Steady.

Suddenly the months of mornings spent together,
those hours,
those coffees,
all funnelled together. 
It felt like the first time something traumatic happened where I didn't go running in panic, pressing every button, knocking feverishly, pacing with haste.

It's like how if you were blindfolded, you would have to feel someone's face - the curves, the indents, the smile width - to know who they are.

Those mornings have been that, exactly that.
Learning His face, His will, His desires. Coffee after coffee, unwrapping my blindfold.

So when I got the second major wave in two weeks, it didn't crack me out of my bearings.
It didn't wash me out to sea.
It didn't feel like drowning.

I could look to my right and He was there, my Father, my friend.
And we were familiar, we were close. I didn't have to re-learn his face because I was in an emergency, didn't have to try to remember His features and edges because I was in trouble.

Instead of ripping into His presence, crying incoherently and chucking an empty bucket His way as I tried to un-sink myself, I had already positioned myself right beside Him in the hull of the ship. We could hear the fears, the dialogue, the pain take full, whole-hearted swings against the ship, but I didn't have to yell or ask or plead. 

"Steady,"

He whispered, gripping my hand.
"You know what we've talked about, you know what I've said, you know whose you are and you know who I am.

Steady."

Someone had just broken my heart, He squeezed my grip.
Someone had just fired me, we braced, I bruised.

Yet, I haven't needed to scramble through worn pages of scripture or stare heavenward in bed, eyes bleeding tears while I mentally scanned through a list of what ifs. I haven't needed to run around grabbing faces to identify which one my Fathers was in order to feel justified asking Him for help.
I haven't because I just realized that I've been standing next to the Lord as He has been slowly pouring cement around our feet every morning, strength into my very bones.

I had figured it was a sturdy habit and I wanted to spend time with Him and it was a good idea.
What I didn't figure is how it would protect me, how it would anchor me.
How it would solidify He and I.
How it would build in me the trust in Him that I would need to not drown in this.

Those waves were forming from far back, but what I didn't know is that,
this time, when they came, 

He had already made me ready for them.