Fearless Faith Walkers

By Paula Williamson guest writer

My Once-In-A-Lifetime Vacation

My daughter and I planned a trip to French Polynesia to rest and recover from a draining year. It was beautiful beyond belief—nothing but ocean and sky, wind and waves, peace as far as the eye could see.

During that time, I was studying Beth Moore’s Believing God. Each morning, I sat with my Bible, a cup of Lemon Lift tea, open windows, and blowing curtains. God used that study—and the circumstances of my life—to show me how deeply fear and unbelief were woven into my heart.

Maybe it was flying ten hours over open ocean when I don’t even know how to swim. Maybe it was traveling with my daughter to a country where we didn’t speak the language or know a single person. Whatever the reason, beneath this peaceful, once-in-a-lifetime trip was an iceberg of fear lurking just below the surface.

I realized that what I often call “trusting God” was really more like hoping He would watch over us—not fully resting in Him.

One morning during my quiet time, I wrote in my journal that I wanted to study fear and rid myself of unbelief. Almost immediately, my daughter said,“Mom, I think we should go scuba diving today.”

With my best poker face—and my worst internal panic—I said,“OK.”

Silently I prayed, Lord, help me learn to trust You and not be afraid.

My stomach had other ideas.

Minutes passed. The fizzing started. Then nausea. Then a full-blown attempt to back out using the classic excuse of “I must have eaten something bad.”

“Mom, you’re just nervous,” Rachel said.Three Imodium later, I knew she was right.

I began silently repeating 2 Corinthians 12:9:Your strength is perfected in weakness—and I am very weak right now.

How I went from that hotel room to being fitted with scuba gear is mostly a blur. I don’t think Rachel dragged me kicking and screaming—at least not outwardly.

Soon we were in a boat skimming across the ocean, waves splashing, hair flying, surrounded by people speaking French—some as young as eight. When the boat stopped, we were told to fall backward into the water.

I prayed as I fell. I did not feel fearless.

We snorkeled while waiting our turn. Instantly I grabbed Rachel’s hand. We floated in awe over crystal-blue water, coral reefs below, and schools of fish moving like slow motion art.

Then Rachel pointed. I followed her gaze and saw scuba divers no bigger than my pinkie finger. That’s when everything froze.

The depth hit me. My mind shut down. I sucked salt water through my snorkel. I gasped and choked, trying to say boat.

“I…gulp…want to…gulp…go back…”

Only my hands worked as I pointed. Rachel had to pull me back. I was paralyzed. Petrified.

My heart raced so fast I thought I might die. I thought I might drown—and worse, take my daughter with me. When my hands reached the boat ladder, relief flooded me. I climbed in, smiled, and told her to go on without me.

After everyone—even the eight-year-old—was gone, I sat alone on the boat, defeated.

And God met me there. He revealed just how deep my fear and unbelief ran. I felt small, floating like a cork in a massive ocean, while God felt bigger than ever.

Right there, He did open-heart surgery. It wasn’t gentle. It wasn’t pretty. I threw up in front of the boat driver and instructor as they encouraged me to try again.

There was more fear in my heart than I ever imagined it could hold. No, I will never be mistaken for Peter walking on the water. I didn’t step out of the boat and it cost me.

Fear stole an opportunity I will never again have—and it continues to steal wherever it has claimed space in our lives.

Devotional Takeaway

Fear doesn’t always shout. Sometimes it disguises itself as caution or “being realistic.”

But fear and unbelief quietly rob us—of peace, of obedience, of moments God intended to use for growth and wonder. That day, God showed me something I didn’t want to see: I believed in Him, but I didn’t fully believe Him.

“My grace is sufficient for you, for My strength is made perfect in weakness.”—2 Corinthians 12:9

Faith isn’t the absence of fear. It’s choosing to trust God in the presence of it.

So, here’s the questions I’m learning to ask myself—and maybe you need to ask it too:

Where has fear posted an occupancy sign in my life? What might God be inviting me to trust Him with today?