The Water's Fine

As our physical contact with other people has been limited since March, many have attempted to cultivate connections with others on social media, but that medium provides its own set of issues, including conspiracy theories, political drivel, and hate-filled comments. Unlike making a personal visit or answering a telephone call, we are at the mercy of the algorithms of the social media giants, like spaghetti thrown at the wall to see what sticks. Making and keeping connections with “friends” from many corners of our lives can be a blessed experience, but the process can also be both exhausting and addicting, seemingly out of our control. 

 

Frustrated by the negative components of social media, a friend recently described her experience: “The past two weeks I have been ‘testing the waters’ on Facebook. After a two-month hiatus, I will give it a go again. I also have learned I don’t have to have it in my life and I will end it again if the heart burden becomes too heavy. I have missed many parts of the journey with others.”

 

Her words struck a chord, especially in the area of self-determination. We do have choices. We can choose what influences us. Blocking the negative posts from a “friend” can be healthy for us. While not quite in context, I’m reminded of Michael Card’s lyrics: “It’s hard to imagine the freedom we find from the things we leave behind.” 

 

Brené Browngives us permission: “When someone spews something really hurtful, don’t pick it up and hold it and rub it into your heart and snuggle with it and carry it around for a long time. Don’t even put energy into kicking it to the curb. You gotta see it and step over it or go around it and keep on going.” 

 

I’ve had an additional reaction in recent days, as Facebook tries to stir up feelings of envy and jealousy in me. The most difficult posts to see are the photos of family vacations. As the pandemic began to have its way with us in the spring of 2020, our usual vacation spot, on the Maine shoreline, was requiring self-quarantine for fourteen days upon arrival. Not much of a vacation in that, so we decided to stay home. Those restrictions have now been lifted, and some of our friends and family have traveled to the healing waters of the ocean, up and down the Atlantic coast. I’m glad for them, really I am, but some days I cringe as I sit through the modern-day equivalent of a vacation slide show on their social media feeds. At least my kids brought me some caramel corn from the beach. 

 

I often think of life choices by articulating what I don’t want. To combat that habit, a few years ago I created a list of what I wanted from life, rather than what I needed to avoid. As I’ve been wrestling with my envious feelings, I looked again to that list. And there it was. “I want to walk by the water and pray.” 

 

There’s a wading pool in my backyard, and a retention pond a block from my house with a welcoming bench. The Atwood Lake region and Lake Erie are both within an hour’s drive from our home. Sure, they’re not the Atlantic or Pacific, but they provide water and soul-refreshment. The Corona can’t stop me from walking by – or in – these waters.

 

In the film “O Brother, Where Art Thou,” white-robed supplicants approach the baptismal water singing, “As I went down to the river to pray . . .” (Alison Kraus). Delmar joins them, is baptized, and extends the invitation to his companions. “Come on in boys, the water’s fine.” 

 

As tempting as it is, social media or the Corona can’t be blamed for everything that’s out of sorts in us. Like my friend, we can “test the water” and choose whether to wade, dive in  or walk away. New streams of connection wait, as old friends and new companions stand ready to come alongside us. And, as Delmar understood, there is healing in the water – ocean or kiddie pool –  and in the woods, garden, or mountains. “Come on in . .