Drowning in Shallow Water

I’m drowning.

I’m out here in the middle of this little pond at the bottom of this cute little waterfall, and I’m drowning. I can see my girls playing over behind the falling water curtain, but they are too far away to hear me over their own laughter and splashing. I’m an idiot. I underestimated the distance from the pool’s edge to the waterfall, and I overestimated my own stamina. I got a little less than halfway across before I began to understand I had seriously miscalculated. Now, I’m heading back to my starting point. But I’m not going to make it. I am thoroughly exhausted, and I can’t catch my breath. I’m gulping air along with water. I am thrashing my arms about trying to stay afloat and make some progress back to dry land. I’m trying to call out to my friend sitting high and dry on the bank, but my voice is weak and doesn’t carry. He will tell me later he heard me saying something but couldn’t make it out. He will tell me he thought I was playing around.

I can tell I’m not going to make it back to where I started. I try treading water. Relaxing. Slowing everything down. But it’s impossible. Panicked animal reflexes take over and in an instant I’m thrashing and splashing and . . . getting nowhere. I wonder if this is how Peter felt when he cried out, “Lord, save me!” I decide I’m going to try one last desperate gambit. I think maybe if I sink to the bottom of the pond maybe I can use my legs to push off and accelerate myself in the direction of the shore. It’s scary to contemplate letting myself sink like that, but I can’t think what else to do. It’s this or nothing. Or maybe it’s this and nothing. Still, as far as I can see, it’s my only option. My last chance. So I take a deep, trembling, breath and rotate my body so I’m oriented with my feet beneath me. I begin to exhale and as I lose buoyancy I sink. I straighten my legs and—

--stand up. I stand up! In about 4 feet of water, I stand. All that struggle. All that panic and fear. All that desperation and angst. And all along I could have just stood up. I am embarrassed now, looking around to see who might have observed me trying not to drown in water I could stand up in. There’s only my friend (who has kindly said nothing about the incident ever since). I am alone in my shame, and in my relief. I wonder if this is how Peter felt when Jesus pulled him up out of the water in answer to his desperate prayer.

I understand a little better now what it means to say God is my rock (Psalms 78:35). Whenever I think about my “near-death” experience, and especially about the presence of solid ground underneath my feet the whole time I was struggling, I am reminded that in my spiritual life, too, there is solid ground upon which I can stand. It’s immovable and eternal, and its presence is a comfort when I’m drowning in a sea of struggle and temptation.

Kenny Rogers recorded a song some time ago that Vince Gill penned. It’s called The Rock of Your Love, and there’s a line in it that perfectly encapsulates how I feel, having learned the lesson of the shallow water.

Let the storm clouds roll

Let the rain flood my soul

I’ll still be here when the troubles come

And I’ll be standing on the rock of your love

I’m a little more cautious these days. I have a healthier respect for the dangers of venturing out beyond what my abilities will safely allow. And I have the peace and joy of knowing whenever things get too difficult for me, I have a safe place to stand. Even the oceans are shallow when I’m riding the shoulders of God.