Standing In a Pool

     A long dormant memory from childhood summers surfaced recently. I suppose that at the age of 54 my brain houses many unaccessed memories; some ignored for very good reasons. In this case; however, the little old lady in tennis-shoes who manages my memory-recall unit brought forth something pleasant.

     Throughout most of my childhood, we spent a significant portion of each summer in Memphis, Tennessee, visiting relatives. Early in the summer my parents would load us up, heading east, delivering us to summer camp at Camp Wildwood near Searcy, Arkansas. A couple of weeks later, my grandparents would show up and take us back to Memphis, where they lived, for a couple of weeks of slow Southern living. I suppose it took that long to scrub the accumulated dirt from our bodies and the few clothes we wore while at camp. You see, I always figured that the only bath I needed while at summer camp came during the swimming hour. Who cared if my hair got stiff and yellow? While in Memphis we would enjoy slow days lazing around. Each summer we would visit the Pink Palace, a local museum of natural history, play with my cousins, and enjoy eating BBQ. Playing with my cousins was always a lot of fun.

     Uncle Terry and Aunt Thulia lived outside Memphis in a comfortable sprawling home on several wooded acres. Their two sons, Lindy and Rusty, were a little older and great fun to hang out with. Being a few years older and living out in the woods, they knew things about swinging on vines, finding and eating Muskidine, riding zip-lines, and shooting; all skills young men needed. Being good cousins, they willingly taught us about such things in that casually gentle way that older boys teach younger boys when no one is watching. In their backyard they had one of the greatest inventions of all time; the swimming pool. We spent hours playing in that pool, seeing who could swim the furthest underwater, finding out who could make the biggest splash, and all the other fun things you can do in a pool. For a while they had a pet coon. Occasionally we would let the coon and their Irish Setter into the pool at the same time, laughing at the plight of the poor dog. The coon would ride on the dog's back as it swam around the pool. Periodically it would hold the dog’s head under water, occasionally letting it up for air. We would let this go on until the spluttering dog was completely disoriented, exhausted, and almost drowned. Once Aunt Thulia caught us doing this and I found out how angry she could get. Yes summers around the pool provided great pleasure. One day I discovered something very interesting.

     I found out that if I exhaled enough air I would sink to bottom of the pool. Back then my body-fat percentage was such that I needed a lungful of air to remain buoyant. Unfortunately I doubt that it true today. Anyway; I would get in the deep end of their pool, exhale and slowly sink to the bottom, standing there for a few moments looking up at the shimmery world about twelve feet away; seven if you factor my height into the equation. I found the experience thrilling and vaguely unsettling.

     Standing on the bottom of the pool, I sensed the pervasiveness of the water. Moving around in atmosphere, normally I do not sense the air. Oh it is there. Travel to a higher altitude and you miss the oxygen immediately; however, at my regular elevation the atmosphere is just there. Unless the wind blows I do not give air much thought.  Immersion in water brings a new appreciation of being fully surrounded. I suppose scuba divers experience this all the time. Standing on the bottom of the pool, water pressed in on all sides. I remember feeling the presence of water acutely in my ears, eyes, and sinuses. Water changed everything, feeling, sight, and sound. My entire world altered in those few moments. Lungs nearly empty, my time on the bottom soon expired and with a couple of kicks and strokes I returned to the surface gasping, where my brother and cousins would stare at me for a few moments, wondering at my silly game. I always enjoyed those brief moments on the bottom despite the vague realization that danger lurked at the far edges of this game.

     The Psalmist speaks of this in Psalm 137, vividly in verses 9 and 10.

“⁹If I take the wings of the morning,

And dwell in the uttermost parts of the sea,

¹⁰ Even there Your hand shall lead me,

And Your right hand shall hold me.

He paints a series of small pictures illuminating the omnipresence of God. In our day-to-day walk we rarely give much thought to omnipresence. I suppose we tend to relate to God like air or atmosphere. It’s there and we always expect it. However, occasionally, at the bottom of the pool we become acutely aware of His constant, abiding presence. He presses in from all sides and our perception of the world changes, altered by His presence. And then there is the danger.

     At the bottom of the pool I was always aware of the fundamental change in state. Tarry too long and my pleasure would turn to terror. In some ways God’s presence is a terror. He’s totally holy, unable to bear the presence of sin. In scripture almost everyone who comes into the presence of God responds in fear. In our modern, relationally oriented religious experience, we tend to downplay this aspect of God. But, the truth is as C. S. Lewis said in The Lion, The Witch, and The Wardrobe, “He’s not a tame lion.”

     Coming into the presence of almighty God is an awesome and fearful thing. Yet, He’s always here, always present, always seeking, always yearning for us. Somehow we need to get better at walking on the bottom of the pool; practicing the presence of God.