It was almost October in north Georgia when my friend invited us over to the RV resort where her husband worked. She told me there was a beautiful outdoor pool, and I jumped at the chance to take my daughters out for the morning.
“Isn’t it cold?” I asked. She shook her head, “It’s heated and they keep it open until November.” Friday was free, so I planned to take the girls.
The sun glistened on the pool ripples when we pulled in, the foothills of the Appalachian mountains standing proudly in the background. I held my hand over my eyes and smiled at the shallow end lined across with low chairs. It looked dreamy, and I couldn’t wait to play with my kids for a rare pool treat.
Even though my girls wore life jackets, I was still nervous about them in the water. I kept an eye on them constantly and took them both to the bathroom with me when we needed to take a break. Things were going so well . . . until they weren’t, and a single minute changed our morning.
My friend showed up, and we were talking, but I knew I had to leave soon. I dressed my 3-year-old in her dry clothes and then sat at the edge with my almost 2-year-old. I didn’t love that my oldest was splashing in the water, getting her clothes wet, but I laughed it off. It wasn’t a big deal. She was just being her normal, silly self.
What I should have done was get her out of the pool because she didn’t have her life jacket on anymore. I wasn’t quite ready to leave yet, but I wanted her to be done swimming.
If I hadn’t seen a woman on the other side of the pool get up in urgency, I might not have looked to see my 3-year-old holding onto the pool railing with her head completely under the water. I could see her eyes wide with fear and her brown curly hair floating behind her.
I rushed to her and picked her up, her cries loud and piercing. I thanked God she was crying and not gasping for air. I apologized to her for not watching her more carefully. She could hear the fear and urgency in my voice, and she knew it could have been much worse.
When we got in the car, I dialed my husband right away. I told him what had happened so he knew we were okay. Even though our daughter was only underwater for a few seconds, and she was holding onto something, the fear of losing her gripped me for days.
The event spurred a conversation with my husband, a former lifeguard, about water safety. I researched life jackets and baby floats, and read awful stories of children drowning. It became clear that some children get so familiar with life jackets that they feel they are invincible in the water.
I’m not sure if every parent is afraid of water for their kids, but I sure am. I have to constantly give my babies to God and ask Him to make up for what I lack. I cannot be everywhere and do everything. As parents, we have to surrender our grip on our babies to the only one whose breath sustains them each day. Their lives are out of my control.
I can do what I can to keep them safe, so my husband and I agreed to do swim lessons as soon as possible. We will also teach our children that water is inherently unsafe and life jackets are the only thing keeping them above water until they learn to swim. This is a work in progress, but with summer coming rapidly, I am thinking about it more lately.
When we are with friends at a pool, I think it is wise to designate one person to watch the kids solely for a short amount of time, and then switch off to someone else. It’s easy to get caught up in the fun and conversation with other adults, feeling like the surroundings are safe because of all the eyes on the kids. But it’s important to make sure the eyes really are on the kids. Even if the kids know how to swim, we should be prepared.
Ultimately, my babies are here because God has brought them into my life. They are a gift. I want to be a good steward as their parent, but I also know that other families have suffered great loss at no fault of their own. Accidents happen and it is tragic.
Watch your babies. Pray for their safety. But also, relinquish control to the Lord. Our lives are in his hands—whether we are in deep or shallow water, we can trust Him.
by Maribeth Leeson 
by Karen Johnson 
by Natalie Livingston 
