D  e  b  b  i  e   D  a  r  t  t

    When my kids were in early elementary and pre-school we lived in an apartment that opened up to a swimming pool.  Summers were awesome, we were at the pool every free moment.  One of the kids’ favorite things to do during those summers was to swim with their daddy.  He would stand in the middle of the pool and pick them up and throw them just as high and as far as he could.  They would go flying with their skinny little arms and legs flying and flailing, laughing and screaming.  They’d go under, then pop back up, spitting, sputtering and spurting.  Then they’d swim back to their dad yelling “throw me again daddy, throw me again.”  They didn’t understand that they were supposed to be afraid. 

    They didn’t realize that this was dangerous and that they could get hurt.  They didn’t worry that he might throw them a little too far and that they might hit the side.  They didn’t think about the fact that they had just learned to swim and maybe they would go a little too deep and not make it to the surface in time.  They didn’t consider all of the ramifications.  They just knew he was their dad and he wouldn’t let anything bad happen to them.  They could trust him. 

    I, on the other hand thought of all of the  things that could have gone wrong.  I am, after all, their mother. If I had my way, my children would have grown up wrapped in bubble wrap surrounded only by the people who love them and things with rounded edges. I worried and feared and fussed and mostly closed my eyes because despite my protest he still threw them in the pool and they still loved it and asked for more.  

    My kids are grown now.  Taylor, my son, is 25 and married to our beautiful daughter-in-law, Lindsey.  Rachel, my daughter, just finished college at Liberty University and is making decisions about her career and her future.  They survived.  They survived their dad, throwing them in the pool.  They survived in spite of my fear of injury, death and dismemberment.  Actually they did more than survive - they are amazing!  They are fun, funny and adventurous.  They are brave.  They trust.  They have big dreams.  They believe that God can and will do big things through them.  

    I, however, still find myself closing my eyes and hoping for the best.  I’m still stuck in fear.  Maybe not so much about my children’s safety, but about a lot of other things.  I worry about what other’s will think of me: How do I look?  What will I wear?  I wish I could lose weight!  I wish I wasn’t going gray.  I’m afraid I will make a fool of myself:  what if I put my foot in my mouth (that happens a lot)?  What if I offend someone?  What if I use improper grammar and my teacher friends call me out on it?  Worse yet - I’m afraid I’ll fail.  I probably will fail because I’m quite certain that I am not good enough, not talented enough, not smart enough.  So instead of my worst fears being realized, I just do nothing.  Well, where’s the fun in that?  More importantly, where is the victory in that?  Where is the freedom in that? 

    Romans 8:14 says “For you did not receive the spirit of bondage again to fear, but you received the Spirit of adoption by whom we cry out, ‘Abba Father.’” 

    God did not intend for me to be afraid.  That spirit keeps me tied up, paralyzed, trapped.  That spirit keeps me in the shallow end, never swimming up to my Abba, Daddy, father with my arms outstretched asking him to throw me, to let me know what it’s like to fully experience the freedom to do what he has planned for me to do.

    I want to fly free.  I want Him to throw me.  I want to feel the wind in my hair as I fully give myself to His plan for me.  It may be scary.  It may not be pretty as my arms and legs flail and I scream with both fear and delight at the top of my lungs.  But when my head pops above the water and I see my Abba, Daddy, father God looking at me, nodding his head and smiling.  I will know He has used me, fear and failure and flailing limbs and all.  He will have used me in his perfect, life-giving plan.  And I will swim back up to him, knowing my father can be trusted and say “throw me again daddy, throw me again!”

"Throw Me Again, Daddy"

Debbie Dartt Ministries © 2016

- Debbie

blog  1/20/16


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