On fins and the joy of touching bottom

Some people relish the deep sea or rushing rapids. I am not among them.

I love water — its cool blueness, its literal fluidity. But, I most enjoy it when I can touch bottom — as in a pool or living water so clear and still I can see all the way down to my toes.

This comfort zone stretches back to my early childhood, spent in small seaside town. The kids at school told stories of sharks rather than ghosts. I’ve been looking over my shoulder for fins ever since.

Oddly, I feel myself keeping similar watch on dry land these days. The whole world seems suddenly like a place where things with teeth could be lurking.

I suspect you, too, sense fins.

So, what do we do in this strange, strange time? This time when so little is as it should be and wrongness of every kind exists in onion layers — each ill tiding conformed to the warped shape of the next.

King David said do good, don’t fret.

Jesus said watch and pray.

The Apostle Paul said meditate on what good remains.

These two men and the only god-man the world has ever seen knew all about fins and teeth.

It feels wise to heed their advice. It feels like, well, touching bottom. Tangible. Solid. Something that will keep my head above water.

So, I read the news, but I truly look at things such as spring. The complexity of a single peony bud or the mystery of the low clouds that cloak the valleys on a rainy morning speak of something, or someone rather, who is greater than the news.

I watch and I listen. I’m aware of the rising multitude of miseries. I pray, knowing I cannot even begin to help with most of it and that fretting will help no one.

Instead, I do what good I can, however tiny it might seem. I buy eggs made by hens who run through grass, pecking at bugs. I make them into a tasty quiche that is eaten slowly, at a table, with thanksgiving, in the company of others.

I see fins. Things that cannot be fixed by anyone but God. I take a deep breath and rest, knowing they someday will be. In the meantime, I can mend an old quilt.

Remember this. Satan loves to thrash, to cloud even shallow water. He loves to circle menacingly, desiring to steal, kill and destroy.

But, each of us can choose to remain in a place of safety, a place where we can touch bottom. To keep our feet on Solid Rock. He’s been there all the time.

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