Sink or Surf?

During my two years as a youth director in Huntington Beach (a.k.a. Surf City, USA), CA I thought it was my duty to take up the sport of surfing. And I thought it would be wicked cool to be a surfer chick.

Thanks to some awesome students and their parents, my road to becoming a full-fledged surfer chick was relatively bump free. I had patient teachers, great surf (most of the time) and super cool students that were always willing to take me out, albeit at a crabby 7 a.m. I could probably wax poetic about many metaphors for surfing and my life, theology, etc, but today one came to mind.

One Sunday afternoon I went with two of my favorite surfing buddies, Lou and Zach, to Newport Beach. Usually we stuck close to home. I was familiar with Bolsa Chica Beach in Huntington. It was where I always surfed, ran, and went to study and prepare my messages. But today the boys thought I was ready for more...

Newport was packed. I was intimidated by all the shortboarders hoarding the waves with skill and ego. They seemed to pop up out of everywhere and I felt out of place, clumsy and awkward with my huge 7'6'' longboard. Now please understand that at this point and still today, I am a NOVICE. The longest ride I'd taken on a wave was roughly 5 seconds...of pure bliss, but still only five seconds! I maxed out on three foot waves and even the sight of that height sent my heart rate spiking.

I tried to be cool. I am with high school students after all. I'll just let them go out in the pack and catch the four-fives while I catch the little whitewater beach breaks Sure, they were only like one foot high, but I wasn't ready for the four-fives that were my only other option. Plus, I didn't want to look like an idiot with the rest of the surfers. They were experienced and I was well...blunderful (the opposite of wonderful combined with blunder).

I quickly lost sight of my students and started my "safe" shorebreak session. I remember thinking to myself, "It's so much nicer here. Nobody's surfing here. Nice". I tried unsuccessfully for about 20 minutes to catch anything decent and I was starting to feel really discouraged. It felt a little different than the waters I was used to, but I just dismissed that feeling to the fact that we were in Newport instead of Huntington (kinda like we're not in Kansas anymore). But the feeling wouldn't go away. Before I knew what had happened, I had drifted out. The shoreline was no longer a quick paddle away. I thought I'd get off my board and see if I could touch. As I wiggled off my board, I looked up just in time to see the most gigantic wave I'd ever encountered crash directly on top of me. The next five minutes felt like five hours. I was tumbling in an endless sea of saltwater unaware of where the surface was. I didn't even know which end was which or where to paddle toward. I opened my eyes to try and see any hint of sunlight amidst the sting of salt, but I was clueless. My leash was still attached to me and my board and somehow, mercifully, just as I felt the last bit of breath exit my body, I surfaced. No sooner than I could gulp in a breath to replace what I had exhaled, another wave pummeled me under in the same twisting relentless force of ocean. This happened one more time. I remember thinking that I could die. I was exhausted and didn't see an end to this ruthless game of cat and mouse. I was being tossed about like some rag doll and I had nothing more to give. I could no longer fight the all - consuming, never weakening strength of the waves. Just then as I popped out for the third time I heard one of my students say, "Hey Dana, need some help?" I couldn't even answer. Zach told me to get on my board and grab his foot as he paddled us sideways. As we entered calmer waters Zach said with a bounce in his voice, "That was a pretty gnarly rip! You had like 6 foot overheads!"

A RIP TIDE!?!?! Seriously?!????? So, that's what they feel like...pretty darn awful.

As I reflect on that story today it reminds me of living a life of safety versus living the life God has called you to. I was too scared of putting myself out there...in the bigger waves, with the more experienced surfers. I thought I'd be safer if I stayed closer to shore, but that was definitely not the right choice. Sometimes the choice to be brave and step out into the deeper waters is the choice that needs to be made, it's the choice to experience more of what God has for you.

I'm not saying that if you don't pick His choice, He'll send you into a tumultuous season of constant riptides. I don't think our God is like that. We have many choices. What I do think is that we paralyze our growth by choosing to stay in the seemingly safer waters. We stunt our own growth. Maybe this is a bit like what Peter felt when Jesus called him out on the water. Staying in the boat would stunt his growth. It would keep him stuck in the same pattern, a status quo of discipleship. Jesus was calling him out to more.

So, have I learned my lesson? Do I still gravitate toward the shore or am I ready to catch some bigger waves?