Of the Water

I love the water. I respect the water. When people talk about God being in nature and talk about the ocean I think, "yeh," but it 's more than the ocean. It's the sheer force and fearfulness of Niagara -- the depth of a clear water lake -- the cold of a northern Pennsylvania watering hole -- and even the shallow depths of a sandbar in the Florida Gulf communing with beloved people.

I'm having a very peace-full time with my sister in Florida. She had an unexpected out-of-town visitor, so I have a few moments of quiet time and have felt a pull to sit and write. I've been very relaxed since my arrival. I've had a wonderful massage! an evening of girl talk with some lovelies, and, today, a few relaxing hours in the shallows off of a boat with some of my favorite people.

I grew up an in-lander. I never visited a beach until I was a good 9 years old or so. It was unbelievably exciting to finally be visiting the beach and quite foreign. Though I do have "memories" of that visit, they aren't necessarily good memories. My stay was marred by the supposed pinch of a crab, causing one of my toes to bleed. I didn't go back into the ocean until I was well into high school -- maybe college. For some reason, David and I did not frequent the beach, either -- well, in terms of "beach going" as you would assume. He grew up along the Mediterranean sea in Beirut, Lebanon. He loved the sea air, the heaviness of humidity and heat -- yet stateside, did not feel any strong pull to our Atlantic shore.

I think we've had our kids to the beach in summertime three or four times. In 20 years. Instead, we frequented the Virgina, Maryland or North Carolina shorelines in the midst of winter. Winter whale-watching cruises, kite flying and bundled-up strolls on the sand became a favorite thing for us. There were no crowds; souvenir shops availed very inexpensive wind chimes -- and you could really sense God in that gray, cold surf pounding the sand just outside the balcony window. We were able to truly escape the busy-ness of our regular day-to-day days and just be a family -- playing board games, watching movies and experiencing silence.

Having been a western Pennsylvanian for many odd years, I had several opportunities to visit Niagara Falls. One time I took the "Maid of the Mist" cruise, which putters right up to the base of the falls. My heart pounded with true fear -- the sheer power of that water pounding at the foot of the plunge seemed to be pulling us straight into its deadliness. I felt a similar anxiety when water-skiing in a New York lake for the first time. The water was so black and cold and deep. Just getting INTO the water in the middle of that lake, so far from the safety of shore, took some coaxing. Once I was in and acclimated, I became comfortable and was able to enjoy the water. The thunder hole at Acadia State Park is an in-your-face expression of supremacy over man and even rock. Water is powerful -- immense.

Water is also cleansing. When I'm in and around water, I always experience a sense of being washed, whether it be from ice-cold creek water, the depth of northern lake waters, or the saltiness of the grand ocean. When I was maybe 10 years old, I remember being summoned from the sidewalk into a circle of youngsters in the parking lot of a little general store in a small New Hampshire town. I'm not sure who was doing the summoning -- from which "church" or "faith," but they were reading from Psalm 51 and giving out mini red Gideon Bibles. I was quite taken by the experience. To this day, I will never forget the words of that Psalm: "Wash me and I shall be as white as snow." Since that day I have sung Psalm 51, spoken it, read it ... and more deeply understood: 10 Create in me a clean heart, O God, And renew a steadfast spirit within me. 11 Do not cast me away from Your presence, And do not take Your Holy Spirit from me. 12 Restore to me the joy of Your salvation, And uphold me by Your generous Spirit. -- but as a fifth grader, those simple words about being washed and made clean as fresh, New England snow resounded in my heart and mind. Baptism. Washing.

David's last recorded songs had a lot of water references. After he died, we decided to release those songs on a CD. As we began to sort-through, listen critically, layer newly-recorded tracks and work on artwork -- the water theme became evident. There was a song about stargazing and a song about perseverence. There was a song about the fragility of life and a song or two about hope -- but almost every song in the collection referred to water -- being washed -- being baptized. Baptism is a sacrament in the Christian faith -- and when we are baptized we are marked by God, if you will -- granted admission into a Covenant with God. Somewhere, somehow, we settled on WaterMarked as a title. It was perfect. Following his diagnosis -- a life-chainging epiphany -- he had his ear pierced as a second, more outward sign of being marked by God and forever being his servant.

One of his later and, in my opinion, most powerful songs is "Until the Rain." It's about the faith of a child. Near the end of this song, he sings of her simple prayer and of a profound act: "She quietly and slowly turned her face toward the sky and said, 'Lord if you are listening, hear my simple cry. If I were a princess, I would offer you my crown, but all I have is this, so please let your rain come down.' She dug into her backpack without making a sound; opened up her red umbrella and then ... and then the rain came down. Well the rain came down! And in case you didn't know it there's a moral to this tale. Everybody everywhere knows what it's like to fail ... seems as though everyone is waiting for God to make it right; God is waiting for us to walk by faith and not by sight. Act like you believe it's so ... watch your faith begin to grow ..."

The rain was Living Water, bringing renewal and grace and healing. That kind of water can physically come from the sky, from a well on the outskirts of Samaria, from a shallow river, from melting snow -- but it is how we receive the gift that makes it holy -- acknowledging its power to make clean what was not. I sometimes wish that I had been strong enough -- courageous enough -- to wash David after he died. Then I remember that I did try to soothe him that night by touching a cool, wet cloth to his feverish face, washing him with love ... But he had already been made clean.