I faced a fear the other day - I walked into the Columbia River and went for a swim.
Strange to sum up such a momentous occurrence so simply, but there it is.
There is a narrow strip of land that connects Bateman Island to the shore, so it is quite possible to "walk" to the island, which I did. At the far end are a few small stony beaches. I picked one and when I got to the edge of the water I just kept walking. Nearby were several geese, who became very alert at my presence and once they realized I wasn't leaving, all swam out in a line toward another small island further away. Sorry, geese!
It was a strange sensation. As I walked into the river, the water was warm on the surface and colder as it got deeper. There were thousands of little bubbles that floated up from my shoes with each footstep that tickled the hairs on my legs. As I got to waist-deep water, I began to feel lighter, as the water was beginning to carry my weight. I stayed there, for a bit, questioning why I was there and what I was about to do. When I woke up that morning, I had no intention of swimming in the Columbia River. The idea just came to me on a whim and I did it. It felt like a good day for facing fears, I guess.
I watched the fishermen and boaters for awhile. I watched the ripples and waves that formed from the natural river currents, the wind, and the speed-boaters pulling water-skiers in the distance. Where I stood was actually the meeting of two rivers - the Yakima and the Columbia. The location I was at didn't have strong undercurrents this close to shore, however, so I felt this was a good place to "get back" into the water.
I walked a little further. When the water got up to my shoulders I felt the weight of the water on my chest, making it hard to breath. My footholds were less and less secure as I bobbed more and more with the gentle waves rolling past me. Was I really doing this? Wasn't this far enough and maybe I shouldn't push my luck and just head back to shore already? Did I really have anything to prove here? I was alone after all. What if something did happen and I couldn't get help? Was I tempting fate, or worse... the devil? All of these fears and doubts pressed upon me more acutely than the water pressing on my chest, or perhaps, they somehow coincided.
The thought that I was tempting the devil may not make sense at first. But there's a reason I have a fear of the water.
When I was about nine or ten years old, my family went to a rec center to swim. That was unusual in and of itself, first, because we rarely went swimming as a family, and second, because if I recall, it was a weekday or at least some "off" day when there virtually no other people there. Although I had had some minor scares swimming in the past, they weren't too serious and I was actually looking forward to practicing what little swimming I had learned.
At one point I found myself nearing the deep end, holding on to the edge of the pool because I wasn't nearly tall enough to reach the bottom. I looked around. Deserted. No one was anywhere close to me. I let go of the side and doggy-paddled for a bit to tread water before practicing kicking. That's when someone grabbed my legs just above the ankles and pulled me down. I had no warning and didn't take in enough air. My arms were flailing, trying to bring myself back up to the surface. Instinctively, I suppose, I looked up and opened my eyes. Full of chlorinated water, I couldn't make out any detail, but I could just make out that I was near the surface. In fact, I was so close that my hands could reach out of the water. But in all of my flailing, I wasn't getting any nearer to the surface - I was held fast. I felt the pressure in my face from holding what little breath I had, knowing that any moment I would need to open my mouth to try to breathe - I was losing the fight over the primitive instinct to breathe at all costs.
In my mind, my thoughts turned to Heavenly Father and in desperation I pleaded, "please help me." Immediately my legs were freed and I felt myself being pulled up to the surface. I gasped for breath and sputtered, trying to press the water out of my eyes so that I could look around to see who had done that. I figured that someone had swam over to me without my seeing them and played a trick on me. But as my vision cleared, I looked around and saw no one. Not even someone swimming nearby under the water.
I suppose I was in shock for a while. I pretended like it hadn't happened. I didn't know how to explain what'd just happened. But I clung to the edge of the pool for dear life and worked my way over to the very, very shallow end and stayed there the rest of the time. I vowed I would never go back. As it turned out, there were two times I did get back into the water, once at a young men's activity and once while at a scout camp. Both times I was injured and could have drowned.
Message received Satan - I won't ever go swimming again.
Until recently, I guess. I've been working on changing my beliefs about myself and what I think I'm worth or capable of. This just felt like one more way to challenge old beliefs and fears. As if to say to myself, "I'm not going to let this get the better of me and I'm not going to live my life in fear, or live my life reacting to fear." And so I found myself standing in the Columbia River, nothing more than just a head, bobbing in the water. Looking westward toward the descending sun and squinting from the sharp reflections off the water's sparkling surface, I pondered which was greater, my fear or my faith.
I took a deep breath, and dove.
The fact that I'm writing this should tell you that I did, in fact, make it out alive. I wasn't there too long and I never went far enough to have my feet leave the bottom, but I did it. I dove and I swam and I conquered. I also learned that swimming is NOT like riding a bike, I quickly realized I had NO idea what I was doing. I probably wasn't even really swimming, I think was more like "nordic-tracking" under water?! Anyway, I could do with a few lessons, is my point, but I still consider it a "win!"
Faith - 1 :: Fear - 0
