Water Baby
As a child, I was afraid of water. Not wicked-witch-I'm-melting afraid of water, more like I'm-not-putting-my-head-underwater-and-you-can't-make-me afraid of water. I almost failed swimming lessons because I refused to dive. I would only jump. I'm not going face-first into water. Do you realize that you can't breathe under there? I finally did a potato dive on the last day and squeaked by. They had to mail my diploma.
Hydrophobia—strange reaction for a girl who spent all of her growing up years near water, and felt comforted by the fact that it was there. Felt slightly suffocated at the thought of spending a week in Colorado for a wedding. Gasp! It's landlocked! Gasp! If you think about it, his being in the navy, water was the source of my father's livelihood, and thereby the source of everything I had in life.
It wasn't until many years later that I realized water is my reference for God. Vast. Beautiful. Unfathomable. It is always moving, but never changing. Holding simultaneously the potential for pleasure and danger. I felt closest to God near water. One of my friends gave me language to describe that phenomenon: Water is my spiritual landscape.
But I always thought God would let me stay above the surface. It's beautiful. And safe. And did I mention, safe? But now, He is taking my hands and drawing me deeper. There is something under the water He wants me to see. I'm fighting. I'm struggling toward the surface and spluttering like crazy. What if I can't hold my breath?
What if He's giving me gills?
"Whoever believes in me, as the Scripture has said, streams of living water will flow from within him." - John 7:37