walk on water - part 1
To know me is to know that I am not a fan of water! Ironically, it has become such an important and essential theme in my life. I believe my fear of water has been rooted in three incidents that occurred in different stages of my life.
My first memory of a traumatic experience with water was one early Sunday morning, when I was five years old. The congregation sang in unison, "Take me to the water, to be baptized - none but the righteous, shall see God...”, as I carefully walked down three steps that led me into the baptismal pool. My Pastor, (who was my grandfather by relationship, not by blood) proudly met me at the center of the pool, dressed in all white, with a matching towel around his neck, waiting to dip my soul into the water and wash my sins away.
The week or so before, my Sunday School teacher asked me if I wanted to get baptized. Of course, I wanted to get baptized! I loved everything about Sunday School, especially my teacher and friends, and I loved Jesus based on what I had learned in church every Sunday. I understood at that young age that getting baptized was the next step to starting your life living for God. What I did not know is that you were supposed to hold your breath or pinch your nose closed when you get dunked under the water!
"I baptize you my daughter, in the name of the Father, the Son and the Holy Ghost..." were the last words spoken over me, as Granddad held one hand under my back as he laid me under the water, with his other hand cupped over my face. Although his hand was large enough to cover my face, there was a gap wide enough between his fingers that allowed water to gush up my nose. I emerged from the water weeping! The audience cheered with their "Amens" and "Hallelujahs", believing that I must have been overcome with the spirit. However, I was crying because I thought I just might have met Jesus sooner than I wanted.
The second memory I have of being traumatized by water happened when I was twelve. My step-father had passed away in March, so my mother needed extra help taking care of me and my younger brother in the summer months now that Dad was gone. Someone encouraged her to sign us up to attend a local YMCA. I hated everything about that summer at the Y. It was uncomfortable being the only girl in my group at the 'Y', even the teacher was a male. I didn't have anyone I felt I could connect with, and I don't have many memories of the boys being kind to me. Being a pre-teen with a body that was changing before my eyes, and new braces, I was not very comfortable with myself.
We would often go on field trips, but I would be miserable. Fridays were the day of the week that we would go to a local pool. It would seem to be the highlight of the week for most kids attending the Y. As you may have guessed, it was far from anything that I was looking forward to doing. I was self-conscious as I wore a navy one-piece swimsuit that was much too big for me, and would walk around fully covered in a towel over my dry swimsuit. I would try to get lost inside a book when there was shade to be found, and sometimes I would sit at the edge of the pool and wade my toes in the water to cool off.
There was a Friday that I will never forget, where one of the adult leaders encouraged me to come get into the pool. I politely declined, for several reasons - I did not know how to swim, I did not want to get out of my towel, and did I mention I did not know how to swim. My "no" was not accepted, instead he insisted that I get in the pool. Initially, I thought he would give up after I told him I can't swim, but before I knew it, he was dragging me by my wrists towards the pool. My eyes started to tear because I was so scared that he just might throw me into the pool, as I had just observed him doing this to several others. He picked me up by my waist and threw me over his shoulder, as I pleaded for him not to throw me into the water. It felt like time was moving in slow motion after I crashed into the water, sinking to the bottom of the pool. I can't tell you if I was in the deep end or shallow end, but I was panicking as I felt disoriented under the water, unable to come up for air. It felt like minutes, but it was probably seconds later that someone pulled me out of the water. To this day, I cannot remember if it was the same person who threw me into the water that pulled me out or if it was someone else. I just remember being under the water thinking that I was literally about to die. Hoping that was my last traumatic experience, I did my best to avoid water.
Many years later, I was married and a mother of a two year old son, spending our first family vacation in Florida. My husband, Cameron, was well aware of my hesitation around swimming pools and the ocean. As we spent most of our time on the beach or beside a pool, it became Cameron's personal mission to make me unafraid of drowning. He was a kid again as I watched him catching waves in the ocean on a rented boogie board. I must admit, it was captivating to watch him tackle the boogie board and command the waves with such authority. Although I initially declined his request to take me out in the water to give the boogie board a try, I trusted him more than I feared the water. He was such a pro on the water and I knew that I was the love of his life, so surely he would not let anything happen to his bride.
Husband guided me into the ocean, just deep enough where the water was not too far above my waist. He spoke gently as he gave me instructions on what to do next. I looked forward towards the shore hugging the boogie board, as he watched for the wave behind me. At just the right time, Cameron told me to "go!" I gave control over to the wave and let it carry me to the shore. I couldn't believe it - Husband was right, there was nothing to fear after all. It was calming and felt good to give up control for once.
Excited by the success of my first boogie board experience, I opted to do it again. Husband was just as calm this time around, and he checked for the perfect wave as I patiently waited for his instructions to go. Except this time, as he watched behind me, his timing was not as perfectly clear as before. He yelled out confusing instructions: "Go!"..."No, wait!"..."Nevermind, GO, GO!" Before I could decide whether to wait or to let the wave take me away, a wave crashed over my head making the decision for me. Somehow, I had lost the boogie board, and felt myself curled in fetal position twirling in circles under the water. I barely closed my mouth in time, but did not know how to breathe under water, so I unintentionally inhaled salt water in my nose. Like the first time I was thrown under water as a kid, I thought I was drowning. It felt like I was under water for minutes that were probably seconds. I was so disoriented and imagined that the water was carrying me out to the middle of nowhere to sink to the bottom of the ocean like a lost treasure.
"Stand up...get up," I heard in my head, not knowing if it was the voice of the Lord or my imagination. My legs obeyed the voice and suddenly as I opened my eyes, I was able see that the same wave, once full of rage, had gently released my body at the foot of the shore. Cameron rushed over to help me stand up, and the water was no higher than the knees on my five-foot-even body. Tears in my eyes and salt water induced snot running from my nose, I was now more embarrassed than afraid of what felt like a near-death experience. Not to mention, my trust tank for Cameron went from full to running on fumes quickly.
