2025-11-20
My phone is smaller than me, and I control it.
It's in my grip—
or am I in its?
I know I can't control the sea,
and that gets me thinking
of the God who is far bigger than me.
In the grip of the sea,
I would know
I need someone else to help me.
Tossed under currents,
crushed by waves,
drowning, fighting, losing.
God could save me from those waters,
in any way he chooses.
But that isn't where I'm swimming.
With eyes fixed on colour-changing glass,
I don't have the sense to notice.
Imagine drowning whilst sedated.
I need help.
Why does no one call for help
when they see their family bleeding—
not blood,
but their gaze and their attention
into a screen
that's constantly repeating
wave after wave
of mindless information?
Can God stop screens like God stops waves
when his disciples are in danger?
“Peace! Be still!”
And the waters turn to glass.
“Peace! Be still!”
And maybe glass would shatter.