I can’t swim, I sink, but that doesn’t, and hasn’t stopped me from enjoying
pools. Notice I didn’t say swimming. Growing up in Scotch Plains, we had no
public pools, the affluent had swim clubs, where we would climb the fence after
hours and dodge the cops, so we were excited when we hit Jr. High to be driven
to Forest Lodge by our parents. One parent would stuff all the kids they could
into their unseatbelted sedan, with another picking them up. Carrying on with
the windows open for all to hear, or maybe as a warning of here we come, we
would invest the $2 entry fee we begged from our parents and spend 8 sun filled
hours getting as sun burned as possible, while lowering the pool level
swallowing all the water we could, which we would soon recycle. The pool scene
in Caddy Shack was our summers at Forest Lodge, without the Baby Ruth. But as
we were at the age where girls didn’t have cooties anymore, but yet too scared
to ask them to put sun tan lotion on us-no self respecting Jersey boy would put
it on another, we got burned, which was activated by putting our shirt on for
the ride home, or keeping it off and burning worse on the vinyl seats of the
sedan. And somehow these dates always seemed to coincide with a Senior League
games, where the pain would continue, I was a catcher, and between crouching and
the equipment, many times I wanted to opt out, but the same parents that allowed
me to get in that condition, the same ones who chastised me for not using
Coppertone, were the same ones who drove us there, would be the same ones who
would absolve themselves of all responsibility in your delicate condition,
making you go and have fun, and then waking to repeat it the next day.
In our hands and glands Jr. High school age, we had dreams of the pretty
college age lifeguard having to rescue us, and give us mouth to mouth, and them
falling in love with us, despite all the hunks who could swim and had cars, they
had to choose from. We never tried this theory, as some hairy, Italian kid
named Guido would always end up by the high dive where we would attempt this
daydream, and he smelled like garlic, which was OK for Italian food, not for
Italian boys. We also could tell they knew we couldn’t swim, as when we would
jump, not dive off the high dive, going to the bottom, then launching off it to
the side, trying to not look too desperate. “Don’t make me come down there!”
was often implied, with fear of expulsion giving us the ability to reach the
side safely. And 45 years later, much has changed, sadly my water talent
hasn’t.
Paso Robles has this great water park, The Ravine, which is not only fun,
but you can buy a season pass for less than a ticket to Disneyland, and while
you may not have the lines to stand in to see Dumbo, you can be having fun in
the pools. And on the day we went, it was 108, and the water was great. Our
first ride was to go down the slide, into the tunnel, then into the pool. We
had been there a few summers back, and I had done it a few times, so we grabbed
our tubes, climbed the stairs, and waited our turn. I couldn’t wait, as it had
been fun before, and with these high school/ college life guards helping, I was
ready. I smiled when this skinny kid ahead of us, stood on his tip toes to make
the height line so he could go down, laughing all the way down. Theresa went
ahead, then my turn. One look at my size and scar, he asked if I had done this
before. “Yes.” But was I under a certain weight? “yes, I lied,” how could a
couple of pounds, or in the skinny kids case, a couple of inches make a
difference? And so I was off, heading for the first 360 banked turn. Give me a
motorcycle and this turn is a dream, but in the water, 45 years of inability
rose to the occasion, and I turned sideways. Riding the entire curve sideways,
just before turning completely around, and entering the tunnel, backwards.
Where it drops about 3’, sideways again, and then drops you into the pool, where
you should land I your tube, only the tube had taken an escape route, and I
ended up doing a huge cannonball, backwards, while Theresa stood there and
laughed. Where was the mouth to mouth? My teenage dream realized, only to have
my wife find it funny? But it was and I laughed with it, still do, and the rest
of the day was spent in the wave pool, or floating on tubes down a river like
path. Great fun, no sunburn, she smeared so much on me I must have looked like
a buoy, just without the buoyancy, and I lived to return again someday. All
without knowing how to swim, and I wonder, did anybody notice?
Now being a sinker, water stories tend to bore me, but I have always been
fascinated by Jesus walking on the water. Which I am told to believe by faith,
but I just believe it anyway. Why would God include such a story if it wasn’t
true? And I have heard the doubters claim the water was only ankle deep. That
being the case, I walked many times on the water in my parent’s flooded
basement. I don’t buy into his floating sandals theory either, or I’m sure they
would be sold on TV, for $19.95, and if you order now they would include a
second pair free. Clogging all the closets of beach goers everywhere. Sorry,
another myth exposed. Atheists who don’t believe in God, just the fact you
argue belittles your specious claims, as if there wasn’t a God, why would you
argue? Ah, quiet at last. But we find it true, that Jesus did, in a storm,
with waves and wind. Tough act to follow, although Peter did, for a short time,
falling in within arm’s reach of Jesus, taking his eyes of Him. So close, yet
so far, and we seem to remember the fact he fell in more than the miracle he
walked on the water? Maybe an insight into how we see Jesus, and how He affects
our lives. So close we fall in, or so close we obey when called? Sink or
swim? With no pretty life guards in sight, yet He is there when we need Him.
Maybe explains why I still attempt water parks, I know if I fall He is there.
But despite our lack of water skills, sometimes we don’t get to choose, and
suffer. With Jesus, we get a choice, sink or swim. Or as the bumper sticker
says, “smoking or non?” We choose heaven or hell, and escape the fiery death of
hell, and the watery death God promised to never inflict on earth again as
judgment.
Just another day at the water park? If you haven’t been baptized yet, I
recommend it. Safe in the arms who can hold you, and supported by the feet that
can walk on the water. A public testimony of faith and trust in Jesus Christ.
Which I replay every time I swim, or try to. Why hang 10 when you can hang onto
Jesus? Now where is that pretty lifeguard when I need her?
love with compassion,
Mike
mathew25biker.blogspot.com