One More for Love The Story: Chapter 12 – Swim Sin

When I was ten years old I loved to swim. I wasn’t a great swimmer and ended up getting “swimmer’s ear” so bad and so often that I had to stop swimming all together. But, when I was ten, I looked forward to throwing on my swim cap, diving off the starting board, and letting the water rush past me with every freestyle stroke. It was the one sport that my sister and I participated in together and incredibly, my mom (who was a single mom at the time) found a way to make our minimal financial income stretch across family necessities, her community college classes, and a spot on the swim team for both of us. I practiced three days a week. Then, every Saturday, I put myself up against the other ten year olds in Tuolumne County and competed with a level of intensity and insecurity that only a ten year old in a Speedo could achieve. Swimming was my absolute favorite sport, but as a ten year old boy, it wasn’t the only thing I was into.


Every Sunday mom would dress my sister and me in our Sunday’s best, pack us in the car and drive us to a little Church of the Nazarene that was about twenty minutes from our apartment. On the car ride there, I would sit in the back seat smiling from ear to ear with the excitement of knowing that when we got there I would be only a few hymns away from being released to children’s church and getting to be with the one I had missed for six long days… Her name was Alicia Robinson. She was Pastor Rick’s daughter and a ten year old boy’s dream girl. She was cute, sweet, and would help me with the glue and scissors during our craft projects. Nothing says true love like sharing a bottle of Elmer’s with the preteen church heart throb.


We had become regular attendees of this particular church for a few months; which was longer than we had ever stayed at one church for one time in the past. Even though the church was small (it wasn’t out of the ordinary to have fifteen to twenty people in the congregation on any given Sunday) it was beginning to feel comfortable there. We were getting to know some of the other families and even had dinner at Pastor Rick’s house one night. Because my mom, sister, and I had spent some time moving around after my parent’s divorce, it was nice to be on some kind of schedule and to have something to look forward to every weekend. This was the regular routine for an entire summer, until for one reason or another, one of our final swim meets was moved from Saturday to Sunday. Because it was late in the season and my sister and I had been working so hard all summer, my mom decided to forgo church for one weekend and take us to the swim meet. I was upset that I wouldn’t get to see Alicia for a week, but my heart would go on as I went on to get third place in my race at the meet.


On our way to church the following Sunday, I sat in the back seat excited about the opportunity to tell Alicia how well I did at my swim meet. The Sunday school teacher would certainly have noticed I was gone last weekend, would ask me what I did, which would open the door for the bragging and recognition that every ten year old so desperately desires.


When we got to church my mom, sister, and I sat at a pew near the back as Pastor Rick began with the announcements. The congregation was particularly light that day, maybe seven or eight others in attendance. My mind was busy thinking of how Alicia would react when she found out I was a top tear junior swimmer in the county, when something Pastor Rick was saying caught my attention.


“Before we begin with worship,” said Pastor Rick with a stern and forceful tone. “I think I need to reinforce how important it is to put church ahead of ALL things in our lives. It should be ahead of tennis matches, football games, and… ” He turned to look at my family “swim meets.”


Even though there were only a small number of people there, it immediately felt like the three of us were in the court of Christian law standing in front of a jury of a hundred with scarlet “A’s” painted on our shirts. In my short life I had never been so embarrassed and confused. I looked up to my mom, “Mom, did we do something wrong?” I asked, eyes gaining moisture by the second.


“No baby, let’s go.” said mom, as the three of us filed to the outside of the pew, left church and never came back.


Even though I didn’t go to that church again, the feeling I felt that day never left me. As I was growing up, any time anyone would bring up religion I became the defender of a ten year old boy who didn’t know why it was a sin to swim. I argued that religion was a crutch for those who were too weak to cope with the harsh realities of life. I was angry, bitter, and defiantly opposed to Christianity or any other form of faith. This rejection of religion later led me to studies in philosophy. I was half way through Nietzsche’s Thus Spake Zarathustra, when I overheard Sergeant Morey discussing her faith in Christianity to two other airmen at the smoke pit one day. I was astonished. How could someone who was so intelligent believe in something so ridiculous? I was sure a simple logical conversation would change her mind.


“Hey guys, what’s up?” I asked, walking into the conversation, hoping they wouldn’t change the subject


“Sergeant Morey here’s a Jesus freak and we’re trying to talk her out of it.” said one guy.


“Yeah, she still can’t prove why there aren’t any dinosaurs in the Bible.” said the other. Sergeant Morey didn’t seem to be offended and her even temperament found me even more intrigued.


This is perfect. I thought to myself, and then jumped right into the conversation.