Of Drowning

I stood close and watched the tiny child stretch his arms to their full length until his fingertips touched. Very low then, he bent forward, pushed off, and plunged in. The water was deep blue, and as I looked, a swirling hole appeared around the little body, then the vacuum filled and closed over him. There was no more motion.

He’s in the water, I shouted to the child’s relative who casually looked on, and who calmly told me it was okay because he could swim.

I stared at the water. Nothing. No thrashing, no head bobbing up, no breaking of the water.

I glanced to the relative who stood in a casual, unworried stance–unsmiling. The water is not deep, said the relative to me.

Back to the water darted my eyes, and yet again I saw nothing. No evidence of struggle, nor of easy swimming. Fully clothed, I jumped into the pool, my feet touching bottom quickly, then another step knocking me into deeper water where I could not maintain my footing. I recalled that I am a poor swimmer. Kicking my legs now, I moved my hands back and forth feeling for the child. I grabbed at something floating beneath the surface, jerked it to the air, but saw it was only a piece of cloth. It occurred to me that I should submerge myself, and beneath the water open my eyes so I could look about, but for some reason I was unable (or unwilling) to do that.

From the relative at the pool’s edge I heard nothing. My eyes were closed, as frantically I continue to kick. My arms were extended and I moved them back and forth feeling…searching…groping. Then I felt the tiny body. I snatched it up, somehow able to stand on the bottom of the pool. I lifted high the child, who in my dream had shrunk now to an infant so small that I easily held him high with one hand. I felt weak movement from his little chest, and shouted to the relative, He’s breathing.

In the next scene of the strange, vivid dream that came to me in early hours this morning, I was in the back seat of a car holding the child while the relative sat relaxed in the front seat. An unseen person was driving, and we seemed to be heading to someone’s home. The baby breathed sporadically. He was limp and did not open his eyes, and then he began breathing less frequently, and I said, I think we need to take him to the hospital.

I had a memory lapse of what happened next, and later as I spoke of my experience to Steve, my eldest son, he acknowledged that at the hospital it was evident that I was just “out of it.” I did not recall arriving at the hospital with the baby, nor of his treatment, nor of us leaving the hospital with the fully recovered baby.

__________

Well, a dream usually is just that–a dream. The great prophet Jeremiah addresses the subject in chapter 23 verse 28: “The prophet that hath a dream, let him tell a dream; and he that hath my word, let him speak my word faithfully. What is the chaff to the wheat? saith the LORD.”

So I’m telling this merely as a dream, not saying in any way it is from God, however…I woke this morning with the dream vividly in my mind, and have considered for several hours now that it possibly has some spiritual significance for me, and perhaps for you. For is it not true that all about us, people are drowning, sinking surely into spiritual oblivion. Is it not true that despite others response, we must save those within our reach. Is it not true that it may be risky, that we may feel unprepared, incompetent, incapable, and overwhelmed, yet a drowning person struggles at our fingertips, and if we don’t “save” them, they may die lost. (What if such a statement extends beyond cliched oft-heard spiritual expressions and that someone will actually spend eternity separated from God, because we turned away from their final struggling?) Is it not true that a church may shrink if we don’t jump into the fray, and that a floundering baby may die if we don’t minister.

During hours just past midnight, I dreamed. Now, the sun has risen and given to a summer day. Yet the dream haunts me.

Edit: Friday 10:17 I just came across a pertinent article about spiritual drowning by Brother Kelly Ventura. You probably will enjoy reading his timely words.

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The Only Prayer Request of Jesus

It was so many years ago that I cannot recall who the preacher was. I do remember his theme, however, and the text scripture.

“Pray ye therefore the Lord of the harvest, that he will send forth labourers into his harvest.”

The text is from Matthew 9:38, and in my Bible is printed in red…for these are the words of Jesus. The preacher chose well his title, a title etched to this day in my brain: The Only Prayer Request of Jesus.

A prayer request by Jesus. Think about it. A subject of such importance, one so dear to the heart of our Master that for as long as this earth stands, His powerful words will reach to us…will convict and motivate and arouse passion. Check out that chapter and the preceding verses.

“And Jesus went about all the cities and villages, teaching in their synagogues, and preaching the gospel of the kingdom, and healing every sickness and every disease among the people.

But when he saw the multitudes, he was moved with compassion on them, because they fainted, and were scattered abroad, as sheep having no shepherds.

Then saith he unto his disciples, The harvest truly is plenteous, but the labourers are few;

…then verse 38, our subject, “Pray ye therefore the Lord of the harvest, that he will send forth labourers into his harvest.”

How practical was the Man, Jesus. Mixed right in there with His incomprehensible ways of slapping mud onto unseeing eyes and thus effecting cures, His pasting on an ear that one of His disciples had sliced off, His growing fishes and loaves of bread in His hands, His “walking-on-water” instructions to Peter, His halting of funeral processions…mixed right in with these miracles was a practical observation. Lots of harvest here. Ripe. Bountiful. Beautiful. But too few workers. Spoilage, waste, fainting, blight, mold.

It’s Sunday again, and once more we will gather in our sanctuaries. We’ll greet each other and the occasional visitor and we’ll smile and shake hands, and we’ll feel quite well. After all, we have spent another week sharpening our sickle. Perhaps we’ll even take it with us  this morning and wield about  the shinning expensive harvest tool we’ve polished so highly. Perhaps we may gather up a fragment or two from the ripe fields, but if we’re honest, we’ll look about and judge fairly and question deeply: How much harvest is here about me? How many sheaves around my feet? How much larger is the congregation today than was so last year? How often, and how effectively, have I thrust in my harvest tools?

Very humbly today I echo the stirring words of Jesus, and to those who read here I ask you to join with me in obedience to His challenging words–those words that generations ago were flung to the world, “Pray that he will send forth laborers…”

One more thing. Have you continued long with preparation? Has sickle sharpening become your theme? Are you frantically trying to place “your ducks in a row?” Do you need one more workshop, one more conference, one more “how-to” book?