melancholy waters

I was in the water before I could walk. My mom placed me in the shallow end and allowed my tiny injured arm to squirm around in the water to stimulate the nerves that had been wrecked from birth. My shoulder started to improve as I grew up but was never fully restored. Because this and my own insecurities, the water was often the only place I felt strong and free. I ended up learning how to swim in this lake. The footage of me as a kid was my first experience with the ocean (that I can visually remember). I was in love and terrified at the same time. Completely infatuated by its color and power yet not quite bold enough to leave the familiarity of the earth beneath my toes. I wanted to though. So so much. I wanted to be like my aunt who dives in at the end. I would eventually see her as a tiny splash on the horizon as she propelled herself through the open water alongside my dad. Fearless. Noble. Strong. Graceful. They would wade into shore afterwards, ripping off silicone with big smiles stretched across their beat-red faces. The water made them feel strong and free too. This lake is a capsule of memories. Times of deep struggle and pain. Times of pure joy. Some of the best summer days have been spent here. Long and hot, barely inside long enough to put on dry clothes or eat lunch. Growing up is hard. Growing away is harder. This place doesn’t have much for me anymore. But when I do return, I see the bittersweet beauty of a broken past and the shadows of a girl that is now redeemed and known. The water was merely an avenue to the real provider of strength and freedom. Thank you Lord, for whispering your abundant love into my existence before I even understood who you were.....