Learning to Swim Again

I haven’t written much the past couple weeks.  However, it was World Oceans Day this week, which inspired me to write a poem about my current circumstances.  (Today is four months after my wife's open heart surgery and seven weeks after my dad passed away quite unexpectedly.)  The lines in red italics in the poem below are lyrics from the song “Oceans” by Hillsong United, which is a favorite praise song of mine.

 

You call me out upon the water.

The great unknown.

Where feet may fail.

And there I find you in the mystery.

In ocean’s deep, my faith will stand.

 

Sometimes you can anticipate the waves of life.

You can time them like the rhythm of the surf.

 

Laurie and I could see the big wave coming when this year began.

My wife had open heart surgery on February 11.

We could plan for that.

We could get ready.

Sort of...

 

But even when you know a big wave is coming.

Even when you brace for it.

The force of water is deceptively strong.

If you aren’t well grounded it can knock you over.

 

And any bodysurfer knows, the big wave is not the only concern.

The little waves between the big ones can trip you up.

Like my son’s second sports injury in six months.

Or my daughter’s virtual school struggles.

Or the persistent pull of a prolonged pandemic,

That runs like a rip current through the world.

The harder we swim against it, the further it pulls us from the shore.

 

So many creative ways my feet can fail.

But always the same result:

I end up sucking saltwater.

 

I grounded myself as best I could to withstand the big wave.

I thought I held my own.

Around Easter, I remember exhaling a bit.

I thought I might be headed to calmer seas for a time.

 

But then on April 23 the rogue wave came.

My dad passed away.

Although he was 86—it was unexpected.

It hit me like a tsunami.

Swamping the beach where I stood.

 

Suddenly my feet failed.

I was at the mercy of the waves.

Only faith could ground me.

Would that be enough?

 

And I will call upon your name.

And keep my eyes above the wave.

When oceans rise, my soul will rest in your embrace.

For I am yours, and you are mine.

 

In recent days, it’s been all I can do to stand.

But then again sometimes just to stand is a mighty act of faith.

 

I search for Jesus in the midst of my storm

I’m surprised to find him stretched out on a cushion.

 

“Jesus!”  I cry.  “Can’t you see I’m floundering here!?

This is no time for a nap!”

He sighs, and says simply, “Peace.  Be still.”

The turbulent sea becomes glassy calm.

As if very wind and waves obey his voice.

“Where’s your faith?” the Master of the Universe asks me.

“Didn’t you know I was with you all along?”

 

Times like now call the question of faith for me.

Do I know beyond knowing that He’s with me no matter how turbulent the sea is?

Do I really believe I’m His and He’s mine?

Can I truly rest in his embrace?

 

His grace abounds in deepest water.

His sovereign hand will be my guide.

When feet may fail and fear surrounds me.

He’s never failed—and he won’t start now.

 

Faith is as simple and as complex as this last stanza.

You can’t just sing faith, you have to live it.

Faith is most real when the waters are deepest.

Those are the times we can’t swim on our own.

 

That’s where I’ve been recently.

Trying to keep my head above the waters.

Trying to live what I sing every Sunday.

Learning to swim all over again.