Day 633 - March 10 - See Me?

"Hubris" |ˈ(h)yoōbris| noun - excessive pride or self-confidence.

I've been wrestling with it this week, after some things I heard recently made me realize how prideful I was in this situation. Two things have been going on in me over the last few months which, in retrospect, aren't very Christlike at all. The first is more obvious to me, and we've been praying that we would have the right heart in it for the last few months, and it goes like this - there is a certain twisted pride to navigating this journey we're on - when you are surviving in a situation that nobody would want to be in, there comes a sense of accomplishment that can easily blossom into disdain for those who are struggling with what might be termed "lesser" trials. It is summed up in the thought that I confess to having had when hearing of someone seeking prayer for something that, in comparison to Connor's trials, seems somewhat trivial. "Pray for us! I hurt my back and it's hard to go to work! Please be praying!" And the response I have sometimes thought is "Really? Take a look at my son and then tell me how terrible things are!" See what I mean? It's a nasty sense of pride - "we're worse off than you, so get over whatever's bothering you".

I want to make it clear here that I condemn that thought, and if you've ever felt anything like it from me I owe you a great apology. That's a wrong way to think. Joélle and I have been discussing this, and our conclusion is that just because we have had to swim in deep water doesn't mean that we should deride someone who's scared of the shallow end. Nobody tells someone who is just learning to swim "Hey, quit being frightened of three-foot-deep water. Try swimming in the deep end and see how you like it!" Especially because not too long ago we were having to learn it too. No, you encourage them to stretch their comfort zone to learn the skills necessary for safely navigating the pool, and that's kind of what we're supposed to be doing. Our response to this is best summed up in this phrase - If the water's over your head, it doesn't matter how deep it is. All us swimmers ought to be helping each other!

So that's one pride issue I am having to deal with in this walk I'm on. Remember I said two? The second is more subtle, and it springs from the previous thought.

I love words. I love language, and the flow and structure of how you can weave these little bits into cohesive and beautiful imagery. And because I love words, I really love it when I dream up some word picture that works. Like the bit about encouraging people into the pool when they don't know how to swim, or being cast into deep water to sink or swim. I'm actually quite proud of "If the water's over your head, it doesn't matter how deep it is" - it's a fantastic summation of a concept, using a word picture to give the reader exactly the right imagery to make the connection I want them to make (see, I told you I love words).

There's only one problem with that word picture - it's wrong.

Oh, I don't mean "wrong" as in "incorrect" - the truth of the statement is still true, and it's a good word picture. But it's only a good word picture as far as it goes, and in this case it doesn't go far enough. This is the thing I've been pondering this last week. You might be asking "Why doesn't it go far enough? Seems to work for me..." - at least, I hope you're asking something like that right now. But the fact of the matter is that, despite the fact that I was spot on when I wove that phrase for the first time, I missed the point completely.

I have tried to convey this point I've missed in a new poem, which I hope you'll find enlightening. I include it here -

"See Me?"

I thought I was well doing,
to swim in the deeps.
Thrown in the water I struggled
to sink not,
but swim.
Crashing into cold and gripping wet
I breathed,
half air, half drowning, all panic
as it closed over my head.

I plunged into darkness -
which way is up?
Until despite
my
fear
my face broke
the surface and I gulped
hurriedly for any air.
First futile plashing
then
more purposefully I pushed against
these waves that threatened over me,
and found
a way to float
over this darkling blue abyss.

See me? See how I swim?
I find I did not drown
when
first I thought I would.
See me? I cannot touch bottom, and
yet
God keeps me up
to
my neck but no higher.
See me? Look at me and
see that you can swim.
It matters not how deep is
the bottom that you cannot touch.
You learn from me that you
too
can swim in three feet
or six feet
or six thousand.

See me? See my conceit
in something so far wrong,
that I would pride in swimming
in water
upon which
He means for me to walk.

See me? My failure to
set
even one foot upon an
unyielding wave
but yet boast, who dares not
to willfully
step
out
of
a
boat?

See me? Who puffs up
upon learning to swim,
to do
what
any child can learn?

See Him. See the Man
who calls you,
and me,
to some
thing
no man can do.

See Him. He
beckons me to
cease my
prideful floats and swims,
and
walk to Him.
Instead.

Eric Williamson

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