Alligators were everywhere: in the swamps, on the roadside and near the picnic tables where I ate lunch in Everglades National Park. Some of them surpassed 12 feet in length.

Out of the water, the reptilian beasts stood eerily still like statues, only blinking their lime-colored eyes every 10 seconds.

I came within five yards of several gators that day. I even had my picture taken with one in the background, the optical illusion making it appear my hand was petting its tooth-filled snout.

Celebrated as the official animal of Florida, these motionless Everglades gators hide a dark side. While they seem harmless enough, gators attack up to 20 people a year and have killed 13 in the state since 1948, according to the Fish and Wildlife Conservation Commission.

Early that day the gators frightened me, but soon I began to let down my guard. Their stillness lulled me into a false sense of security.

Sin can have that effect on us too. It surrounds us every day: sins of pride, greed or lust. As people, our foibles and flaws eventually surface. And it's not a pretty sight.

We know that we are forgiven and that Jesus has paid the penalty for all our sins past, present and future. But like naive tourists in the Everglades, we lose a healthy fear of it. We try to live like sin isn't dangerous.

No matter how docile and lazy sin seems, it waits to devour us. Sorrow, addiction and broken relationships are just some of the scars that sin leaves in its wake. We are only steps away from a terrible calamity. "Sin is crouching at your door; it desires to have you," warns Genesis 4:7.

Fortunately, God knows our weaknesses and is there to help us. But we must develop a healthy fear of sin and keep our guard up at all times.

Lest we become easy prey.

I stood on the beach, the waves gently lapping around my ankles. Doubts drifted through my mind about God. I hadn't seen Him doing much of anything lately. I stared out at the endless ocean and prayed, "God, I want some affirmation that You are working in my life. Make something happen, Lord."

I waited expectantly. Nothing happened.

The earth didn't tremble; no tidal wave overtook me; no one even walked by. Discouraged, I prayed again, "Lord, show me that You're listening, that You do care what happens in my life."

I waited again.

Waves crashed, people talked in the distance, a seagull flew by, but there was no sign from above. Desperately, I prayed a third time, "Lord, why won't You grant me this one request? Please show me that You're there."

Still, I waited.

Exasperated, confused and saddened, I hung my head. Then I saw that my feet had been completely buried by the crashing waves and shifting sand. While I was blinded by my crazy requests for God to do what I wanted Him to do, He had moved the very ground beneath my feet. And I praised Him for constantly answering my prayers and showing His power despite my lack of faith.

I glanced down at my watch: 56:48. I'd been running almost an hour, yet I still had two miles to go. But I wasn't thinking about the miles. I was thinking about water. Cool, refreshing, thirst-quenching water.

I was six miles into an eight-mile run with my friend Andrea. In training for a half-marathon, Andrea and I spent several Saturday mornings together. As we ran, we would catch up on the previous week, share life stories and pray. But today all I could think about was getting a drink of water.

Relieved, I spotted a drinking fountain ahead and convinced Andrea to stop. But as I turned the knob, nothing came out. Rather than quenching my thirst, this made my desire stronger.

Two miles slowly turned into one, with each thought about water. Arriving at our cars, I took that long-awaited drink—the one dominating my thoughts for the last hour. Water never tasted so good.

In Psalm 63:1 David compares longing for water to a longing for God: "O God, You are my God; I shall seek You earnestly; my soul thirsts for You, my flesh yearns for You, in a dry and weary land where there is no water."

I finally understood the magnitude of David's words in this verse. Longing for water when none is to be found isn't a passing thought. It's consuming. And this is God's desire for me. The same single-minded focus I had for that drink of water is what God wants me to have for Him.