A few times, as a child, I tried to swim across our lake. I'm not sure why, but it seemed a worthy cause at the time. Outfitted with a lifejacket so I could rest frequently, I would begin my journey to the other side.  Getting to the halfway point was no big deal, in fact I often liked to swim out in the middle of the lake to avoid contact with any leeches or bullheads. Skimming across the surface I was able to convince myself that those garish creatures couldn't touch me. Somewhere around the point when I reached two-thirds of the way to the other side, I would begin to have my doubts about the whole idea.

I had good reason to believe there would be leeches on the other side, probably muck also, and it seemed there were some swampy reeds lurking there as well. The temperature of the water would vary due to the cold springs that fed the lake, and that added to my trepidation. In addition to those setbacks, the very wealthy homeowner on the other side of the lake had imported creatures from far away. The only ones I had witnessed were beautiful black swans (harmless I'm sure), but anyone who could produce such things might have all kinds of other surprises waiting on their land to dissuade trespassers such as myself.

My wild imagination, combined with a healthy dose of being grossed out by leeches, prevented me from ever coming out on the other side. I never had the satisfaction of setting foot there, or that of having reached the goal of finishing the lengthy swim. Now summer is here and a lake awaits me. But I haven't felt the urge to swim across a lake for many years, and I haven't had too many occasions lately that allow me the time or energy to do so. Instead I have found myself enmeshed in the lives of my children, my husband, my work, and my volunteer duties. I never imagined that these things could consume so much of my time that I rarely even think about swimming, much less coming out on the other side of things, whether those things are the lake, or my life.

I have a dear friend with a brain tumor. We have been friends since fourth grade. You may remember me telling her story in another editor's letter a few years back. She is still fighting a remarkable fight that has been plagued by many other stressors within her family, yet she continues on her path in an effort to come out on the other side of this trial.  I was extremely fortunate to be in the company of her family as we awaited the results of her craniotomy (brain surgery). I have been blessed in not having to wait too long to hear test results. I receive updates on every aspect of her illness on a regular basis. She never fails to call me. She never fails to ask me to coffee.  And she never fails to ask how I'm doing!

I, on the other hand, have never been too good about calling people or about inviting people out.   It's not that I don't enjoy it, I simply get busy with my life and before I know it enough time has passed that my friends (thankfully) start to call me to check on me.  I suppose there are a limited number of relationships that we can keep very close. Perhaps at this point in my life I may be right to focus on my husband, children, and a few others. But I would like to come out on the other side of this, too, at some point in my life.  I would like to become the person who takes away the responsibility of being the one to call, and being the one to extend an invitation to coffee for my very kind friend.  I would like to swim toward her even when I feel like turning back around. I would like to get to the other side of this deep water, a place where I reach out and we can sit together with the sun on our faces enjoying the peace of our friendship and the sharing of our reaching out to one another. I have a hunch that what lies on the other side, that place where I am the one who reaches out rather than the one who is reached to, is as beautiful and rare as that black swan waiting on the far side of the lake. I'm certain that the gift I'd like to give to my friend will be as much for me as it will be for her, but for once I would like to be the one who makes the swim across the great divide to meet her.  I imagine that if I can only make the swim across this lake to my friend once, just once, I will be able to cross many more of these lakes to reach others; that childhood mentor I think of but don't call, the children I sponsor but don't write, the friends  and family who are struggling with their challenges in life: divorce, illness, job loss, weakened faith...

Thank goodness I don't have 10,000 of these lakes to cross. I am thankful that I have quite a lot though. And I am especially thankful that so many of my friends and family have continued to visit me on my shore even though I have yet to make it to the other side of the lake to visit them.

You may not have this same issue in your life. You may be the one who reaches out, the one who always calls your friends.  Or you may be like me, waiting for the time to be right to take the dive and boldly cross to the other side of the lake.  Either way, I encourage you to take just a moment to look in the reflection off the lake to see what is inside of you. It may be a child, or a parent, or even your spouse that awaits you on the other side of the lake. If so, I would love for you to join me as I try to make it across this beautiful body of water, to come out on the other side, and to see what awaits us. Do it this summer, though, when the water is warm.

Celebrating life on the water,

Nancy Henke, Editor

By Nancy Henke