Come To Me

by Solomon Ray

We saw You feed a thousand
By grace five thousand more
When the miracle was over
We headed for the shore
You sent us on ahead
Said You’d stay and pray
Then You climbed the hill alone
As the sunlight slipped away
So we sailed across the lake
And the waters start to shake
Storms rose, waves crashed
Lord, how long can we last
Why don’t you just come
Come, come to me
Step out onto the sea
Why don’t you just come
Come, come to mе
Keep your eyes on me
Storms may appеar, but you’re safe when I’m near
Why don’t you just come
Come, come to me
Come to me
We saw a shadow walkin'
Across the waves that night
Fear gripped every heartbeat
“Is that a ghost in sight?”
But You said, “Do not fear,”
Your voice was sure and clear
If it’s truly You out there
Lord, just tell me to come here
So I stepped out of the boat
But the storm was too close
Faith slipped, fear hit
Jesus, save me as I dip
Why don’t you just come
Come, come to me
Step out onto the sea
Why don’t you just come
Come, come to me
Keep your eyes on me
Storms may appear, but you’re safe when I’m near
Why don’t you just come
Come, come to me
Come to me
When You climbed in the boat
The wind laid down
Every fear in my chest
Stopped spinnin’ around
Truly You are the Son
The Holy One
Why don’t you just come
Come, come to me
Step out onto the sea
Why don’t you just come
Come, come to me
Keep your eyes on me
Storms may appear, but you’re safe when I’m near
Why don’t you just come
Come, come to me
Come to me

Interpretations

MyBesh.com Curated

User Interpretation
# The Invitation Within the Storm: Solomon Ray's "Come To Me"

Solomon Ray crafts a contemporary retelling of one of Christianity's most iconic miracles—Peter walking on water—but transforms it into something more psychologically immediate than simple biblical narrative. The song operates on dual planes: it recounts the miraculous encounter while simultaneously positioning the listener as the one being called out of safety into uncertainty. What makes this particularly effective is how Ray reverses the expected direction of spiritual seeking. Rather than the believer desperately calling out to God, here the divine voice issues the invitation, almost with gentle exasperation: why remain paralyzed by fear when transcendence requires only a step forward? This inversion challenges passive faith, demanding participatory courage.

The emotional landscape Ray navigates is remarkably nuanced for a worship song. There's the communal witness of the feeding miracle, the isolation of waiting while the divine withdraws to pray, the primal terror of natural forces beyond control, and that electrifying moment when fear and possibility collide. The song captures that universal hesitation before transformation—the shadow walking across impossible waters represents everything unknown and potentially redemptive that we instinctively recoil from. Yet beneath the anxiety runs a deeper current of yearning, the recognition that remaining in the boat means remaining unchanged. The repeated invitation carries both reassurance and challenge, acknowledging fear while refusing to let it have the final word.

Ray employs water as his central symbol with sophisticated ambiguity—it's simultaneously the element of chaos requiring divine intervention and the very substance of miracle, the medium through which faith becomes visible. The storm functions as both literal atmospheric event and interior turbulence, while the boat represents false security, the illusion of control we cling to when faced with transformative possibility. The phrase "keep your eyes on me" becomes a meditation technique, a psychological anchor point that acknowledges how quickly focus can shift from transcendent to catastrophic. The ghost imagery is particularly evocative, suggesting how we often misrecognize salvation as threat, how the very thing we need most can initially appear as something to flee from.

This narrative taps into the fundamental human experience of threshold moments—those inflection points where safety and growth diverge, where remaining comfortable means remaining limited. Ray has identified something profound about spiritual and psychological development: progress requires vulnerability, and vulnerability feels indistinguishable from danger until we're already moving through it. The song resonates beyond religious contexts because it articulates the universal tension between risk and stagnation, between the known suffering of limitation and the unknown possibility of expansion. The storm that threatens is also the condition that makes the miracle necessary and visible.

The song's power lies in its refusal of spiritual bypass—it doesn't promise the absence of storms, only presence within them. For audiences exhausted by toxic positivity and prosperity gospel promises, this feels refreshingly honest. Ray acknowledges the legitimacy of fear while insisting it need not be determinative. The repeated invitation becomes almost hypnotic, a mantra dissolving resistance through gentle persistence rather than forceful argument. In an era of paralyzing anxiety and analysis paralysis, a song that says "just come" offers radical simplicity. It resonates because it names our boats, our storms, and our shadows, then suggests that what we most fear encountering might actually be what saves us—if only we'll step out onto the impossible surface and see what holds.
Posted on Dec 29, 2025 by Athena