WHAT’S HOLDING ME BACK?

Our family vacationed in the Florida Keys last spring and planned an afternoon to snorkel in the John Pennekamp Coral Reef State Park. Four of us, outfitted in wet suits and life jackets, took the six-mile boat ride out to a popular dive and snorkel site. There were boats everywhere. The attraction: shallow coral reefs, beautifully colored tropical fish and, a surprise to us, Christ of the Abyss.

Completely by accident, we would have an opportunity to view a startling 8-and-a-half-foot-tall bronze sculpture of Christ, placed in the underwater park as a dedication to those who had perished at sea. We were warned to be careful of the dangerous fire coral, which covered most of the statue. His hands were the only coral-free place, thanks to the daily visitors who touched them.

We set off from the boat in parent-child pairs. I, being the stronger swimmer, would partner with our youngest daughter. We drifted, ogling at the fish and coral, but I headed us in the general direction of Christ. Soon, flippering hand in hand, we hovered above the statue. There He stood amid the beauty of the reef, arms raised and face turned toward the surface, as if pleading for us to come to Him. He looked deceptively close in the clear water, though actually almost 20 feet down.

I knew what I must do. I buddied up my two daughters on the surface, inhaled deeply and dove under the water. But descent was unusually difficult. With terrific effort, I inched my way down. Finally, I could reach His hand and stare into His face. The quiet of the deep surrounded me. I prayed a silent prayer of praise, confession and thanks. But my breath was running out, and I couldn’t remain submerged. The encounter was brief. I quickly ascended to find my children safely at the surface, observing.

Back on board the boat, my 11-year-old daughter commented on how difficult it appeared to swim the few feet down to the statue. As I took off my life jacket, I realized why. I had neglected to let the air out to descend! Yes, puffed up with my own hot air, I found it nearly impossible to approach the Lord, and I could remain there only briefly.

Luke tells us that “all Jesus’ acquaintances, including the women who had followed Him from Galilee . . . stood at a distance (from the) spectacle” of the crucifixion. Surely, I would have been among them. What causes me to remain at a distance? My human nature. My ability. My disobedience. I am working on letting out my air and turning over to Him the parts of me to which I stingily cling. Perhaps most importantly of all: My children are watching.

— Wendy LeBolt

Courtesy of The Church of the Good Shepherd United Methodist