There’s a small, dirty sock in the hallway.

It anchors me.

No matter what storms of worry might rage. No matter how small the boat might seem. That smaller-yet-still sock anchors me.

It anchors me to this

And this in turn leads me hand-over-hand, down the knotted rope blindly seeking security until my fingers wrap around the heavy words that anchor my unreliable self:

We who have run for our very lives to God have every reason to grab the promised hope with both hands and never let go. It’s an unbreakable spiritual lifeline – an anchor – reaching past all appearances right to the very presence of God where Jesus, running on ahead of us, has taken up his permanent post.

Hebrews 6:19 (The Message version).

Small sock in my hand I find I am holding a message, a door, a light, a way, a reminder that everything – everything – points back to the God who made me and my crew.

In 1874 a woman who lived a century and one state next door to me, composed a hymn that captures  this concept. Pricilla Jane Owens of Baltimore, Maryland, could never have imagined that a South African girl with a sock for an anchor would repeat the words she wrote with such desperate hope:

“We have an anchor that keeps the soul
Steadfast and sure while the billows roll,
Fastened to the Rock which cannot move,
Grounded firm and deep in the Savior’s love.”

Pricilla remained single and lived her entire life in Baltimore, Maryland.

I am married with two children and haven’t lived anywhere longer than three years since 1998.

But we both needed an anchor.

And we chose the same one.

Mine just happens to look like a small, dirty sock, now and again.