As soon as Simon Peter heard him say, “It is the Lord,” he wrapped his outer garment around him… and jumped into the water.
-John 21:7
When I was six years old, I took summer swimming lessons at the local pool. We’d use kickboards to propel ourselves across the shallows, do jumping jacks and bob for rings. It was great, lighthearted fun while learning basic strokes. My friends and I splashed crystal water droplets in the air, giggling when they landed on our noses. Fifteen feet away, our parents sat on pool chairs, watching us swim and keeping an eye on our younger siblings. The midday sun beat down on our shoulders we had smothered in lotion. For a few weeks, I found a fondness for water.
Then came the trip to the other side of the pool. To the diving boards, and the dipping floor that took the surefooted bottom away from us. As we marched our way over to the deep end and stood shivering in line for the lowest diving board, my nerves chattered along with my teeth. I was terrified. Every inch of my body recoiled from touching the ladder that would take me to the plank, where I would edge myself closer and closer to the end and propel my tiny body through the air to the lifeguard treading water below. Her arms were strong, smile ready. But what if in that moment, her arms failed and I slipped under the surface? Could I trust someone whose legs pumped beneath them and whose weight would noticeably increase with the addition of my own to the water?
I let the other kids go ahead of me, sneaking my way to the back of the line. One by one, I watched my friends make their way across the board, which creaked with each footstep. They’d bounce a few times at the edge, gathering momentum, before jumping into the lifeguard’s waiting arms. Each second they flew suspended in the air seemed like an eternity, and I held my breath until they touched the water and swam safely to the side of the pool.
Soon enough, I was the only one standing on the concrete. With shaky hands, I grabbed the metal pole and stepped up on the platform. Placing one tiny foot in front of the other, I crept to the end of the diving board, where the wrinkled water bobbed in a menacing motion. My eyes darted from the water to the lifeguard, smiling assuredly to me below, to the coral colored board soaking up the remnants of water I hadn’t absorbed in my skin. Heart beating wildly within, I knocked my knees up and down, testing the security of my footing. My toes dangled off the edge, tentatively waving at the endless blue beneath them. The voice inside my head screamed to turn around and walk back down the steps and onto solid surface again. And I wanted to listen. Desperately. Wanted to turn 180 degrees and book it away from this metal monster. But fear paralyzed me. I was stuck standing on the edge with ever fiber in my being twirling and gnarling inside me, feeling every pair of eyes in the pool on me as I stood, hands clasped together underneath my chin while assessing the swarming waters below. Feet glued to the board, the poison of panic slid into every vein, every crack in my skin to take residence in my body. I couldn’t fight it, couldn’t win the battle for my backbone.
So I jumped.
Didn’t think. Just moved. Like it wasn’t even me, but a shadow of myself stepping off and falling to the blue below. If you’ve ever seen videos of a frog jumping from tree to pond, you can visualize how I looked- legs splayed out to the sides, arms flailing, grasping at the air, belly slightly above parallel to the drop. Before I had a chance to think about what in the world I just did, two firm hands grasped me underneath my arms and guided me into the water. I felt the cooling fingers of shadowed waves splash up to rinse my hair and the sensation of my legs churning to find a foothold, but my face never once slipped below the surface.
As I doggie paddled to the side (those freestyle lessons the day before obviously came in handy), my breathing regulated and the ties of terror began to loosen from my limbs. Fingers clenched to the side railing, I chanced a look at where I had been- atop that treacherous ledge my fear still reverberated on. But I was gone from the perch that paralyzed me. I had leapt, and someone caught me. Because someone believed I could fly, could take that dive into the deep.
It’s almost twenty years later, and I find myself once again set on the edge of this precariously bending board. I’m at a point in my life where I need to jump, but I can’t seem to muster the courage to take the plunge. I slip backwards, letting others go before me towards their turn in the deep. And now it’s just me left in line. I tiptoe to the invisible ledge dividing me and the vast space beneath and gaze at the uncertain currents. One step. One fall of faith into the air.
Still I balk, legs rooted to my comfort zone. I steady my stance, then sneak a peek at the Lifeguard in the water, beckoning me to jump. His arms are strong, stronger than anyone else who has held me. His smile is warm, brilliantly blinding the insecurities I have laid on the line. And His words soothe me, propel me to plummet: “Jump. I am here. I will catch you. I will not let you fall.”
No more hedging. No more thinking. Just jump.
Prayer: I don’t want to succumb to questions and fears anymore. I don’t want to be controlled by the “what if’s.” Father, I’d rather you tell me, “Why not?” Why not take that leap of faith, take that step into the unknown? Because You promise to be with me every step of the way. Through good times and bad, the known and unseen. I trust You, Lord. Now show me why I do. Amen.
