He stands there in the quiet of the evening, listening to the water. It’s been a long day. He can barely believe all that’s happened. Looks back up the shore, can still see the remains of the fire where they gathered for a fresh fish breakfast. Can see the seven of them, gathered round, chewing, nervous, full of food and anticipation. How different he felt then. His heart racing, his pulse raging. His head spinning. Waiting for the jabbing finger and harsh words. The punishment for his failure. The put down and recrimination. Did it all really happen the way he remembers it now? The smile of friendship. The new start. The forgiveness. The only correction he got was about his mate John, when he wanted to deflect the attention away from himself with questions about others. So what now? His head is full of so many things. Confusion, relief, fear, hope. A new way forward. But what’s it all mean? He can’t help wondering if he’s up to the task ahead. If he’ll fall apart again. The unknown sits there in the palms of his open hands, like meagre bits of bread and fish, looking so small and insignificant. And yet, it fed the crowds that day. His hands so large and yet seeming so empty. He’s desperate to make plans, to get back control, and yet all he knows right now is uncertainty. And the restlessness of waiting. His head at war with promises and questions. How long will this go on? What’s around the corner? Where next Lord? It’s just like that moment this morning, in the half light of dawn. Having bundled out of the boat and blustered through the water and hurled himself at the shore… he stands there uncertainly, looking, bursting with energy and questions. Waiting, wondering, so keen but just not sure what to do next.
John 21
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