Playing through Grief

The comfort of God in the chlorine

Photo by Thomas Park on Unsplash

I’ve always loved the water. At a young age, I was dubbed “little fish,” and I did all I could to live up to the calling. Sunny days at my grandparent’s California home would find me out in their pool—diving for toys, swimming from side to side, and perfecting the greatest Ariel hair flip you could ever imagine.

My first year in public school sent me back to the water as I joined the middle school and then high school swim team. For the next seven winters my perfume of choice was chlorine and my hair style a silicone cap. I swam freestyle—the long ones. My favorite was the 500 yard race: twenty laps that require a friend with a plastic counter to remind you how far you’ve gone. I loved swimming. I loved the chance to think while my arms went in and back out. Though my muscles ached and my lungs gasped for breath I loved the hours I spent in that 25 yard rectangle.

That was nearly twenty years ago. I don’t make it to pools for lap swimming any longer. I traded my cap and goggles for a more practical treadmill and dumbbells.

But God hadn’t forgotten about my love of water. After the fire engulfed our van and ruined our vacation, he provided us with a hotel on the coast of Florida with a giant outdoor pool. For a week we spent our days with no other deadlines or obligations. And I got to swim again. Each day, I’d pull on my goggles and cut through the middle of the pool: 25 yards, 50 yards, 75 yards, and on. I tucked my head in a flip-turn, pushed off in a streamline, and let the weight of the water above mute the fears in my head. I strained my muscles in all the familiar ways and worked out the tension of the last couple weeks with each stroke. I had time again to think, to pray, and to grieve.

God had led me back to one of my first forms of play. In his kindness, he allowed something I loved to become a balm in the midst of the darkness. Though we needed the time together, and the kids loved the beach, I like to think God knew I needed that pool, too. Because play not only gives us joy and opportunity to worship in the good times, but it can be a salve God provides to us in our grief.

In times of difficulty we, of course, should set our hope fully on the grace God will give us in the future; yet, at the same time the Lord still nourishes us with morsels of hope and joy in the meantime.

He does it in a good book that lifts our spirits in a season of difficulty. He gives us knitting needles or a paintbrush when our minds begin rushing with anxiety and fear. He shows us his care in offering us something to do with our hands when our minds and hearts feel so weighted down they might be crushed. Our feet find the familiarity of the asphalt road, the joy of a favorite game, or the comfort of a swimming pool.

Our God will draw his little lambs close. He will comfort those who mourn. And sometimes he does so by giving us the chance to play.