Swimming

Ever since I was a kid I’ve loved swimming.  I remember when we got a pool.  I seriously thought there was nothing better in life than being in the water.  I was not destined to be an Olympic swimmer, I just loved being in the water.

There’s that moment on a hot summer day when you stick your foot in the water and (the older you get the more exaggerated the effect) you’re shocked beyond your ability to sustain submergence.  You might say “WOAH!  HOOOOOWEEEEEE that’s cold!” or something like it.  But refreshment calls you, beckons you to get your whole baked self under the surface.  Inch by inch you torture yourself through…um… those “tough spots” (you know what I mean) until you are able to get your head under.

Or maybe you’re like me and you just dive in and get it all over at once.  I still believe this is the best way.  :0)

Eventually it doesn’t feel so shocking to our system.  You know the phrase, “Really! It’s not bad once you get used to it!!”

My kids have been trying to get me in my mom’s unheated pool all week.  I just don’t want to go through the system-shocking part to arrive at the gotten-used to it part.  Yeah.  I’ve gotten older.

But, as usual, God has been using this plunge procrastination I’m practicing to float some things to the surface in my spiritual life.

It has to do with the way I’ve experienced Truth.

Truth can be like that cold water against our hot skin.  Truth can be shocking to our system.  Truth can be hard to accept.  Truth can even appear impossible to accept.

When a friend whom you trust confronts you on something that you are doing that is just not good for you, the words of sudden clarity can feel cold and make you jerk away.

When you actually start to believe the truth that your spouse, after years of marriage, loves you unconditionally and sacrificially, it can be so different than anything you have experienced that with every inch of exposure you still feel a little surprised.

When you stand 60 feet high on a ropes course that challenges your fear of heights to the very limit, you can be awestruck at your own audacity to press forward and take risks you otherwise thought you never would.

Truth can be shocking.  But we are all starving for it.

We are bombarded with claims to comfort, success, and popularity every single day of our lives.  Advertisements promise asylum from your low self-esteem. Pills can make you productive.  Sex can make you secure.  Stockpiles of money can bring you strong peace of mind.  Books can make you better.  Clothes can make you cleaner.  Cars can make you cooler.  Appearance can make you alluring.

So we step in.  We go inch by inch wanting to swim in the truth we think we have bitten, only to discover we have quenched our thirst with saltwater.

I have believed in many half-truths.  Some of which I have alluded to.  Many I would never breathe again.  All of which have left me with less than I started.  Biting a lie you thought was true leaves a dent of disappointment that cries out for more comfort.  If we aren’t aware, we can attach ourselves to the next half-truth and start the painstaking process all over again.

Truth does not do that.

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I can remember like it was moments ago when I first really understood truth.  It was much like getting in my mom’s pool to escape sweltering heat.  I read:

Jesus answered, “I am the way and the truth and the life.  No one comes to the Father but through me.”

I can remember realizing that Jesus was not presenting himself as one of the world’s religions, or paths to God.  His statement felt to me like dipping my hot skin in a cold pool.  His directness was refreshing and shocking at the same time.  Parts of me pulled back.  ”What about all those other religions out there?”  ”What about all those people that say there are other ways to God, or that all roads lead to God?”

I’ve wrestled with those questions, an inch at a time, slowly working through “the tough spots”.  I don’t have all of them answered, mind you.  But I’ve found that truth is as comforting as it is confrontational.  It is much more refreshing after spending time in it than it was revolting when I was first exposed.

Truth, like the water, can be unforgiving.  Truth, by definition, is absolute.  I know there are people who would argue with me, that’s fine, they are actually arguing with truth.

Jesus said what he did, lived the way he did, died the way he did, and came back the way he did because he wasn’t just preaching the truth or modeling the truth.  He was the Truth.  And everything I’ve grown to understand about him is that he still is the truth.

I’m up to my shoulders in the truth of his love for God and obedience to him.  I’m up to my neck  in the Truth of God’s undying love for people whether they like him or not.  I’m up to my ears in the truth that God loves me because of who he is,  not because of who I’m not.  I still have a way to go before I’m living under water.

But I want to swim.

I want to float.

I want to splash.

I want to do the butterfly in truth, eventually understanding concepts and applications that now leave me flopping about like a (pardon the illustration) fish out of water.

I want to use what days I have left to give all of who I am to this Truth.  Like throwing your whole person into the water because you already know the cold sting will disappear soon enough.

I want to dive in, go deep, come up gasping for air, and encourage others to do the same.

Because I believe in Truth.  I have chosen to put my trust in more than a concept or a program or a religion.  I have chosen to believe Jesus was who he said he was, and is who he says he is.

Wherever you are in this journey, I want to encourage you.

If you’re already swimming, thanks for showing me a few pointers and reminding me I don’t need to plug my nose.

If you’re still testing the waters, go ahead and dip your foot in the pool if that’s your first step.  One day, you too, will want to go swimming.

It’s summertime.  And I’m ready to dive in.

And… I think this afternoon I’ll finally act like my kids and give in.  I think it’s supposed to be hot this afternoon.