“Take courage, it is I; do not be afraid.”
Those words, spoken across dark and turbulent sea, should put to rest any fear or hesitation. And yet, moments later, we see Peter sinking into the sea. Despite Truth itself standing inches away, Peter could not convince his physical senses to submit. He felt the storm, saw the water beneath his feet, and could not fully hold the miracle taking place in real time.
I find comfort in these Gospel moments. The Apostles were not perfect, they were men of variable nerves, subject to doubt and panic. They were, in every sense, regular people. Knowing this does not diminish the faith, but it grounds it. It gives me profound hope for my own spiritual life and provides framing for the atmosphere I hope to cultivate for my children.
When we hold this image of Peter struggling to stand on the waves with the enduring legacy of who he eventually becomes, it offers profound encouragement. The man who panicked in this storm is the same man who would later shepherd the early Church through persecution and stand unwavering at his own martyrdom. It is empowering to realize that stepping out of the boat, faltering, and going under water is not the end of the story. Great strength is often forged through the mercy that rescues us from those moments of perceived failure. Jesus did not abandon Peter for sinking; He reached down, took him by the hand, and brought him back to safety. That is the exact form of support I want to provide within my own family.
Whether navigating difficult schoolwork, athletic setbacks, or, looking down the road, early career choices and the heavier questions of character, I want our home to be a place where my children are given the freedom to attempt difficult things and the freedom to fail. I often see an invasive, relentless pressure on families to force early specialization, to optimize upbringings for predictable trajectories, and to eliminate risk at all costs. We are tempted to manage outcomes rather than form adaptable and capable individuals. I want to resist that temptation.
My role as a father is not to calm every sea or guarantee smooth sailing, but it is to teach my children how to keep their focus fixed on what is true when the wind picks up. I want to foster an environment that honors the process over perfection and the immediate metrics, instilling faith and character in slow formation rather than immediate perfection.
When my children step onto the water and lose their footing, I do not want them to encounter judgment or panicked anger. I want them to find a steady, outstretched hand. One that lifts them up, clears the water from their eyes, and gently prods them to step forward once again.