Day Four: The Wise and Foolish Builders
Luke 6:46–49
“Why do you call me, ‘Lord, Lord,’ and do not do what I say? As for everyone who comes to me and hears my words and puts them into practice, I will show you what they are like.
“They are like a man building a house, who dug down deep and laid the foundation on rock. When a flood came, the torrent struck that house but could not shake it, because it was well built.
“But the one who hears my words and does not put them into practice is like a man who built a house on the ground without a foundation. The moment the torrent struck that house, it collapsed and its destruction was complete.”
During this season of confinement, I recently went online and listened again to these words—words I believe I first heard during my earliest days of Catholic school. They also brought back memories of countless weekends with my family at the Jersey Shore. As the years went on, sand sculpting became a family hobby, first with our children and eventually our grandchildren.
And as I listened to this Scripture again, now with an abundance of time on my hands, I had to ask myself some questions.
How am I doing in my current storm? Has my faith been shaken? Will this season take a toll on my life, my actions, or even my soul? Will my foundation hold—or will my faith collapse?
Four months has been a long time.
And as I seek answers, I find myself going back to the earliest days of my intentional faith journey. I am reminded that sixty years is a long time for anything to last. A marriage of 57 years. A home built more than 160 years ago. A career of teaching and coaching that began in 1969. None of those things lasted by accident. They required foundations strong enough to withstand the storms that inevitably came.
Maybe faith is much the same.
This season has caused me to remember all those who invested in my faith journey and all those who walked beside me along the way. Teachers, pastors, mentors, friends, family, students, young people, and countless others helped me dig a little deeper and build a foundation that I probably didn't fully appreciate while it was being built.
So perhaps my question is slowly being answered.
The foundation has been tested. A head-on collision. Months of recovery. A brain bleed. Surgery. Confinement. Uncertainty about what comes next. There have certainly been moments when the storm felt stronger than I did.
But the foundation is still there.
I don't write that with pride. Quite the opposite. I write it with thanksgiving—for every person, every experience, every lesson, every prayer, and every year that helped me dig a little deeper.
Maybe that is one of the gifts hidden inside a storm.
Sometimes it takes the wind, the rain, and the rising water to discover just how deep the foundation really goes.