I’ve taken to swimming on Sunday mornings while Earl goes to his Evangelical church. We’re both at the 10:30 AM services. And I believe we’re both doing what we need to do.
Earl loves the morning’s routine: religious songs, a homily from the minister, a request that anyone in the audience who wants to claim the faith meet the minister after the service.
Me? I plunge into the pool’s cool waters — although I acknowledge they’re not as special as the Jordan’s — and leave earthly issues behind. It’s God and me. Talking together, without cellphone interruptions or other distractions. Feeling my muscles pull against waters that were similar to those that fueled Noah. Similar to those that could fuel the next debacle.
As a graduate of sixteen years of Catholic education ending with a diploma from a Jesuit university, I believe God is found in many different places. One of my published short stories finds God in a tanning booth. Today I find God in a swimming pool. Up the lane and back; up again; back again. It may sound odd, but it’s the perfect place to connect with one’s Supreme Being.