Launch out into the deep

Peter had cast his nets beneath a weary sky,

all night long—with calloused hands, tired limbs, and an aching heart.

Wave after wave,hope had slipped through the mesh like the fish that never came.

And just as the first light cracked the horizon—

when sleep whispered

and surrender seemed like a mercy—

a voice broke through the stillness:

“Launch out into the deep.”

His heart sank lower than his empty nets.

Again?

After all this?

“Master, I have toiled all night…and caught nothing.”

His voice quivered, caught somewhere between reverence and resistance.

His soul wanted to obey—but his body,

his spirit,were spent.

“Launch out into the deep.”

But I’m exhausted, and I’ve nothing left to give.

Not one more toss of the net.

“Launch out into the deep.”

But Lord, you don’t understand—

I’ve failed here. This place only echoes with the sound of my disappointment.

“Launch out into the deep.”

Why the deep? Why now? Why me?

I’m afraid of the deep.

The unknown.

The silence.

The weight of it pressing down on places already cracked and bruised.

“Launch out into the deep.”

But I’m empty…

so painfully, hopelessly empty.

And still, He says it—gently, firmly, lovingly—

again: “Launch out into the deep.”

And Peter, trembling with uncertainty,

but moved by something deeper than fear—

obedience.

trust.

remembers the voice that speaks storms into stillness. He pushes out one more time.

And in the place where he thought nothing could live, life surged.

The nets strained with a catch too great for him to hold alone. The deep that once threatened to drown him became the place of abundance, of awe, of holy encounter.

This is the way of Jesus.

He calls us into the deep

not to break us—

but to bless us.

Not to shame our emptiness—

but to fill it.

Not to wound—

but to heal.

So if you find yourself weary,

with hands blistered from the night,

with a soul echoing the hollow thud of empty nets—hear Him.

He knows.

And still, He says:

“Launch out into the deep.”

Trust Him there.

Even when the water feels dark and wide.

Even when you’ve toiled and come back with nothing.

MEven when your knees shake at the edge.

Because it is there—

in the deep—

that the miracle waits.