Ready, Set, Jump

Tyler and Matthew at the Quarry

Last summer on a very warm day in the beginning of August, we visited an old quarry-turned-watering-hole (lake) in Vermont with our daughter, Tiffany and  her sons, Tyler and Matthew.

While we sat on the smooth stones at one end of the deep lake, the boys swam to the other side to climb to the highest possible spot to jump in.

They are fearless.  Or, they are very good at pretending they are.

I would like to think I was like that when I was 10 or 13, but I grew up in a different time and my parents didn't take me to quarries to jump into deep, dark lakes.  We had a pool with a deck around it, and the water was only four feet deep.

I was a lot older when I finally got my shot at climbing on rocks and canoe on lakes, things my father never even thought of doing with us.  So, watching these two position themselves at the edge of the unknown, counting to three, was both a treat for them, and a reflection on days past for me.

That part of me that wants to test the current and jump into the deep end of life must connect with them, for at times they taunt me to join them.

"Come on, Pop Pop.  Jump in."

They do the same to their mom and grandma, so I know it is not just me they want to see go beyond the limits of my own trepidation; when they are having fun, they want to share it.  They have an if-I-can-do-it-you-can-do-it attitude that is refreshing and positive.  Of course, I have to suspend all reason to believe that at my age, I can do what they do, but that is the major challenge in this life, isn't it - to accept what seems unreasonable?

To avoid the shock of sudden submersion in ice-cold water, I decided to take a walk around the quarry, to find a better place to enter.  It wasn't that easy.  I was barefooted and the terrain was rocky and slippery where moss had grown over the path.  It was also narrow and others, wearing sandals, struggled to pass me in both directions.

The spot I chose to enter the water was overgrown with plants, vines and ferns, making it hard to see where I should step.  I had to work my way over a downed tree trunk, covered with algae and find footing on invisible stones beneath the water.  This was not the smartest way to enter the water, with vines grabbing at my legs and shorts.  All this to avoid jumping in?

Instead of experiencing the shock of the cold water all at once, I battled swamp things to lower myself into the same cold water a few inches at a time, prolonging the dreadful experience.  If I had listened to the boys, I would have become acclimated to the change a lot sooner.

A little over a month before my 59th birthday, I will be ordained a Deacon in the Episcopal Church.  It has been a long time getting into the water.  I like to think I jumped into the lake of discernment (the process by which one seeks help in understanding one's call) right away, as soon as that voice cried out to me, but I know that wasn't the case.  Like the boys who called out to me several times that day before I finally joined them in the water, there were many calls for me to get off the shore and get into the water.

Some of the earlier calls were easy to ignore.  I didn't recognize them as anything other than thoughts that popped into my head, moments of clarity during periods of shadowy uncertainty, and comments from family and friends who were just being nice or trying to tease.

But there may be another reason why those earlier calls went unanswered.  I have learned enough about myself in all these years to know I prefer to discover things on my own, and taking the long route or finding a different path is a very common theme for me.  It is amazing how the easy is more frightening than the difficult sometimes.  Maybe an awareness of that is what I bring to the altar with me in a little less than two months.

I am older, not necessarily wiser, and I am still willing to walk through the thicket to get to the water.  Maybe that gives me something worth sharing with all the other second career folks out there.  And if we older folks get up the nerve to stand on the deep end and get ourselves ready to take the plunge, some of the younger ones might take notice.

Well, here I go...