Flailing Faith *when not to swim*

My love affair with swimming began at an early age. When I was five years old, my parents, recognizing my zest for the aquatic, signed me up for swimming lessons. Much to their chagrin, I refused to continue after only one lesson. Having an instructor tell me what to do took all the fun out of being in the water and so I resolved to teach myself how to swim. I would spend hours in our neighborhood pool bobbing up and down, doing summersaults and handstands, diving to the bottom and then launching myself back to the top like a rocket bursting through the o-zone.

Once I reached the age of twelve, I was deemed responsible enough to ride my bike down to the pool unsupervised. I spent every one of my precious summer days in the water. There was nothing like the independence that I felt in the water, not even gravity could hold me down. When the summer heat brought family tensions to a boil, I would escape to the cool waters of the pool. Once in the water, I would soon forget the seemingly endless conflict that seemed to grow just as quickly as my awkward limbs during those turbulent years of pubescence. The freedom I felt when in the water was intoxicating, not even gravity could hold me down when in the swimming pool.

I have always been a very independent person. It’s not that I am adverse to following rules; I just don’t like limitations. Even as a child, I hated having to hold my parents hand when out shopping. One day, I discovered what seemed to be the perfect solution to this problem: a kid leash. Some may view such leashes as cruel and degrading. For me, this was my ticket to freedom while still satisfying my parent’s unrelenting demand for my safety. It is entirely possible that I am the only child who has actually asked, even begged their parents to get them a leash.

In high school, I swam for our school’s swim team. This was the only sport I participated in, and something that I looked forward to throughout the off-season. Although I had spent most of my summer days in the pool, I had not developed the technical skills necessary to swim well competitively. Despite such lack of skills, I possessed an intense determination to swim as hard as I could, and be the best that I could be. In practice, I would push myself to swim as fast as possible, always trying to beat the other girls swimming along the lanes beside me. Most of the time I was able to swim faster than the other girls in practice but when it came to actually swimming in a race, my time was always mediocre at best. My determination only got me so far. I needed to slow down and allow someone to coach me, to teach me how to swim well. Sadly, such coaching meant joining a private swim club, which was unquestionably out of our family budget.

Sometimes I still feel as though I’m in the pool with my arms and legs flailing about me, trying desperately to stay afloat but never actually getting anywhere. I put so much effort into saying and doing the right things, but no matter how hard I try, I always seem to end up in the same spot, sinking fast. The truth is, no matter how hard I try to succeed, without Jesus to be my water wings I will always end up merely treading water, and eventually sinking after my limited strength has been exhausted.

I’ve been treading water for a long time now. I’m not even sure I can remember how to swim out to the deep end of the pool; I’ve grown so accustomed to bobbing around the shallow end. I don’t really know where to go from here, but I do know that where I am going is not dependant on my own knowledge or efforts. I know that I need to stop treading water and place my focus on Christ, allowing him to take me to the deep end.