WATER TORTURE

Two of my swimmer essentials in college.....

For whatever reasons (maybe that I was a sickly child), I bypassed the usual early-life-skill rung of “learning to swim.” I chose my college for its good music program (I played violin), not for its general education requirements, which included a brutal three-quarter, seven-credits-each curriculum in world history, literature, and culture. I also hadn't anticipated its insistence on three physical education classes before you could walk across the stage and get your diploma. One of the p.e. classes involved the college pool, and what class you took depended on the results of a swimming test.

Therein floated my problem. I had never learned to swim. (Yes, I know, that sounds odd.) Perhaps being a puny child (I purportedly had rheumatic fever and heart damage), physical exertion wasn't emphasized in my lifestyle. I was, in fact, because of this medical concern, excused from the “participation” part of high school gym classes, though I still had to dress “down” into the funky red shorts/white snap-close shirts required as p.e. attire, and watch the others run and jump. Oh yes, also swish through the showers at the end of class for “shower credit” toward my grade. Okay, this was a long time ago.

Then came college, which wasn't as lenient at that time toward folks who had so-called invisible disabilities. Graduation required three p.e. credits. Two that I took were low impact: “movement fundamentals” (basically slow, isometric exercises) and “beginning folk dancing.” The girl-to-boy ratio of the second class was understandably off-balance as the guys who opted for folk-dancing were—well, I'll let you figure it out. But a swimming class was mandatory, and when the tester realized I was telling the truth about being a non-swimmer, she graciously qualified me for beginning swimming.

Thankfully, the shallow part of the pool only came to my armpits, but by the end of the 10-week term I would have to pass a test that included jumping from the lower diving board into the deep end, coming up alive (well, that part wasn't specified in the rules), and then swimming several laps of the pool, one of which had to be entirely the crawl stroke. I decided I was facing “Mission Impossible.” Thus, at nighttime “free swims,” I was there in the tepid water for practice, trying to strengthen my skinny limbs for the inevitable “final.”

The scariest part for me was diving. Recently, watching the summer Olympics and divers who jumped, flipped and twisted at warp speed into the water, I recalled my own carefully aimed hands-first pose at the deep wet monster. No twists or tricks. Just “down.” And when I jumped in for my “final,” and my hands hit the bottom of the pool, I feared I'd run out of air before I returned to civilization. Whew, I surfaced, and then began my required “laps,” wondering if I'd be able to finish. Well, it was finals week, and those late nights of studying were taking their toll.

To dive (pun intended) to the end of the story, I passed. Without passing out. And with the help of one part of my story I haven't yet shared: prayer! I'm glad I learned to swim, but learning so was hard and fast. I was no mermaid, just a skinny late-teen who faced her fears (with the Lord!) and came out the other side (or maybe I should say, “surfaced”) with success (more or less).

Whether or not we'll admit to it, we all have fears, some afflicted more than others. And we have plenty of company in history, as well as “overcomers” who cheered us on with their own lessons. Like Paul, who said, “I can do all things through Him who strengthens me” (Philippians 4:13). Remember, the apostle Paul swam, too, in a storm, after a shipwreck. Makes my diving board fears seem pretty puny.