She looked a little bit nervous. Weighing what looked around 300 pounds, I could tell that she wasn’t very comfortable standing on the floating dock with only her small life jacket strapped across her chest. I looked over at her. “Is everything okay? The water is nice and cool. You should jump in.” Her face lost what little color it had left when she said, “Well…I’m nervous.” I asked her if she trusted her life jacket. She said no.
“It’s okay. You can trust the life jacket.”
She didn’t believe what I was telling her. I could see it on her face. It was pale. Her eyes were a bit frantic as she looked at the water and then back at me.
“Let’s try this.” I motioned for her to walk off the dock back onto the shore. Then I told her to slowly walk into the water. “If you walk in, your feet will be beneath you the entire time. Then, once you get waist-deep in the water, I want you to squat. You’ll be able to feel the life jacket keeping you afloat. You can trust it. I promise.”
She did what I said. She could feel the life jacket lift her up, but she still hesitated to go any further. An ache settled in my chest because I knew how fun and relaxing it would be to swim out into the lake. I closed my eyes and remembered what it felt like to jump, to go all in.
The air. The adrenaline. The darkness. I was afraid, but only for a moment. Then there was air again as I resurfaced at the top of the lake’s murky water, adrenaline pumping through my body. I opened my eyes and completely forgot what the darkness felt like. All I felt was an urge to jump off the dock all over again.
I realized why the woman was scared. She was scared of that moment. That moment when there was only darkness and I felt helpless. Even time had nowhere to go, so it sank with me. The seconds passed. Were they minutes or hours? My mind panicked in desperation. I couldn’t feel the jacket. Where was the jacket?? But only for a moment. It was only for a moment. Then, I resurfaced with the life jacket keeping me afloat.
That lady that I met on the floating dock last summer taught me something huge: her reluctance to go all in because she feared she’d never resurface is the same fear I live in. Daily. That fear has me on the shore. I take a few steps, look around, and take a few more steps. I might even take some steps backward. Okay, this is enough for me. I resist the Holy Spirit's nudge. Even though I know there is so much BETTER for me in the deep. Opportunity. Joy. Excitement. Struggle. Hardships. Growth. Pain. Life.
But it’s–that moment–that scares me. That moment when I tell God, “You can have my summer,” and for a few weeks I feel helpless because I have no idea where He is taking me. I don’t know the future. The darkness of not knowing overwhelms me. Then God opens the door for me to serve in Washington D.C. this summer, and I feel overjoyed but out of control. Another one of those moments. I try, nearly desperately, to be in control of preparation. Am I good enough to go? Will I be effective? The questions weigh me down. I need to know but that’s impossible. Instead, I have to trust God’s present and with me even when I can’t feel Him.
Everyday is filled with those moments that require trust in God. There is no other way to fully experience what God has, unless I surrender and let God take me to, through, and out of those moments. I have experienced the refreshing feeling that comes after a plunge into the lake and if someone reminded me that I can feel that way with God–daily–maybe I’d stop doing things from the shore.
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