I watch a father and his daughter standing in the shallow waters along the shores of the lake. He holds his hands beneath her stomach, as if he were a juggler and she an object to keep in balance. He is teaching her how to swim. He explains to her how to let the water take hold of her body. He tells her not to be afraid. She makes him promise to hold her tight.
She is as nervous as he is confident. He knows from experience that it really is possible for a human body to float and keep itself from drowning. He also knows that eventually he will loosen his grip on her and she won’t sink. She’ll swim.
But she doesn’t know what her father knows. She constantly looks to him for reassurance. This is what happens as we teach our children to swim. As I watch, I wonder what she’ll think when he does let go. As she begins to float, she will discover that in her deepest heart, she really wanted him to let go all along.
As an observer, I suddenly feel my own father’s hands beneath my stomach. I am five years old and, like that girl, I am led into that rite of passage. I wanted to learn, but the clumsiness…the weight…the water…I didn’t want my Dad to let go. I remember the rush of excitement I felt when he did let go and I maneuvered my body through the water for the first time without any help.
Some parents teach their children to swim by throwing them in the middle of the lake and wait for panic to work its way into survival. My Dad didn’t do it that way. He followed the more careful method of stomach-holding and waiting for the moment when the truth—that people really can learn to swim—would evidence itself. We taught our kids to swim that way. We progress as generations of parents telling our children, in more than swimming lessons, that we won’t let go. Yet, in our deepest hearts, we know we must trust and let go.
The light thickens on the water. The afternoon grows hazy. The young father tells his little girl to relax, but she’s still too scared. Trusting her father’s hands to hold her up, she slowly begins to relax. That’s when she realizes the freedom she has to float.
Much like that little girl, I am often afraid to step out in faith. Afraid of sinking, I struggle and doubt. It’s only when I relax and trust my Heavenly Father’s reassuring words “Do not fear for I am with you…I will uphold you with my righteous right hand” (Isaiah 41:10)—that I begin to experience true freedom. And I realize deep in my heart that letting go and trusting Him completely is the very best feeling of all.
