My husband and I have spent the past several months helping our children—particularly our 4-year-old—become more comfortable in the pool. We’ve worked on floating, kicking, breathing out under the surface, and kicking off the wall, and we’ve recently introduced doggy paddling.
We’ve tried to keep it light and fun, but the process has been trying–both the doggy paddling itself and the teaching of something that’s already so innate (how did we learn this?!). While he’s sometimes a willing participant, our son goes back and forth between wanting to just put his floaties on and forget the whole endeavor, which he could certainly do, and wanting to dive to the bottom and do backflips under the surface, which he could not do.
And he’s not alone. When something gets hard, I want to either revert to the comfort of what I know or skip ahead to the part where I just know what I’m doing. I want the results, not the pain. Neither serves me well. In the former, I don’t develop skills and stamina, and I’m potentially in danger if my circumstances change. Plus, I miss the fun! In the latter, I put myself (and others) at risk unnecessarily (and, again, miss the fun!).
Over the past year and a half, our family has experienced loss, new life, job change, a new house and community, and the physical ramifications of anxiety. Though many of the changes were good, it was tough.
In those first months, we all put our floaties on and clung to the side, to whatever familiar support we could find. We didn’t dare let go. A few months ago, in His goodness, God used time, His Word, and His people to begin coaxing us away from the wall a bit, reminding my husband and I how to breathe and kick and showing our children that it’s safe to get out and try the water.
My husband had less unfamiliarity in the transition, so he was ready to dive in before I was. The kids were and are where they should be–mostly wearing their floaties, letting go of the wall, building skills, developing stamina, and grabbing my hand on occasion.
Me? I’m here. I’m participating. I’m celebrating everyone else’s growth and fun. But I’m still doggy paddling despite my need to dive. I have the skills to go deeper, and I’ve done it before, but right now I’m just keeping my head up. It’s easier to encourage the kids to be brave and talk to potential friends than it is to try to make friends of my own. It’s easier to long for the support and connection of a church family than it is to put forth the time and vulnerability necessary to establish such depth. It’s easier to spend time searching for a job than it is to be a good steward of the house and time I’ve been given in this season. In short, fear (and an unwillingness to be inconvenienced) keeps me paddling.
In his second letter to his “beloved child,” Paul reminds Timothy, “For God gave us a spirit not of fear but of power and love and self-control.” As a daughter of the Most High King, I am part of that “us.” Jude helps us see that we can rest, fearlessly, in that power and love because God “is able to keep you from stumbling and present you before his glorious presence without fault and with great joy” because we are called, loved, and kept for Christ Jesus (Jude 1). I do not operate in my own power for my own glory, whether I’m in a place of familiarity or a season of complete newness and unknown.
So, to the women who were once doing backflips but now find themselves longing for floaties and clutching the pool’s edge. To the ones whose pride or fear of insufficiency keeps them from taking the plunge. To the ones who are worried they won’t find anything when they do dive . . . just try. I’m just going to try. The same God who created the universe (including the figurative little pool we’re swimming in), calls you to trust, loves you in your successes and blunders, and will keep you in His hand.
Just dive. And know you’re not alone.
