Battling Waves

Back and recovering from vacation at the beach. I suppose a more committed blogger may have spent some of that time posting new thoughts - I spent it avoiding anything technological (all the way from my laptop to my blackberry), and have no regrets!

Lots I might report from my time at the beach and subsequent visit with my father - perhaps this will be the first of a flurry of posts...but the focus of this post is an image that has stayed in my mind's eye since our return - with implications that still seem to be unfolding for me.

My oldest son, now 5 and looking forward to his first year at kindergarten this fall, discovered the fun of jumping waves this year. The beach we visit, Isle of Palms (just north of Charleston, SC), is fairly sedate in this regard - so while I often found myself joining him and his older sister to bounce over the small crests, there was little danger in letting them both explore the water on their own, as well.

Tate's romping in the waves really kept my attention (which is good, since I'm playing the role of lifeguard...not just observer). He doesn't just jump in the surf -- rising up and over the crashing waves, turning his head to avoid the spray of foam getting in his eyes and mouth -- he attacks them! I can remember my own exhilaration as a child, facing the onslaught of the water, struggling to gauge the magnitude, anticipating the jump...or, later - as I grew older, working to time my entry into the wave as it breaks with a boogie board beneath me. Catching that phenomenal ride.

Watching my son, my personal remembrance of childhood seemed palpable - including the rush and feeling of power...even the conversations that I remember having with the water. I don't know if anyone else has done this, but both Tate and I seem to have the imagination and the lack of self awareness that is required to facilitate such chatter with the ocean. Between waves I could see him stretching his hands out to take measure of the water with his palms as his mouth kept moving, too far away for me to hear his words, but clearly ranging from challenging the sea all the way to pleading - for the next wave to be bigger or for a reprieve, I don't know.

So as my own memories played out live in front of me, I began to connect some ideas...from my son to me to my Father (in heaven - don't really know if my Dad ever spoke to the ocean, to tell the truth). There is an immense feeling of personal power in the midst of nature's power when you are jumping waves, if that makes sense. This huge force is all around you, literally, but you have strength in its midst... to cooperate with it, even to apparently battle against it. A mock battle, of course, but a powerful one nonetheless. Jumping up and being carried along feels much like I would imagine walking on the moon - large sweeping moves are your reward for very little effort. And, in the time that you are caught up in the play of wave-jumping, it seems to be all there is in life...it seems whole and, well, perfect.

Like being in the center of God's will.

But then the unexpected happens. A jump ill-timed. A too-soon wave appears. Distraction enters. Or we are simply wrong-footed. Regardless, the play-at-being-powerful is revealed for the game it truly is as the real power, unrelenting, unaware and uncaring of our fate, suddenly catches us, me, my son, and throws us into and under the water spinning and gasping and desperate for rescue.

Like being in the center of God's will?

You see, though I may not be doing it sufficient justice here, the reason that this scene - exhilarating and joyful both for its rekindling of my memory and for the pleasure I gain from watching my children come alive - has lingered and played out in my mind for more than a week since our return from the beach...the reason I can't seem to shake its implications is this: I live my life all too often believing that God's "universal love" is indifferent to me, personally. I don't "believe" this as something I would tell someone in Sunday school, like its a doctrine of some kind.

No, this belief is far worse, far deeper.

I believe that living in the center of God's will is powerful and empowering and rewarding and exciting...but in the back of my mind, or deep in my heart, I also believe that He is somewhat indifferent to me, individually, and just as likely to throw me gagging and coughing and gasping for breath when I least expect it, as He is to propel me upward into his embrace. I believe it in the way I plan for tomorrow, react to today, walk across the street. It is the deep lie about which the enemy persists - and I too readily conspire to maintain.

You see, now, why this lingers? I desire to swim in deep waters, to risk and be empowered, to catch a wave and turn to find the next one. When asked, I believe God's desire for me is the same - but my fear of His indifference sucks at my feet like a rip tide.