Lately I’ve been able to reconnect with a few old friends. They might not want me to call them “old” friends, but my beard is full of grey now, and they happen to be the same age, so they are guilty by association. Most of us have experienced a great deal of failure–especially back in our 20s and early 30s.

It has been interesting for me to witness how we survived those years, and are even thriving not just in spite of the shipwrecks, but because God has used our humiliation and failure to build an authentic humility about our abilities even though we started pretty arrogant. What’s more, he’s used that to help us relate to other emerging leaders who are facing failure, and help them survive. In many ways, we learned more through our failure than we did through success.

This week I read Acts 27 again. Paul, his companions, the crew, and the soldiers all face a horrible storm and shipwreck. They are fearful, and Paul has an “I told you so” moment because he knew it would happen. But in the end, even though God and Paul knew it was going to be a shipwreck God promises they will all survive. However, Paul tells them that the ship will be a total loss.

I don’t know what you’re facing that feels like a total loss. Perhaps it’s a failure or a sin or cancer or a struggling marriage or a wayward kid or a dead end job. Maybe you’re in the storm right now. Maybe you see the storm clouds growing ever more ominous. Or maybe your ship has already sunk, and you’ve yet to find the shore, and worry you’ll drown.

I’m praying a simple prayer today, not asking God for much. I’m just praying you’ll survive. You might only have the skin on your back, but I’m praying you’ll wash up on shore like Paul and the others in Acts 27. If so, I think God will provide for you something better than what was on that ship. You’ll have relationships that are stronger than ever before. That’s how it works: those friends and family that survive the shipwreck with you are the best you’ll have.

May you, like I’ve been blessed to do, someday sit across the table and have coffee with people you will call brother and sister, and reflect on how hard it was, unbelievably hard–but you survived. Like vets of the same theatre of war you’ll know each other’s stories without even having to tell them. And somehow you’ll know that there’s a victory in having just survived the shipwreck.

I’ve noticed how my friends who survived their shipwrecks are, by most any measurement I might use, much more healthy and successful today than I’ve ever seen them. Sure, they’ll face storms again, and some are facing them right now, but they have faith that they’ll make it through, no matter what comes.

May it be so for you.

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