I vividly recall hearing those words repeated each week from that mysterious, strong voice as he set in motion yet another episode of dreams coming true and lessons being learned along the way:

“My dear guests, I am Mr. Roarke, your host. Welcome to Fantasy Island!”

With Tattoo, his trusty herald (announcing “De plane! De plane!”) and consigliere standing dutifully at his side, Mr. Roarke would raise a tropical-looking drink and toast the new set of visitors who had come; each with their backstory of heartbreak, dreams unfulfilled, and yes, even fantasy.

For those of you who’ve waited patiently for my third installment of my sabbatical update, I want to say thank you, and raise the proverbial tropical-looking drink in your direction. It’s been a wild week (nearly two by now) and let me assure you that much has happened that I’d love to recount; for my own memory’s sake and hopefully for your entertainment.

On Monday of last week–hang on, let me back up–The week prior to last week, I was in Tampa Florida for a huge gathering of 12,000 high schoolers. It’s an every 4 year gathering called the “Nazarene Youth Conference” (NYC for short). During our trip, I had a chance to go paddle boarding which was on my summer bucket list, as I had never been before. Loved it. So when we arrived at home in Virginia, I wanted to go again. But alas, I don’t own a paddle board or all the accoutrements that go along with it. But I have a friend named Heather who does. She was more than willing for me to borrow her paddle board set up. So on Monday of last week, I set out for a solo trip on the James River, much to the dismay of my wife, parents, and sisters who felt it entirely too dangerous to do something I’d only done once for 10 minutes, and do it on an unpredictable body of water such as the James, and do it a day after a heavy deluge of rain, likely raising the river to an even deadlier threat level. Assuring my wife that my ignorance would not end in death, I headed out and found a great spot to launch from. As you can see, the river was nearly glass, I was completely alone, and despite only inflating the paddle board to half the pressure it should have been (I only found that out later), I had a great time paddling around nature. No harm, no foul. I’m excited for my next time out.

Let’s move on to Tuesday of that same week. I have a dear friend who over the years has repeatedly invited me to join him on a boat ride to Tangier Island. You’re not sure where Tangier Island is? Don’t feel bad. Most humans don’t know. Heck, not even Google knows where it is. But you know who does know? My friend David. So last Tuesday I drove out to his place and we climbed into the closest thing to the Batmobile I’ve ever ridden in; the kind of car with the jet engine in the back. Pedal to the metal, he whisked us away (at times far above the posted speed limit, just for the thrill) to where his boat was docked. And away to Tangier we floated. (Zoom in on that horizon and you’ll see the speck that is Tangier. Population: 400. Restaurants: 1. We sat down at a table in Lorraine’s restaurant and I ordered the flounder sandwich. And a better, more delicious flounder sandwich I cannot recall eating. We sat, talked life, families, business, a bit of philosophy, and shared lots of laughter. After lunch we walked the length of the island as he told me about its history and current condition.

Let’s talk about fear and trust for a moment. As a young boy, I would often go fishing with my dad and a friend who had a fishing boat. Before we left for the marina, my dad would pop a Dramamine in his mouth and then give one to me in order to prevent motion sickness. I trusted him that I needed it. So I grew up believing that if I didn’t want to puke my guts out when on a boat I should always remember to take my Dramamine. Until one day several years ago I was about to board a plane when I realized that I was out of Dramamine. My mind raced, “Oh no. Now what? I’m about to projectile vomit all over every person around me, I’m absolutely sure of it. I don’t have my Dramamine to stop me, so that’s the only conceivable outcome, right?” No. Not right. Not at all, as it turns out. It was then that I learned that I don’t need Dramamine for planes, for boats, for anything. Well, almost anything. More on that in a moment. What is it you’ve planted in the soil of fear? What lie or misinformation are you wrongfully putting stock in? For me, it was that the pill I was being fed would protect me. But we’re all susceptible to getting so used to a wrong thought that it feels like a right thought. Take inventory: what have you long assumed that you should stop believing, or at least test it to see if it’s valid? I bet there’s something there to discover. Try it and see. Because as it turns out, I never needed those countless pills I took.

Sabbatical is supposed to be, among other things, a pause (the literal definition of shabbat, the root concept). During that pause it’s intended to engage in things that are refreshing, relaxing, re-centering, and rejuvenating. You get the idea. And I can say unequivocally that the thrills of Monday (paddle boarding) and Tuesday (Tangier Island, the boat ride, and the Batmobile) were all of those things and more. But my week wasn’t even half over yet.

On Thursday at 8 am another friend of mine named Mark picked me up from my house with his Busch Gardens season pass which afforded him an extra admission ticket. And guess who has two thumbs and was the recipient of that extra ticket? This guy. So we headed off to Williamsburg, VA and the Busch Gardens amusement park. We spent the day riding all their amazing rollercoasters and because Mark is a serious aficionado of rollercoasters, we would ride each one twice before moving on to the next one.

If you’d like to see what I saw, here’s a video I found on YouTube that shows the POV from all of Busch Gardens rollercoasters. These are not in the carefully selected order Mark had prescribed for us that day, but you get the idea.

Okay, so back to that “More on that in a minute”. Remember my whole schpeel about not needing Dramamine? Well, I’m sticking to that but I can say that after the second (last) ride of the day on Alpengeist, my innards began to talk to me. They said, “Listen, Jerry. This has been a great day. We’ve had a lot of fun, really. But maybe it’s time to start thinking about pumping the brakes a little bit here. That last corkscrew pretty much screwed up your stomach which is still sideways down here. So, waddayasay? You wanna maybe call it quits for now? Because…how do I put this mildly…umm…the creek is rising.” And with that, I came to an agreement with my insides. We had ridden them all (twice) and were satisfied to call it a day.

The next day, Friday, would be an interesting day. It was the day I would take our sheepadoodle Winston to the dog sitter. We’ve always used a kennel and I’ve always hated, and I do mean HATED to leave him there. No matter how nice the people are, straining to get each of my limbs out of the cage he’s in and walk away from him is just heartbreaking. So we were glad to find the “Rover” app and hired someone who would take him into her home and care for him as her own. Freedom to sit on the couch, a backyard to run around in, and a new friend named “Bauer”, her golden retriever.

We dropped Winston off because we left Saturday to drive 13 hours to Florida where Merritt’s mom lives. If you’ve never heard of Tangier, I’d bet my bottom dollar that you’d definitely never heard of Wauchula, Florida. But this is where we’ve been hidden away this week. It’s been a nice visit and we’ll hit the road later today to head back toward home.

While here I was awakened one early morning with what I sensed was God’s voice telling me to “take a walk”. He may have meant that metaphorically, but he should’ve known I’m a very literal kind of guy so early that morning, before the sun got up I laced up my walking shoes and walked the small town. Walking in the mostly-dark of a mostly-unfamiliar town isn’t something I’m used to doing. My mind thought about where I should walk; should it be the more busy streets that are better lit so that when I’m abducted there might be some light for witnesses to catch the license plate number? Hmm. On the other hand, if I walk the busier streets with better lighting, aren’t I more likely to be exposed to more of the nefarious type who would abduct a grown man? These were the questions that stewed in my mostly-awake mind as I walked the town.

Toward the end of what would be this pre-dawn walk, I became frustrated that the God who had allegedly woken me for this walk hadn’t seemed to say anything while I was walking. C’mon, God. Say something. Give me some kind of magnanimous sign of that your will is. Let’s do this. I’m ready.

Crickets. Not literally because they too were asleep. But you get what I mean.

What came to mind in that moment of frustration was Jacob. Remember Jacob from Genesis 32? Jacob had sent his family ahead while he stayed behind. That night, Jacob and God wrestled. All night. Finally, Jacob’s wrestling partner was like, “Okay, let me go. Let’s call it a draw.” but Jacob said to him, “I will not let you go unless you bless me.” (Genesis 32:26)

And that got me thinking. My spirit is most at rest when I am most entangled with God. The Hebrew word (used/found only in this passage) for “wrestle” is “ābaq” and it literally means “to grapple, get dusty”. When my spirit is willing to get dusty and dirty in worship and connection, in serving and seeking to serve, in questioning and discerning, in the daily ins-and-outs of walking this road with Jesus—then and only then am I most alive, most living, and most aware of God’s presence.

My spirit is most at rest when I’m wrestling with God. But I don’t wrestle angrily. I’m not wrestling to win. I’m wrestling to engage. I’m wrestling to show I’m willing to wrestle. To get dusty. This faith walk with God gets boring when we stop wrestling. When was the last time your heart wrestled with God? I fear that sometimes I await His neon signs of direction in my life without engaging a fierce interaction between His Spirit and mine. As if I’m saying, “Okay, God. Give it to me while I sit here and do nothing.” Nope. God doesn’t operate that way with me. Do you resonate with that? I’d love to hear about your wrestle with God, and how rest works into that.

I’m passing out gold stars for anyone who’s read this entire post. As I’ve written I’ve thought, “this one’s not gonna get read by many. It’s too long.” So if you’re reading this let me leave you with this blessing:

May you know, see, and love the God who invites you to wrestle Him. May you right now enter the ring with full faith that the wrestle is where your heart finds its rest. Amen.