Editor's Column by Tess Chierici He gave me a quick lesson on how to jump: Plug your nose. Close your eyes. No belly flops.

Back to Table of Contents | Back to Main Index Previous Editor's Columns | Send mail to The Voice Editor goes from dog paddling to diving When I was a little girl, I was afraid of drowning. I preferred to stay in the shallow end of the pool where my toes could reach the bottom rather than to venture into deeper waters. I could float and dog paddle short distances, but I never learned to swim until I was 14. Because of my fear, I refused to set foot on the diving board. Rather than join my friends, I sat and watched them jump. Sometimes I threw a ball for my younger brother to catch as he jumped, but I never had the courage to spring off the board myself. Despite my fears, I hated missing out on all the excitement. Plunging into the pool looked so thrilling. My friends would say: "Did you see that one, Tess? How high was the splash?" My envy grew with every comment they made. One day when I was 9, I had had enough. I wasn't going to sit on the side anymore. I got in line behind my brother. As we waited for our turn on the diving board, he gave me a quick lesson on how to jump: Plug your nose. Close your eyes. No belly flops. The line progressed until my brother's turn came. He fearlessly bounded off the board, squealing until the water engulfed his body. Then he popped out of the water, his face beaming. I was next in line. I could hear my heart pounding as I climbed the ladder. Holding the rail on both sides, I crept toward the edge of the board. I glanced at the lifeguard, hoping she was alert in case I drowned. She gave me a wave and an encouraging smile. I smiled back, confident that she was there if I needed her. But my confidence vanished the moment I peeked over the edge of the board. The jump was 5 feet at most, but it felt like 50. My legs turned to jelly, and I stood staring at the bottom of the 12-foot pool, paralyzed. Fears flooded my mind. I imagined myself grasping for the surface as I sank further and further, pulled down by some unknown force. What if I don't make it to the top before I run out of air? I thought. If I close my eyes, how will I know which way is up? What if I hit my head on the board and get a concussion? How much does a belly flop hurt? I heard the yells of angry, shivering kids. "Hurry up! We're cold!" someone said. "Ha, ha! She's too chicken to jump!" one boy yelled. His comment produced a roar of laughter behind me. I began to panic. If I messed up my jump, they would all make fun of me even more. Despite the lifeguard's reassuring smile, I inched away from the diving board's edge until I grasped the railing behind me. I dashed back to the shallow end of the pool, humiliated. When I had calmed down, I realized that I would have jumped if I hadn't looked down. After several minutes, I mustered up enough courage to try again. I didn't bother to grab the rail or look at the lifeguard. Instead, I ran off the board with my eyes closed and nose plugged. When I climbed out of the pool that day, I stood a foot taller. I was no longer bound by my fear of drowning. Now when I go to swimming, I spend all of my time at the diving board doing back flips and dives. This story reminds me of my relationship with Christ. I am still that 9-year-old girl, staring fearfully at the deep pool. Jumping means I must surrender all of my selfish desires to Him. I must wake up from my spiritual lethargy and pursue holiness. I know the process is going to hurt. The Lifeguard's encouraging smile reassures me that He's right there, ready to help. Meanwhile, the enemy is yelling behind me: "You're too chicken to jump! Get back to the shallow pool of complacent Christianity where you belong!" Although sitting in the shallow end of the pool is easier, I'd rather face my weaknesses and experience the excitement of wholeheartedly following Christ. Back to Table of Contents | Back to Main Index Previous Editor's Columns | Top Of Page Send mail to The Voice| Journalism department website © 2003 The Voice. No part of this publication may be reproduced in written or electronic form without prior written consent from the journalism adviser of Multnomah Bible College. All rights reserved.