Deep Enough to Swim
One night everything was normal. The next morning it wasn't. I won't tell you the details because some of that story belongs to other people. What I will tell you is what it felt like to be me in the middle of it.
My dad had passed away the year before, almost to the day. My marriage was unsteady. I was a mom of three. Working full time. And weighty news broke through our family in a way that changed everything quietly and all at once.
Every day brought a new worry. A new crack. I was being pulled in every direction as a mom, a sister, a daughter, a wife, and carrying trauma from my own childhood I had never dealt with, never talked about, never healed from. No one had answers and they were all looking to me. For love. For comfort. For guidance. For approval. For acceptance. For forgiveness. For reassurance. For justice.
I told myself I was capable. Because I was. Until I wasn't.
What I thought was handling it well was actually just distraction. I was taking every action one moment at a time because I had to. I had to be strong. I had to be steady. I had to be caring and patient and loving and understanding. I had to step in for the ones who couldn't, who weren't equipped, who were too angry or too fragile to do the hard things.
Then one evening, someone asked a simple question about an upcoming holiday. It was a simple question with no simple answer anymore. Our family would never gather the same way again, and everyone in it was still figuring out what that meant. My mind went down a rabbit hole at lightning speed. Every family gathering. Every birthday. Every holiday. All of it flashing at once, and none of it looking the way it used to. I was frozen in worry and brokenness, ugly crying so hard my chest hurt when I finally fell asleep.
Have you ever had a dream so real you could smell it when you woke up?
I was drowning. I couldn't breathe. Every time I tried, cold water filled my lungs. I searched all around me and saw only darkness. I couldn't see what was holding me down. I couldn't kick or wave my arms hard enough to get anywhere. I was sinking.
Then I heard a voice. Calm. Familiar. Clear.
Look up.
I raised my chin. Above me I could see sunlight through the water. And I floated immediately to the surface.
I lay there on top of the water, warm sunlight on my face. My ears were just below the surface so all I could hear was the sound of water moving and my own breathing. It was the most peaceful I had ever felt in my life.
Then I opened my eyes and was awake in my bed. A scripture was brought to my remembrance that instant.
Measuring as he went, he took me along the stream for 1,750 feet and then led me across. The water was up to my ankles. He measured off another 1,750 feet and led me across again. This time the water was up to my knees. After another 1,750 feet, it was up to my waist. Then he measured another 1,750 feet, and the river was too deep to walk across. It was deep enough to swim in, but too deep to walk through. -Ezekiel 47:3-5 NLT
Each depth level struck something in my soul. I had to sit with it.
Ankle deep
We are aware of the water. We feel it. But we have full control. We can step in and step out. We are still very much grounded in the world beneath our feet.
Knee deep
We feel more resistance now. Moving takes more effort. But we still move freely and remain in control of where we go and how fast.
Waist deep
Now the waves can lift us off our feet momentarily. We can be moved further than we intended. It is easier to lose touch with the ground but we are still connected to it.
Deep enough to swim
This is full surrender. We are at the mercy of the water. Where it goes, when it goes, how fast it gets there. We are no longer touching the ground at all. We are held entirely by what is carrying us.
That last depth is where I wanted to be. Not fighting the current. Not trying to touch the ground for security. Fully in. Fully held. Moving at the speed and direction of the living water, not my own striving.
I fell asleep paralyzed in fear and woke up with a supernatural peace I did not manufacture and cannot fully explain.
Looking up. Focusing on my connection to the living water rather than the darkness around my feet. That was the shift. Not a strategy. Not a self-help framework. A voice that said look up, and a God who caught me the moment I did.
Being all in is not reckless. It is the safest place there is. All in flows in God's perfect timing, to the exact place, at the exact speed I am supposed to arrive. No fighting. No striving. No manufacturing outcomes. Just trust. Just breath. Just the current.
If you are drowning right now, stop looking at what is at your feet. You will not find the answer there. Look up. The light is above you. And you will float.
Show me the right path, O Lord; point out the road for me to follow. Lead me by your truth and teach me, for you are the God who saves me. All day long I put my hope in you. -Psalm 25:4-5 NLT