Reluctance radiates through the talons he uses to climb my back and perch precariously on my shoulders in order to jump into the waves between me and my son-in-law, his father. There is no real danger. His dad is an arm’s length away. Even the little boy standing on my shoulders—one two-dimpled three-foot-tall four-year-old—can touch bottom, at least between wave crests. Yet the distance between our shallow safety and the daunting, dangerous deep diminishes with each wave’s jellyfish, crab, occasional salt-gurgling mouthful, or undertow—something the reluctant aquatic acrobat on my shoulders senses intuitively.
David imagines the furthest and deepest part of the sea, referring to a body of water very similar to the Gulf defining three of my grandson’s horizons right now, offering knowledge and assurance in contrast to mystery and terror: “If I take the wings of the morning and dwell in the uttermost parts of the sea, even there your hand shall lead me, and your right hand shall hold me.”
I can tell he is feeling steadier, so I instruct him to jump forward on three. He assures me he can’t; my head is in his way. I explain that he will jump over my head, knowing his feet will (mostly) go around it. Okay. Now he’s ready. I get to three and help his courage with a little pull from my hands and push with my legs. The sound of his belly flop—what you would expect to hear when a solid iron kite lands perfectly flat on the water—attests that while his heart said go his feet said no.
Isaiah’s message to Israel echoes David’s language: “…fear not, for I am with you; be not dismayed, for I am your God; I will strengthen you, I will help you, I will uphold you with my righteous right hand.” We can do because God strengthens, contribute because God helps, finish because God upholds. Dad now holding and comforting him, his post-splash-sputter smile attests all is well.
This week may our feet join our head and heart trusting the God who knows our danger, instructs our jump, and keeps us safe.