Water. All Noah can see is water. The evening sun sinks into it. The clouds are reflected in it. His boat is surrounded by it. Water. Water to the north. Water to the south. Water to the east. Water to the west. Water.
All Noah can see is water.
He can’t remember when he’s seen anything but. The world has been destroyed. It was the end of everything he had known. He and the boys had barely pushed the last hippo up the ramp when heaven opened a thousand fire hydrants. Within moments the boat was rocking, and for days the rain was pouring, and for weeks Noah has been wondering, How long is this going to last? For forty days it has rained. For months they have floated. They have eaten the same food, smelled the same smells, and looked at the same faces. After a certain point you run out of things to say to each other. You even begin to run low on hope. Can God re-create this world? Is he able to start over? Can he, and we, begin again?
Finally the boat bumped, and the rocking stopped. Mrs. Noah gave Mr. Noah a look, and Noah gave the hatch a shove and poked his head through. The hull of the ark was resting on ground, but the ground was still surrounded by water. “Noah,” she yelled up at him, “what do you see?”
“Water.”
He sent a raven on a scouting mission; it never returned. He sent a dove. It came back shivering and spent, having found no place to roost. Then, just this morning, he tried again. He pulled a dove out of the bowels of the ark and ascended the ladder. The morning sun caused them both to squint. As he kissed the breast of the bird, he felt a pounding heart. Had he put a hand on his chest, he would have felt another. With a prayer he let it go and watched until the bird was no bigger than a speck.
All day he looked for the dove’s return. In between chores he opened the hatch and searched. The boys wanted him to play a little pin the tail on the donkey, but he passed. He chose instead to climb into the crow’s nest and look. The wind lifted his gray hair. The sun warmed his weather-beaten face. But nothing lifted his heavy heart. He had seen nothing. Not in the morning. Not after lunch. Not later.
Now the sun is setting, and the sky is darkening, and he has come to look one final time, but all he sees is water. Water to the north. Water to the south. Water to the east. Water to the . . .
You know the feeling. You have stood where Noah stood. You’ve known your share of floods. Flooded by sorrow at the cemetery, anger at the disability in your body, fear of the uncertainty of a pandemic. You’ve seen the floodwater rise, and you’ve likely seen the sun set on your hopes and dreams as well. You’ve been on Noah’s boat.
And you’ve needed what Noah needed; you’ve needed hope. Hope doesn’t promise an instant solution but rather the possibility of an eventual one. Sometimes all we need is a little hope.
That’s all Noah needed. And that’s what Noah received.
The old sailor stares at the sun bisected by the horizon. One could hardly imagine a more beautiful sight. But he’d give this one and a hundred more for an acre of dry ground and a grove of grapes. Mrs. Noah’s voice reminds him that dinner is on the table and he should lock the hatch, and he’s just about to call it a day when he hears the cooing of the dove. This is how the Bible describes the moment: “When the dove returned to him in the evening, there in its beak was a freshly plucked olive leaf!” (Gen. 8:11).
An olive leaf. Noah would have been happy to have the bird—but to have the leaf! This leaf was more than foliage; this was promise. The bird brought more than a piece of a tree; it brought hope. For isn’t that what hope is? Hope is an olive leaf—evidence of dry land after a flood. Proof to the dreamer that dreaming is worth the risk.
Are you in need of some hope? Could you use a fresh start? A redo? A mulligan? At some point in life we all could. The oh-so-welcome news of Scripture is this: God is a God of fresh starts. He is the author of the new chapter, the architect of the new design, the voice behind the new song.
God knows the way forward. No matter what kind of disappointment or grief or trouble or heartache you’ve encountered, God offers an opportunity to begin again. In his plan prodigals get a new robe, the weary find new strength, and the lonely find a friend.
Those who wait on the LORD
Shall renew their strength;
They shall mount up with wings like eagles,
They shall run and not be weary,
They shall walk and not faint. (Isa. 40:31 NKJV)
Your current circumstances will not get the final say in your life.
To all the Noahs of the world, to all who search the horizon for a glimpse of hope, God proclaims, “Yes!” And he comes. He comes as a dove. He comes bearing fruit from a distant land, from our future home. He comes with a leaf of promise that he can make all things new.
That is the theme of the book you hold, a combination of new thoughts and some favorite ones from prior books. The theme is simply this: Your hope can be restored. Your dreams can be renewed. By God’s grace you can find your way to dry land, watch the waters subside, and step out on fresh soil.
With God as your guide, you can begin again.