Unlikely Places: Swimming Continued

If you don't already, allow me to highly recommend reading the comments to whatever this blog is; I've known for a long time that everyone who reads this blog has far more interesting insights than I can conceive of, and the people who comment here serve only to prove that. (I only wish y'all wrote more on your blogs!! I love hearing all that y'all have to say, and hope to hear what it is that you spend your time thinking about!) To start this post, here are some that y'all left on the last post:

"I totally agree, God never intended for us to try and walk it out on our own strength." You know, this is what I was trying, rather violently and unsuccessfully, to say in those flailed words below, so I'm glad that you got it, Jessica. Oh, and I really, really didn't want to do swimming either...but it ended up being one of the greatest experiences of my time at ORU. Look for the lessons.

"In my swimming class, we'd all take turns and watch each other, there was no hiding the fear, either you got over it or you were scared and every one knew which one it was. I kinda wish it was harder to hide our problems in the church. Ya know?" You completely knocked it out, Malia. But, you know, instead of wishing that it was tougher to hide my problems I find I more often wish that I had the courage to admit my problems and deal with them in the context of a healthy community. I think that everyday I'm moving closer to that, but it's definitely a struggle.

How do we find such a healthy community? (which is the segue* now into the meat of the post)

True community arrives whenever we say, a la Aaron Weiss, "If I'm afraid and you're afraid, then we don't have to be afraid anymore," and agree to put down our weapons against one another (isolation, rejection, abandonment, negativity, fakeness, condemnation, et al.) and choose instead to humbly love, one broken piece to the other.

An illustration of this is found in the story of Josh from Beginning Swimming (which is certainly not his real name). I had passed my swimming proficiency test (25m front swim, 25m back swim, 2min tread) very early in the semester, partially because my fear of water was not as developed as many of the others in the class and partially because my feet and hands are like natural flippers, so I've got quite a distinct advantage over the common "well-proportioned" man. Still, I waited until after class so that if I would have failed, as few a number of people as possible would be around to see it.

Josh attempted it a couple of weeks later, after a handful of others had completed various portions of the test. In the middle of class, he got out of the water and told our instructor that he thought he was ready. He began the long journey down toward the deep end. She swam down. We all watched at the edge, standing at the various depths at which we could keep our heads above water by standing on our tip toes.

He jumped in and began swimming toward us on his back. Now, I'm certainly not a swimmer of any merit (I mean, I was in Beginning Swimming). But everybody else seemed to have trouble getting anywhere when they were swimming compared to me. Like, I definitely wasn't fast, but I was always moving when I wanted to be (and even when I wasn't really trying to be). Josh was one of those who splashed a lot and moved through the water very little. It was like one of those nature documentaries, where the great white is devouring the family of sea lions, only the violence on the surface lasted more than mere seconds.

Minute after minute passed as we watched Josh thrash about in the water, fighting with what seemed to be his whole life for every inch. But we weren't just passively watching. We were shouting and cheering and encouraging and doing our very best to will Josh halfway across the pool. But, you know, it's strange now thinking about it--not one of us yelled anything all that practical, or at least, what you'd think would be practical.

You'd think we would have yelled out corrections to his form, or the distance he had left to go, or instructions for every motion, but instead we just yelled out unmitigated support. "You've got this!" "You can do it!" "You're doing great!"

These kinds of things probably would have seemed to ludicrous to an actual swimmer passing by, since Josh obviously wasn't doing very well. But for those of us in the pool, we loved him and we saw only success in each failing stroke. Maybe it was because we didn't know what we were shouting about, or maybe it was because when we looked at Josh, we saw ourselves; our hopes and our fears swam alongside him.

But, strangely enough, he was making it. Whether he was riding on our encouragement or the current from the deep end, he was less than five feet from the ladder which was our finishing mark. And then it happened.

He tried to turn his head to see where he was at. His body failed to properly balance itself. His face ended up underwater. Struggling to surface, he turned himself perpendicular to the path he had been on. We screamed as passionately as we could at him. He was so close. He started to panic. He started coughing. He thought he was going to drown. His hand instinctively grabbed the lifeguard buoy that the instructor had held the whole time.

He had failed. Four or five feet from the finish line, he had failed in front of his friends, peers, and most fervent supporters. There was a silence as he settled his mind and discovered just how close he'd come.

And then we cheered. Josh had failed the proficiency, but what he had done had been an incredible feat of endurance and mental fortitude. And we cheered for him. We knew that he'd pass the proficiency test, sooner rather than later, and that what he most needed at that moment was the same unconditional support which we had given him throughout.

Imagine if the Church was like that.

Instead of everybody yelling what you should or should not be doing instead of what you are or are not doing, instead of the constant judging of whether your Christianity is kosher enough, instead of the disgusting and depraved response of fully rejecting our failures, imagine a Church filled with unconditional support that was actually unconditional.

In the meantime, I wish fully peace, love, and joy to you all.


* I totally thought that this word was spelled "segway" until FireFox red underlined it. After ninjawords and dictionary.com confirmed the incorrectitude, the OneLook Reverse Dictionary came to the rescue.

Beef Nuggets ~or~ Why I'm Single

And as I wrote, I bled; big, hot, scarlet drops fell onto the parchment, forming stars and lights and shapes and heavens. [...] But when I started to stop bleeding, I realized that there was nothing left; no more fear, no more joy.

--  How the Pale and Shriveled Man Died

Tonight at dinner, conversation happened. I guess that's a very poor way to begin this story; it really smacks of lazy exposition...as in "Here we are in Spain."

Regardless, I was at dinner in a conversation with several good friends about how girls are leeches which suck life out of me. But that's not what I sat down to write; if you want to have that conversation with me, I'm sure we could sometime, but tonight is hopefully going to be something else.

The discussion of how I just so amazingly stay single came to a point of identity: am I being me or am I being someone else. Unfortunately for me, this question was asked by someone who knows me pretty well, so I couldn't just ignore it with the whole you-don't-know-me Jenny Jones response. I responded nonetheless pretty quickly that I was being me. And I believed it. I mean, I don't feel pressured at all by the people around me to behave in a certain way. I just do my thing.

But I haven't been able to get away from the question. And I guess the answer's not as simple as I wish it was. Here's why:

I'm not really sure if this is a legit reason, before I begin. Maybe it isn't. But illegitimate or not, it's my reason for this.

The person who knew me better than anyone else in the world sent me an IM over the summer that she could never be anything more than just friends with me, and then (much) later sent me an e-mail that tritely dismissed me from her life.

There's obviously much more to the situation than that. But that's not really important, and I don't know that this is the venue, if there even is a venue for that. Everything you need to know about that whole saga is right there.

I used to struggle for an answer as to what I had said or done wrong to drive her away. I don't know that there was anything that I could have done differently to change the outcome. She certainly had plenty of opportunities and solid reasons throughout the year to get rid of me, but she never did. Why over the summer?

My answer: Convenience.

And that's scary. I want to pause here to make sure that you aren't hearing something that I'm not saying--God only knows who reads this blog and who knows what about my life and those involved in it. This is not a tirade about how awful a person this girl is or was. I was so interested in her because she was, and still is, such a great person. Now that that's out of the way...

What scares me about this is that this is something which I am: convenient. The voices which gently sing me to sleep ask me if I'm even capable of a real relationship and point out that if I died, people would be sad about it for a few weeks, but then return to the status quo. Don't get me wrong--I understand that these things aren't true...but these are the echoes that haunt me, the questions that remain at the close of the day.

If I'm convenient, I'm disposable. Which is where the beef nuggets come in to play. I don't know how much time y'all have spent in the jerky aisle of a convenience store, but there are these disgusting abominations of meat byproduct sold there known as 'beef nuggets.' They look like dog food, and scare even the most seasoned colon right out of---well, this is just getting gross.

I think that's what I've been this year: beef nuggets. Inspiring curiosity, but also sending out the message to everyone to keep their distance.

I guess if you never get picked up you never get thrown away, right?


Looking back, this has kind of been the pattern to my life: girls get really involved with me until something better comes along, or until it just gets too arduous to deal with me anymore.



Wouldn't it be cool if this post ended with some revelation that made all that crap seem better or worth it?

Here's my best shot:

Take heart: though I don't know why pain is part of life, everything I do know about God, I learned in those dreadful times.

Peace, love, and joy to you all.