Set Your House in Order
By Kateb Shunnar
Life doesn’t care about your plans. One moment, you’re cruising along, thinking you’ve got everything under control, and the next, you’re in the middle of nowhere with nothing but a lifeboat and a whole lot of questions. That’s where I’ve found myself floating on this tiny boat, just me, my ego, and my desires. And let me tell you, those two aren’t quiet passengers. They’re like wild animals pacing the deck, waiting for a chance to pounce. The Creator didn’t make them weak, either. They’re hunters carnivores. And if they get hungry enough, this thin layer of self-control I’m clinging to won’t stop them from taking over.
The ocean around me is endless, vast, and honestly, intimidating. It feels like it’s alive, testing me, reflecting everything I’m battling on the inside. Ego’s loud, throwing tantrums about how unfair life is, how much I’ve lost. Desire, on the other hand, is sneaky, constantly whispering shortcuts and quick fixes: “Just grab what’s easy. It’s better than suffering out here.” But I’ve learned the hard way that desperation can be deadly. Drinking sea water might look like a good idea when you’re thirsty, but it’ll destroy you from the inside. Same goes for chasing after things that seem like a fix but only leave you emptier than before.
Out here, survival is about discipline, plain and simple. Keep your head in the game. I’ve got to steer this lifeboat with intention, always facing the waves head-on. Letting it drift sideways would be a disaster it’d make it easier for the currents to flip me. That’s where the sea anchor comes in. It’s like having a solid connection to something bigger than myself. For me, that anchor is prayer. It keeps me grounded, even when everything else feels like it’s falling apart.
And let’s be real: rest is part of survival too. Not the kind of rest where you check out and give up, but the kind where you stop, breathe, and trust that something greater is holding it all together. It’s hard to do when your ego’s yelling at you to do something, but rest is its own kind of power. It’s like saying, “I don’t have to control everything, and that’s okay.”
But even with all that, the battle inside is constant. Ego and desire don’t take breaks. Ego keeps reminding me of all the things I’ve lost, trying to drag me into a pity party. Desire keeps throwing up fantasies of escape, making me restless and distracted. I’ve come to realize they’re not my enemies, though. They’re just wild, untamed parts of me that need some guidance. Ego needs a dose of humility to calm down. Desire? It just needs a little patience and focus.
Even in the middle of all this chaos, I can still hear the Creator speaking. The waves remind me that not every storm is meant to drown you. The stars above steady, constant whisper that there’s a plan, even if I can’t see it right now. And this little boat I’m floating on? It’s holding, even though it shouldn’t be. That’s grace right there something fragile proving it’s stronger than it looks.
When I cry out, “Send help,” I don’t mean some flashy rescue. I’m not waiting for a helicopter to swoop in and save me. I’m asking for the kind of help that transforms you from the inside out. The kind that gives you strength to face your own mess the ego that clings to control and the desires that chase after what doesn’t last.
This journey isn’t about beating the ocean. It’s about learning how to move with it. Survival isn’t just staying alive it’s letting the experience shape you into someone stronger, wiser, and more at peace. When I finally see land again and I will I’ll be different. My ego will be quieter, my desires more focused, and my heart more connected to the Creator’s rhythm. For now, I’m still floating. But I’m not lost. The house I’m building inside is stronger every day, and the Creator is keeping this lifeboat steady, one wave at a time.
You won't truly grasp the depth of your faith until it's been challenged and put to the test. It’s only through facing trials that you begin to see how resilient your belief really is.
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