While teaching Evynn to swim, I’ve learned priceless truths about the condition of my soul. Each time Evynn gets into the pool, she takes one timid step at a time until she is submerged up to her waist. She remains on that step, refusing rather loudly to move from her spot and swim toward her daddy. She desperately wants the freedom to swim, but she is a prisoner on that step because of her blatant stubbornness. As Matt moves closer, Evynn soon decides to take that leap, trusting that her daddy will find her and pull her to safety.

She takes a deep breath, jumps from her place and begins to move with her head under the water. The feeling of not being able to breathe temporarily makes her flail. And then she sees Matt’s hands under the water. She reaches out and grabs him, and he lifts her close to him. She catches her breath and with the biggest smile says, “I did it Daddy!”

I’ve been battling my rebellious heart for nearly six months. In my rebellion, I’ve been a self-imposed prisoner on that bottom step. I’ve desperately wanted to swim to freedom. I’ve wanted to move to the place where God desires for me to be, but yet I’ve refused to move. Over the last few weeks, I’ve prayed God closer. And He moved toward me. But then He wanted me to go toward Him. Last week, I took that leap back to my Father. I flailed in my fear. And then I saw His hands under the water. I took them and He lifted me close to Him so I could catch my breath. And when I did, I gratefully, ecstatically, and tearfully said, “I did it Daddy!”

The girls have been arguing pretty much non-stop for a couple days now. I’m used to the occasional scream, followed by the yell of retaliation, but two days of constant bickering had me near my breaking point.

They had started in on each other pretty early this morning. While I’ve been trying to keep my distance to see if they would eventually figure things out on their own, I’ve been noticing that I’m slipping back into my interfering ways. After several refereeing sessions, I sat down with my cup of coffee. Things grew suspiciously quiet and I saw that the bathroom door was closed. I got up and walked over to the bathroom. I heard muffled giggles and was expecting the worst.

I opened the door and I had to laugh. One girl was pooping on the toilet, while the other was sitting on the stool telling knock-knock jokes. They might yell, they might scream, they might even occasionally throw a toy or two. But what friend could ever compare?

My youngest daughter, Evynn, has freakishly keen ears. She knows when someone tiptoes past her bedroom, even though the fan is loud and a towel blocks the light of the crack at the base of her door. I can’t say anything under my breath and if the dog barks while she’s napping, well, I just start to her bedroom because I know it’s all over.

So, when I was putting Evynn’s hair up in a pony tail this morning, I was rather shocked to find that she was wearing Rhyan’s baby hearing aids. Both ears. I started laughing from the strangeness of it. But, then I was just as quickly comforted by it. I don’t know how many times I’ve worried about how others will respond to Rhyan. Will they make fun of her, will they laugh at her, will they think she’s less of a person? Today I realized that they might.

Or maybe they’ll want to be just like her.