Riptides

Is it me, or are people talking about riptides more than they used to? I remember hearing about them as a child from time to time, but now it’s as if they’ve become a regular occurrence.

I remember my mother pulling me aside once and teaching me what to do if I ever found myself in a riptide. “Don’t try and fight it,” she said. “You’ll wear yourself out if you do and not be able to get back to shore. Instead, go with the current. Then swim off to the side where you’ll then be able to swim to shore.”

I have never needed to use her instructions, but I now see they could have come in handy many other times in my life.

Like most people, I’ve found myself in troubled waters. I’ve felt strong currents pushing me out to sea, and I’ve tried to fight them. I used all my strength to push against the tides only to wear myself out and drown. How much better it would have been had I accepted the tide and waited for a time when I could swim off to the side and made my way home.

Over the years, I’ve seen I am not alone.

• I remembered my mother’s lesson when I heard a woman come back into the rooms of Alcoholics Anonymous having tried to control her drinking to horrible consequences.

• I saw the wisdom of her instructions when a married couple I knew had a significant argument about one of their children and each was convinced they were right, only to say things and fight the current in ways that left their marriage unable to recover.

• I wish I could have passed along her advice to a church member who was asked to serve on its vestry. The church claimed to want to grow and change, but the currents said otherwise. At first, he tried to swim against the current, determined to make a difference, but he quickly exhausted himself and nearly drowned.

Riptides come in all shapes and sizes. Like my mother said, we need to not fight them but accept them and swim off to the side so we can find our way back to shore.

Homecoming

Yesterday, I was participating in what was called a “Homecoming Service.” Like many churches, such services are designed to bring people back to church after the summer months in which pews are often sparsely filled, but it struck me that the title holds theological meaning as well: Despite our best efforts to look and feel otherwise, most of us long for home and it is as good a time as ever to admit it and do something about it.

As many know, I have a soft spot for The Wizard of Oz. Not only did I watch it whenever it came on TV, but I played the record most nights as I went to sleep as a child. Even then, I knew there was something about the show that spoke to my soul. Characters who felt incomplete and a girl longing for home spoke to me when I was a child. They still do. Looking back, I can see all the ways I’ve searched for completeness, for ways to feel good enough, just as I’ve searched for a “home” that would make me feel a sense of safety and belonging that has forever alluded me.

An alcoholic once described it as having a “hole in my soul through which the wind blows,” and a renowned theologian called it a “wound which we find at the heart of everything [that is] finally incurable, yet we are . . . driven to try.” Maybe you have words of your own to capture your deep longing, your incurable wound. Our reasons are unique, but the longing is not. The question is: what, then, can we do?

Although it might sound trite, the one thing we can do is turn and head home. Stop our endless searching and our futile attempts to fill the hole inside us and head home – back to our true selves, the children we once were, and to the one who created us in the first place.

“There’s no place like home,” said a wonderful girl with ruby slippers, and our hearts will be forever restless until we find our true home. If only it was as easy as clicking our heels three times, but I believe we can still get there. There are arms opened wide saying, “You’ve tried everything else. It’s time to come home.” Let’s all run together!

Back to School

No matter how long it’s been, I still think like a teacher. Labor Day marks the end of Summer and the beginning of Fall. Another year begins, and such an ingrained way of looking at things is not all bad.

A teacher (and student) gets to start over every September. Whiteboards are cleaned (literally and metephorically), fresh markers are ready to write the year’s lessons as if for the first time. For me, it’s all about new opportunities; it’s all about grace.

Although I no longer need school supplies, I always buy a new journal. Although I no longer have pre-season practices, I use the cooler temperatures to up my physical efforts. Although classes are a thing of the past, I reestablish my daily rituals, and even though there are no exams, I establish goals to work toward.

I write to invite you to join me returning to school. I promise, there are no grades, and, who knows, you might just grow in new ways.