Everyday from around 1:30-3:30, 4/15 of us girls play lifeguard for the children in the community here. The kiddos aren’t in school right now, so they start lining up at the gate around 11 am, repeatedly asking, “tita! tita! swim?” whenever they see one of us. By the time 1:30 rolls around, there are probably around 30 kids waiting to come in the pool. The boys are much more rowdy than the girls, as you can imagine, and there are about double the amount of boys that usually want to swim. It’s so much fun and one of my favorite parts of everyday.
On Saturday we had so many children over to swim, it’s honestly a little overwhelming at times but the fun and joy of it all far outweighs the anxiety. This was the first time that we let the girls on the high dive platform, for the daring ones who had overcome the obstacle of the measly 8 foot platform. Irish and Ashley, two girls probably not any older than 9, jumped without hesitation and not even a squeal as they plunged about 20 feet into the water. As I was making sure that the people on the high dive weren’t about to land on someone else swimming in the deep end or shooting out of the slide, I saw one of the girls on the low dive who was clutching onto Lillabea’s hand with one hand and the railing with the other. Abigail was one of the older ones, probably around 10-12 and was so nervous to jump off the 8 footer. This is the same girl that other girls called a bully and said she was mean to them, and also told me I looked like a pig (apparently thats just how they joke here in the Philippines… weird but ok). BUT Abigail, who thought she was big and tall and strong, by making fun of other kids earlier and thinking if other girls can jump then she can, was caught in a few moments of total vulnerability. She wasn’t this dominating figure anymore, she was just the little girl she really was. She needed to be vulnerable for a few minutes to be truly brave. She was just another human in this, just another one of us, that needed the help of someone else to give her a little push to jump.
How much are so many of us like this little girl? We do things we are good at and that are comfortable and we think we are big and bad and bold. But the second we have to do something we don’t want to, our true humanity is shown— we go back to our infantile nature of inadequate bodies that need to pushed. The pushing only comes from a second of vulnerability, with ourselves and with the Lord and with others. Honesty and authenticity. This is the worst part for me, admitting that I can’t do anything on my own, that I am scared, and that I’m not as big and bad as I let myself appear to be. It’s hard, so hard, but worth it. Jumping off the edge is always more rewarding than standing on the edge. And in that we see God’s faithfulness and his promises being fulfilled and joy becoming complete. It is in sheer moments of vulnerability that we become.
So Abigail, standing with her toes on the edge and holding tight onto Lillabea’s hand and the whole deep end chanting “Abby! Abby! Abby!”, she did it; she plummeted into the water and resurfaced wide-eyed and smiling. She instantly got out of the pool and ran back to the platform to jump again. And again. And again.
Once we jump into the unknown that the Lord is inviting us into, with vulnerability, we land in His faithfulness no matter where we land. It is only in our honest humanity can we become bold and strong in Love.
And I hope I always come out wanting more, wanting to jump higher and higher, even if it means plunging deeper and deeper. I want to crave more, to be thirstier, to be hungrier. I want to want to jump again and again and again, knowing His faithfulness will never fail me.
