Sink or swim

Every summer when I was a child, my parents signed me up for swim lessons. I would stand in the shallow end of Stoneleigh Pool and listen as the instructor explained clearly and simply what we were all going to do.

My fellow classmates would be laughing and splashing around in the water with delight. I would shiver, give a half-hearted effort, duck down into the pool until my shoulders were damp, and never put my face anywhere near the water.

I had no desire to be in the pool. I certainly never learned to swim. That was fine with me. My well-intentioned parents finally gave up.

Then, a few years into my career as a newspaper reporter when I was a recent college graduate, one of my colleagues wrote an article for the newspaper about learning to swim as an adult. As our colleagues marveled that she hadn’t known how to swim, I confessed that I didn’t know either.

Jenn immediately offered to pay for my lessons at the local YMCA – and go with me to class each week.

I still didn’t care whether I ever learned how to swim, but I decided I had nothing to lose. I was much more stubborn as a child than I was as a resourceful, adaptable adult. I could see the rationale for learning to swim. And Jenn was a very sweet person, a friend, who understood coming to swimming reluctantly. I signed up and started the lessons.

Learning to swim as an adult was a completely different experience. I had one-on-one instruction with a teacher who listened to my concerns and responded with reassurance and practical advice. He was patient and determined to help me learn.

Not too many lessons later, I could do everything I needed to do. I would never win a race, but if I fell out of a boat, I would probably be able to stay afloat until I was rescued. I could at least back float while the sharks nibbled at me. I felt quite accomplished.

Years later when I became a mother, I watched our sons learn to swim thanks to patient, understanding teachers (and their mom who stayed well out of their way). Sometimes I wondered whether different teachers or a different process might have helped me when I was young. But I also think that I just wasn’t ready or motivated then. The timing wasn’t right. That was true for me and swimming, and it has been true at other moments in my life, too. That’s also true of how we grow in our faith.

It can be easy to expect everyone to be on the same timeline in being ready for sacraments or taking a specific step on a faith journey. But each person’s journey is different. God is waiting patiently for each of us, loving us right where we are, recognizing that our path is uniquely our own. Our perception of time is not the same as his. We will be ready when we are ready.

“Our aim has to be the infinite and not the finite. We have always been expected in heaven,” said Blessed Carlo Acutis.

God is always ready to meet us where we are. The invitation is there. Perhaps the greater challenge is being patient with ourselves – and with one another.

Read More Commentary

Family and friends, the 2024 election and Thanksgiving

A Eucharistic Word: Waiting

In my end is my beginning

A pilgrim reflects upon traveling hundreds of miles with the Eucharist

Question Corner: Is Dec. 9 a holy day of obligation this year?

‘Don’t leave us alone’

Copyright © 2023 Catholic Review Media

 Print