Through the waters
I will be with you
God makes his people a promise through Isaiah that is precise about what it does and does not offer: when you pass through the waters, I will be with you, and through the rivers, they shall not overwhelm you; when you walk through the fire, you shall not be burned. Notice the words when and through. Not if you face the waters, but when; and not around them, but through them.
This is a promise often misremembered. God does not promise that his people will be spared the deep waters and the fire — that the floods will never come and the flames will never threaten. He promises something different and, in its way, better: that we will not face them alone, and that they will not have the final word. I will be with you. The waters will not overwhelm; the fire will not consume.
The presence is the promise. God does not pledge a life without floods, but his unfailing companionship in them and his power to bring us through. And the reason is rooted in belonging: I have called you by name, you are mine. We pass through the waters not as the abandoned but as the claimed, accompanied every step by the One to whom we belong. When the deep waters rise, do not look for a promise that you will be spared them; rest in the promise that you will not pass through them alone.
“When you pass through the waters, I will be with you; and through the rivers, they shall not overflow you.”
— The LORD, through Isaiah — Isaiah 43:2 (WEB)
Lay hold of the promise God actually makes — not exemption from the deep waters, but his presence in them and power to bring you through.
“Don't be afraid, for I have redeemed you; I have called you by your name, you are mine.”
We quietly hold God to a promise he never made — that trusting him buys passage around the deep waters — so when the flood rises we add the sting of betrayal to the drowning. The interior work is to receive the harder, truer word he did give: not exemption from the waters but his presence within them and power through them, resting on the claim that says you are mine, so we enter the flood as the owned rather than the abandoned.
This week, when you face deep waters, stop waiting for the exemption you were never promised: claim the companionship you were, telling God you trust him to be with you in the flood and bring you through, and look for his presence rather than only for escape.
Grief turns bitter when we are mourning an exemption we were never promised, reading the rising water as a broken vow. But the word God actually spoke is better than the one we wanted — I will be with you — and a soul that lays hold of his presence passes through the deep as the claimed, and comes out the far side.
We often want from God a promise he does not actually make — that if we trust him, we will be spared the deep waters and the fire altogether, that the floods will pass us by. So when the waters rise anyway, we feel betrayed, as if a promise had been broken. But God never promised exemption from the floods. He promised presence in them: when you pass through the waters, I will be with you.
This is a harder promise, but a truer and ultimately deeper one. The waters will come, and we will pass through them — but not alone, and not to be overwhelmed. The presence of God in the flood is the promise, along with his power to bring us out the other side. And it rests on belonging: you are mine. When the deep waters rise in your life, do not grieve the exemption you were never promised; lay hold of the companionship you were — for you pass through as one who belongs to God.
- Do I expect God to spare me the deep waters, and feel betrayed when he doesn't?
- Can I receive the promise of his presence in the flood instead of exemption from it?
- What does it mean that I pass through the waters as one who belongs to God?
Lord, I wanted you to spare me the floods, and felt betrayed when the waters rose. Teach me the promise you actually made: when I pass through the waters, you are with me. I am yours. Be with me in the deep, and bring me through to the other side. Amen.