Dispatch #003 When You’d Rather Swing, Than Sing

Matthew 14:29–31 “He said, ‘Come.’ So Peter got out of the boat and walked on the water and came to Jesus. But when he saw the wind, he was afraid, and beginning to sink he cried out, ‘Lord, save me.’ Jesus immediately reached out his hand and took hold of him, saying to him, ‘O you of little faith, why did you doubt?’”

You remember that scene—when Christ tells the disciples to get in the boat and go ahead of Him? He stays behind to be alone. To pray. Probably to breathe. He had just fed a crowd and probably needed to not be needed for a minute.

But while the disciples rowed, the sea turned.

Waves rose. Wind howled. Panic set in.

These weren’t soft men. These were fishermen—calloused, tough, brine-in-their-blood kind of men. And yet they still lost it when the waves hit. Fear doesn’t always make sense. Doesn’t matter how many sermons you’ve heard or how long you’ve walked with Jesus—storms still rattle you. Still make you forget what you thought you knew.

Then Jesus shows up. Walking across the chaos like it’s a quiet trail. And Peter—God bless him—asks to join.
And Jesus says, Come.

So Peter does the impossible. For a moment, anyway. Then life screams louder. Wind. Waves. Doubt. The stuff that always feels more real than faith.

And Peter sinks.

Here’s the part that guts me: Jesus doesn’t say,
“Really, Peter? Again?”
He doesn’t fold His arms. Doesn’t quote scripture at him.
Doesn’t tell him to “just trust” or “declare victory.”

He reaches out.
Grabs him.
Lifts him up.

Then—after the rescue—He gently asks,
“Why did you doubt?”

That’s real Christianity.

Not the Sunday smile or the fake “I’m fine.”
Not quoting verses while your fists are clenched.
Not pretending you don’t want to cuss someone out or break a window when the world crashes in.

Real Christianity is walking with Jesus and still doubting sometimes.
Still sinking.
Still letting fear win on occasion.
Still hearing the wind and forgetting the last miracle.
Still getting pulled up anyway.

Because this faith isn’t about how strong you are.
It’s about who holds you when you’re not.

You don’t lose salvation because you got tired of being good for five minutes.
You don’t forfeit grace because your heart got ugly.
You’re not cast out because you forgot your memory verses and remembered your temper instead.

He reaches for you—again and again.

Even when you’d rather swing than sing.
Even when you’re tired of pretending.
Even when you feel more like Judas than John.

And He’ll ask, not in shame, but in love:
"Why did you doubt?"
Because He knows—if you’re still reaching back—it means you haven’t let go.