In the heart of tempest’s bluster, midst the waves that did conjoin, The disciples saw a figure, in the dim, faint moonlight’s shine. ‘Twas a form, so unfamiliar, moving with celestial grace, In the stormy sea it wandered, not a ripple, not a trace.

“Is it but a ghost?” they pondered, hearts consumed by chilling dread, For the phantoms of life’s battles often danced inside their head. These ghosts of fear and worry, shadows of regrets untold, Had pulled at their worn spirits, with fingers icy cold.

Yet amidst the howling wind, a voice did break the fear, “Take heart, it is I, do not be afraid,” a voice so crystal clear. Peter, with a heart so eager, wished to stand by His side, “If it’s truly You,” he called, “let me conquer this tide!”

“Come,” the voice responded, so Peter braved the swell, But ghosts of doubt and weakness caused his faith to briefly quell. Sinking ‘neath the water, with fears gripping his soul, Yet a hand emerged from heavens, pulling him from the cold.

That hand, not just of Jesus, but of hope, love, and light, Reaches through our darkest storms, making our burdens light. For in life’s vast ocean, where ghostly troubles seem so real, He walks above the chaos, His love and power to reveal.

In the waves of our despair, when ghosts threaten our mind, May we always feel that hand, gentle, firm, and kind. For He walks among our struggles, calming storms that do entreat, With Him, we can walk on waters, making ghosts beneath our feet.