A few years ago, during an imaginative prayer session with a friend, I found myself standing at the edge of a vast lake. Mountains rose in the distance. Trees framed the shore. A breeze moved across my face.

I knew almost instantly: God was the lake.

It wasn’t the first time I’d pictured Him as water — Ted Dekker’s Circle Trilogy had first opened that door for me — but this felt more personal.

I look down and notice my feet on a pebbly beach. I’m only ankle deep.

I looked down and saw my feet, ankle-deep, on a pebbled beach. The water ahead was dark. Deep. I couldn’t see what was beneath the surface. It felt unknown, even unknowable.

The lake made me feel afraid.

And I could sense it — the invitation to go further in. But could I step past the fear?

Then I noticed Him. Jesus, standing on the shore beside me. Fully human. Fully here.

He took my hand. He didn’t pull. He didn’t urge. He just stayed.

And somehow I knew — in the marrow of me — that He would never let go. If I went deeper, He’d come with me. Every step.

Something shifted then. The dread began to dissolve. Fear gave way to curiosity. To wonder.

I wanted to go all the way in. I wanted to swim.