I will not atrophy on the shore.

Photo Cred: Unsplash.

Photo Cred: Unsplash.

You assume it'll be calm and swimmable when you get in, something even remotely relaxing.
And it might be for a minute or two, maybe even awhile.

But if you find yourself neck deep in living water, you're going to feel a current, a pull, a rip at your feet. The current will charge its way up your ankles and tighten around your calves and before you know it, it'll be brushing up at your back.

It'll scare the guts right out of you. 

You'll panic and scan the shoreline for your water wings, your life vest, anything. 
But it's futile, they're already fading distant pieces.
You'll then scan for all available exits, a big rock, a cracked, bowed tree, anything to throw your fists around.
You'll want out because you're going under.
Your lungs might even start taking on water as you bob in a current breathing at the nape of your neck.

But it's Him.
That current, that pull, that rip at your feet is His Spirit and if you're in it, you're in it.

I've wanted out more times than I can count. My limbs have seized and I've sworn at Him to throw me a line.
But when I've been under, 10 feet down thrashing and pulling at the water to raise me, the water vibrates and hums,
"Use your arms! Paddle up! 
Again, again, again. 
Grit your teeth. 
Swim with the current. 
Your arms, don't forget your arms! 
Again. Again.
Use your legs and paddle, push, pound.
Fight, Dani, fight!"

And I don't know where we're going and I don't know what He's up to and I'm terrified, but,
I will not atrophy on the shore.
I will not atrophy on the shore.
I will not atrophy on the shore.

If that's the only covenant spewing and choking out of my mouth when I briefly bob at the surface, I think that's enough.

That's all I have to give Him while I learn how to swim.