s the knowledge and faith that our God is for us, not against us (Romans 8:31).  It’s that He will never leave us (Deuteronomy 31:6).  It’s that He loved us when we were unlovable (Romans 5:8). It’s that He commands His angels to encamp around us (Psalm 91:10-11) It’s that in Him, all things hold together (Colossians 1:17).  All things.


My God is an anchor.  When the winds rage and the thunder rolls and my ship starts to sway, He is my anchor.  He won’t let me sink and He won’t let me drift away.  My life is anchored in Him, in His will.  What greater hope could we ask for?  When things in life come crashing down, He is the anchor for your soul.  He was there when my car crashed.  The evidence of His hand on us that night is undeniable.  Though my car was totaled, not a single person was injured.  My mom’s side of the car was most mangled, and she had slid her seat back that morning to have more foot room.  Had her seat been in its normal position, her legs would have likely been crushed or severely injured. That was God.  That was our Anchor.  That my husband and dad got to the scene of the crash so fast and were there to help us – that was God.  That the only physical signs of the accident were the bruises on my arm – that was God.  When my life was turning upside down and everything around me gave way, my God was there.  My Anchor.  Firm and secure.  

The image of an anchor has a new meaning to me now.  I have to get a new car, and I’ve decided to buy a small, ornament-sized anchor I can hang from my rear view mirror as a sign of Who my God is.  I know I’ll face more challenges in the years to come.  But I know that no matter how hard the rain pours, my ship isn’t going astray.  My life is anchored in the One who died in my place.

call to me



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