Dear friends of Refuge,
I know analogies can be cheap shortcuts to complex thoughts, but I kinda like this one, so bear with me…
In March of 2022, Bill and I took a much-needed sabbatical. Friends loaned us their house in Big Torch Key, Florida, for three weeks. Mostly, we took lots of walks, ate good food, read out loud to each other, and had conversations on the dock while watching the sun set differently and beautifully every single night.
One once-in-a-lifetime experience from that three-week trip stands out. Our friends took us out on a boat to the biggest sandbar I’ve ever seen. Two football fields of foot-deep clear water.
In many ways, the sabbatical was like a long bath in the shallow water of that sandbar. Everything was clear, lovely, warm, and almost magical.
And then we came back.
I love shallow water. I have another story to tell about that in More on the Subject. We all need those times when the bottom is easy to see, when there is no fear of drowning or shark or jellyfish attacks, when life feels easy because it is.
But I also know that reality means I will spend most of my life in deep water where I can’t see the bottom, where drowning and sharks and jellyfish are very real dangers, and where life feels hard because it is.
Bill used to say, “Life is overwhelming, so just make sure you’re overwhelmed with the right things.”
I submit to you that the “right thing” of all right things is love.
And real love does not avoid the deepest water. Sure, it has its shallow water moments. Enjoy splashing around in those with the people you love. But real love goes deep. Deep, where you can’t always see the bottom. Deep, where currents swirl and riptides pull like death. Deep, where danger lurks inside shipwrecks.
Of course, all analogies break down eventually, but as we enter into a season of American life where we cannot see the bottom, I want to stretch this one just a bit more, having observed this kind of love in so many of you, in my family, and in my colleagues at Refuge:
Love in deep water is not a negotiation.
Love in deep water is not a side.
Love in deep water is not a cause.
Love in deep water is not an idea.
Love in deep water is not dismissive.
Love in deep water sacrifices, listens, helps.
Perhaps love in deep water is overwhelming,
but it is worth it.
More On The Subject
Years ago, Bill pastored a church made up of a large majority of Georgia Tech undergraduate students. We loved them, but there were times when Bill would say to me in the privacy of our own home: “I pastor a church filled with people who can’t handle ambiguity.”
One day, a few of them cornered me to ask why I had made a minor aesthetic change in the building. I said, “Well, it was ugly.” This created quite a stir, and they accused me of being shallow. I knew they were wrong, but I had no good answer at the time. I honestly can’t remember who said it, and I’m certain whoever it was would feel about that comment the way I now feel about comments I made when I was 18.
But it did rankle me (I know, shallow!). Not long after that, I read Oswald Chamber’s words:
To be shallow is not a sign of being sinful, nor is shallowness an indication that is no depth to your life at all—the ocean has a shore…
… We are so nauseatingly serious, so desperately interested in our own character and reputation…
In other words, the shorelines and the sandbars of life are a gift. In fact, I’ve found that the deeper I dive to love others, God, or myself, the more I need the respite of some clear, shallow water.
Speaking of respite, our Run to Brew Hope can be a really fun day of fun and recovery from the seriousness of life (you don’t have to run!). You give us your hearts. Would you give us your feet for a morning?
