When I turned fifty, I returned to competitive swimming and training for it. Problem: I was forty pounds overweight and all my other numbers were just as concerning. Self-judgment abounded. Yet though I was weak, easily winded, and slow, every day that I went swimming, the water received me unconditionally. Now in my seventies, having returned to some semblance of form, endurance, and speed, it is still the case: in the very here and very now of my bodily existence as a creature of God trying imperfectly to promote shalom in our deeply conflicted world, the water receives me unconditionally. (not a poem, obv)
When I turned fifty, I returned to competitive swimming and training for it. Problem: I was forty pounds overweight and all my other numbers were just as concerning. Self-judgment abounded. Yet though I was weak, easily winded, and slow, every day that I went swimming, the water received me unconditionally. Now in my seventies, having returned to some semblance of form, endurance, and speed, it is still the case: in the very here and very now of my bodily existence as a creature of God trying imperfectly to promote shalom in our deeply conflicted world, the water receives me unconditionally. (not a poem, obv)
But, a beautiful reflection, regardless! Thank you for sharing, Brad.
Longing song of the spring thrush piercing the stillness of dawn.
Your words alone help us feel the embrace of this song—thank you, Adrian.