Reflection: I hate putting my bathers on.
But anyway. I do. Occasionally. Put them on. And swim with my daughter.
Man, she is so cute with her swimming goggles. One time, she was sitting on the edge of the pool, and I was waist-high in the water. We were at the kiddy end, so waist high was as deep as it got.
My goggled cutie was perched gingerly on the edge of the pool, and I was standing not more than an arm’s length away. “Jump!”, “Jump to Mummy,” I said in my overly high-pitched enthusiastic voice. “You can trust me”.
Death stare. As only a three-year-old can. Eyelids half closed, head tilted, suspicion seeping from the curve of her lips. *Shakes head*
She sat there in silence and would not jump. She clung to the edge in fear; she clung to the cold hard reliability of the known.
And then I heard it. ‘That’s you and me,’ he whispered.
‘I died for you, don’t you think I will catch you? Don’t you want to be in my arms, in the freedom of the water?’
‘That’s you and me.’
‘You can trust me. Jump.’
I want to jump, to trust the Saviour who died for me, who will catch me.
I want to live in the freedom of generosity that Jesus paid for with his life.
Prayer: Father, help me to delight in you, to jump into your arms, to find protection in the shadow of your wings. Amen.