knees first...

The first time I ever saw more water in one place bigger than my bathtub occurred when I was six at the Pacific Ocean. Then the water never ended. My father gave me one rule- I couldn’t go into water deeper than my knees. For a girl from the desert mountains of Wyoming, that seemed like a great freedom and daring act. And at age six the enormity and rush of the waves terrified me enough to follow directions gladly.  Since then I’ve ventured deep under the waves and salty surface of oceans.  The act doesn’t seem quite so heroic, but the process into the water has stayed the same.  Knees first.

I can see myself on multiple occasions walking into the ocean or lake, tenderly placing my feet into the chilly water. It’s not that bad. A bit deeper to my calves and my knees and Oh my! Am I sure I need to get wet today? Really? If I reach my belly, I’m shrieking, shivering, and totally committed. Count to three. 1, 2…*dunk*…Gasp! Such a calculated journey to total immersion. 

This week’s orientation to be a hospital chaplain has allowed me to settle my toes in long awaited and still surprising information and then venture in to my knees, a little deeper with those hard topics of death and meaning of life and crisis conversation. I’m up to my belly with a full schedule, pager, and computer access.  Now it’s time to go and do the serving. 

As much as I am excited from the moment I approach the beach, I know getting to the all wet stage takes time, serious consideration, and positive self-talk. (I’m not a run until I splash-fall into the waves.) Such is my sense with this situation, too. I want and need to meet people, converse with families, feel tension and paradox, empathize and feel suffering, and share and see hope.  That is what the ocean is for- it has great expanse to enfold me in the power and mystery of it all. Monday that immersion fully begins.

Knees first, and all of me now.