ethoughts weekly- Issue 157

April 15, 2007

The Floating Paradox

My son and daughter are taking swimming classes. Yesterday my daughter learned how to float. She floated alone for a few seconds. This is no small feat. She was quite scared of the water. Now she is relaxed enough for the water to hold her. And of course, I see a lesson there.

You could say that Gabrielle had a victory. You could say she took a big step in learning to be swimmer, and be safer and happier in the water. You could say she had a growth experience, or you could say, she gave up. She did both. She had to give up to gain progress.

I learned to swim at about eleven years old. I loved the water, but I remember my fear of deep water. I would picture my legs many feet from the bottom, and feel my breath closing in my chest, at that thought. I would sense my body being pulled down to the depths, and the air being smothered from my lungs. I know what it is to fear. Floating is giving up the fear. It is surrendering it, not because it is not there, but because giving it up makes something better possible.

My son Nathan has fear. He’s stiff in the water. He’s tense. He trusts his instructor, hardly at all, and he tries to control the water and his own buoyancy. He tries to control his circumstances and surroundings. He can’t float yet because he can’t relax. He can’t move on. He’s stuck in his fear.

My body has never been extremely well suited for floating. My legs tend to sink. This has always created a bit of a panic within me. It still gives me a subtle fright at times, but I’ve learned to remember, I can still float. I have to let my mind and body be still and calm. I have to really lie down, and give up my preconceived notions. What if I did this all the time?

When I was in Trinidad, we went to the beach in Tobago one day. The water was so salty, floating was exceptionally easy. I felt like I could have bobbed around in the water all day. It was incredibly relaxing. I wondered why the water there was so exceptionally salty. What if the salt from the tears of our troubles worked the same way? What if they made us float on the waters of our pain better too? We wouldn’t be giving up, would we? Tears would be a source of help. Salt from them would be the rescue. Surrender to them would mean floating more. Floating better would mean surviving our world in the best possible way, and peacefully levitating, looking up into the face of God.

Gabrielle gave in at swim class. In a paradox, younger, weaker sister is the braver, stronger one, for now. She’ll be better off in the water. By surrender, she’ll be safer. I’ve told her, “Now, if you get scared in the deep water, you can float, Sweetie.” She nods. This means nothing to Nathan. It sounds like crazy talk.

Life and God work in the same way. It seems counter-intuitive. It seems like we should struggle, save our selves, or swim for shore. But our oceans of trouble are too vast for us. We must lie back, float. With no skill, with no energy, we can be saved. It’s not giving up, floating is surviving in the best possible way. And it brings peace.

Lisa DeLay

©2007