Last winter, I had a dream. I dreamt that I was a child again, a toddler, standing on the edge of the deep end of an indoor pool. My fat toes curled around the concrete lip. Chlorine water lapped gently against the pool’s blue tiles.
I wanted to go swimming, but I was afraid. I had never swam before. I didn’t know how.
Certainly, I should not jump, though the water was inviting, though I could tell how wonderful it would be to bob up and down on my back, arms splashing, cries of joy echoing off the walls.
As I was about to turn away, a figure appeared in the water before me. Though everything was fuzzy, the way dreams are, I knew the figure was God. He opened His arms wide, and the gesture was obvious.
Come, it said. Trust me.
I was still afraid, and rightly so. After all, I couldn’t swim. But those arms were so inviting, and I, I wanted so badly to swim.
I took a deep breath. I leaped.
Of course, you know He caught me.
He supported me on my belly, like a mother does her child, helping me paddle this way and that. When I dunked my head underwater, we were no longer swimming in the deep end of an ordinary indoor pool. What should have been water had transformed itself into a celestial night sky, full of stars and galaxies and swirling planets, all of which, with his hand under my belly, I could explore.
When I awoke, I knew the dream as an answer, an answer to a prayer, a prayer I had prayed for a long long time. There was a thing I wanted to do, but was afraid of. There was a thing, and here was the answer. Come. Trust me. Leap.