Streams of Comfort

Don’t Worry, Isolation Part 3

When thinking about how revenge can creep up on you sometimes, I thought of resentment. How over time, we allow resentment to build if we don’t surrender them to God and forgive. Part 4 of the story follows Ruth as she begins the journey to facing her estranged father. She realizes that in her own anger, she made mistakes as well. Revenge can feel like a one-way street sometimes. Yet it is almost never the fault of one one person entirely. That is why God wants us to forgive one another. Not because we should just let things go, but because He wants something better for us. For honesty and love to reign. Not unfairness and resentment. If you haven’t done so, please use the above link to read the previous parts of this story. Enjoy.

Part 4

As I stared at those green gray eyes, I thought of a lake. On the cloudiest day. The normally blue water becomes polluted by the lack of light. 

At that moment I felt like my anguish could move mountains. That’s not in the bible. Strangely enough that verse popped into my head. If you have faith as small as a mustard seed, you can move the mountains. A part of me knew that was the truth. I had seen it in action. My one moment of faith. Where I leapt off the edge into what I thought would be despair. But ended up bringing me back to life. 

One summer during bible camp, I almost drowned. It was my fault for being a dumb kid. Some of the other girls, Marissa and her “gang” were staring at me from across the lake. It was a fairly large lake with lots of old cypress trees around it. Perfect for hanging a rope and taking a plunge. 

That was what most of the kids were doing. Taking turns grasping the rope as tightly as possible. Squealing when the cool water hit their bodies. 

I wasn’t one for swimming. I preferred reading under the shade of the largest tree. I named him Charlie. Mostly because he reminded me of chocolate. The particular shade of its bark was that of milk chocolate. Unlike most of the greenish, faded trees that surrounded it. 

Clara, my sister, was off with one of her crushes. She had just turned 13, so boys no longer had cooties. Or at least, none that repelled her. She was off with Jack or was it John? Our aunt had expressly forbidden us from dating until we were at least 30. That clearly did not translate well in my teenage sister’s hormonal head. 

In all fairness, I was also a teen. Only having just turned 15. But no boy ever caught my eye the way George did. Unlike my sister who had a crush one morning and a different one that same afternoon. I lost count after boy number ten. 

No, George’s voice stayed in my head. I would dream of him sometimes, though I never admitted that to anyone. He would usually be the voice of reason when I was about to make a stupid decision. 

Not even fake George could save me from the stupidest decision I ever made, however.

I could feel Marissa’s eyes on me as I silently flipped through my book, “Mere Christianity” by C.S Lewis. One of the more mildly interesting books in the church camp’s tiny library. It talked about the basics of the Christian faith. The concepts of faith that all Christians, regardless of denomination or branch, should share. It appealed to some part of me. The same part that, despite my rebellion, found home in the Word. 

Then, out of the corner of my eye, I could see Marissa and her friends moving towards me. I braced myself. The way I always did when I felt a loss of control. All the muscles in my body tightened. I thought they might snap. I pretended to be engrossed in my book. Re-reading the same line over and over. Not truly reading it at all. Until I heard, “Hey Ruth, wanna see who can jump the farthest?” 

Marissa’s mouth morphed into a sinister looking grin. Clearly not approaching with good intentions. Yet, I froze. Unable to listen to the rational side of my brain. Or even the side with common sense. 

I slowly lifted my head from that one line in my book, and stuttered softly, “What do yo-you m-mean?”

Her friends also began to smile viciously. “She means she wants to see which one of us can jump farthest into the lake. Are you up for it? Or are you too chicken?” said Heather, the girl on her left. 

“Yeah, don’t tell me you’re scared?” snickered Leslie, the one on the right. 

“Come on, everyone is doing it,” Marissa remarked. 

I looked at them. I knew they could see my hesitation and fear in my eyes. Shaking off my nerves, I stood up as tall as I could. Marissa had about 8 inches on me. 

Still I looked her in the eyes, and boldly proclaimed, “You know what? You’re on.”

In my head, I could hear fake George whisper, “You don’t know how to swim well. You could hit your head on a rock. You could get hurt. It’s not too late to turn back.”

Then I heard another voice, one that constantly reminded me, I would never be enough. 

“No one will ever take you seriously if you can’t speak out.”

“Cowards don’t get far in life.” 

“You know I can’t stand whispering.”

On and on came the barrage of comments from the man who I knew as my father. Until I shook my head slightly. As if that would shake him out permanently. But nothing I could ever do would. 

I was vulnerable and lost and angry. Still so angry. So I let hatred decide for me. It was too late to turn back. The damage was already done. 

We try so hard to control our realities. Our perception. Thinking, falsely, that mere belief is enough. That day I believed my father’s lies. I believed the story anger wrote.One crafted of pain and one that could only lead to death. I believed it so much that it almost did lead to my actual death. 

One thing I learned in Sunday school that did stick with me, was that belief is not enough. In the book of Mark, a desperate father brought his son to be healed and asked Jesus to help his unbelief. God calls us to faith. To challenge the lies. To challenge our very nature that leads us to want to believe in anything. Especially the thing we want the most. Especially when that thing is poison coated in the finest sugar. A ripe pill for us to swallow. 

I think I said yes that day because I wanted revenge on my father. As if me doing this stupid act would somehow erase all the horrid things he said to me. Things I believed.  

Of course it wouldn’t, but my stubborn heart won out.  

Marissa handed me a rope tied to the end of what appeared to be a sturdy looking tree branch. It wasn’t Charlie though. This tree seemed younger, thinner. 

I grabbed the rope and watched them snicker. “You have to run really fast to get as far as you can,” Marissa said.

My hands were shaking. My heart was pounding. This was it. The moment I become brave. Except that bravery isn’t acting out of fear. But who was I to know that at 15 years old? 

I was scared my father would come back in my nightmares and call me a coward. Scared that these girls, who I didn’t even know well or like, would see me as that coward. Prove him right. 

Using my anger as a shield, I gripped the rope so tightly my fingers turned white. I muttered under my breath, “come on Ruth, you can do this.” 

Then without thinking a second more, I started to run. My feet were flying on the grassy hill. Until suddenly I was airborne. Flying. Free and light for once in my life. 

The water came at me faster than I expected. It had looked so far away when I was flying. My feet and arms began to flail. Wildly. I could hear myself screaming as the truth of what I had actually done sunk in. It was too late. Much too late. I heard others shouting though I couldn’t make out the words with the rush of the wind in my ears. 

I didn’t feel the cold until afterwards. First I felt how smooth the water was. How calm it was until I jumped in and created chaos. I went deeper than I expected. My foot brushed the bottom of the lake. Before I could start to push my way up to the surface, my foot got caught on some kind of thin line. I tried to twist out of it but that only made it worse. I opened my eyes and saw the surface. The sunlight, distorted by the water, but still present. Still a light streaking through the darkness is always a hopeful picture. Especially when confronting death. 

Holding my breath, I tried looking for anything that could help. I tugged at my leg to no avail. Frantic, I looked up and saw a hand. Reaching though the water. Towards me. My breath entirely gone by this point, I did the only thing I could. I grasped that hand firmly. With everything I had. 

The hand tugged and tugged until I felt like my shoulder would dislocate. Until I felt the thing holding my foot loosen and fall away. Still holding onto that hand, I swam upwards towards the light. 

That first gasp of breath was everything. Oxygen finally flowing into my desperate lungs. With another breath of relief, I thanked God. The fact that I was still living felt like forgiveness. That God forgave me, gave me a second chance, despite my foolishness. 

I looked to the owner of the hand still holding mine. George’s warm brown eyes stared into mine. I saw his mouth move, but there was water in my ears. I think he was asking if I was okay. Had he not saved me, I certainly wouldn’t have been.  

What an impossible question to answer. I went with the simple answer of “yes”. 

Cold and wet, I lingered on the shore. Waiting for my mind to catch up to the events of the day. 

The color of the lake that day was the same shade as my father’s. Currently filled with shock and something else I couldn’t identify. 

Given the terse reminder of one of the many mistakes I’ve made, I couldn’t act on my anger. Like I had wanted to. 

Instead a peace I didn’t know the source of washed over me. 

Calmly, I said to him with a small smile, “Hey dad, it’s been a while.”