I have always felt more alive in the presence of water, under the rain, next to a lake, next to a river, next to a sea − each with its specific atmosphere attuned to my inner state. Until recently, I didn't realize why I feel so in my element near water – or, even better, in water. I remembered that this is how I spent my early childhood years: all joy, a fantasy, searching for wild strawberries with my father (who named a patch of vegetation above the lake that he and my grandfather looked after, 'Strawberry Land').
On that lake, I became familiar with the sensation of being in a wobbly rowboat (and thus perhaps with uncertainty and instability, even with insecurity, considering that, once, my best friend fell out of the boat − towards the shore, it's true, but it wasn't exactly a pleasant event) and there I also prepared myself to learn to swim properly. I remember the feeling of fresh courage, from those summer days when I assured my mother that if she let me swim alone to the middle of the lake (under the protection of a slightly deflated swimming ring, of course), I would be careful − as if these tenderly spoken words could have assuaged her maternal anxiety. However, my courage and enthusiasm gave her confidence, and her confidence increased my courage and enthusiasm.
Thus, with her gaze fixed upon me, I advanced with determination and discovered that I could do something quite awesome (for my little child's mind) by myself, feeling on my skin that there, in the middle of the water, I was safe. The silence where only the singing birds and frogs echoed, sometimes interrupted by my giggles, was a fulfilling peace, from which I would not have fled, which I would not have traded for all the music and noise in the world. Life, however, traded it away from me. Thus, later, with an unquiet longing, I began to seek out truly beautiful places − with lakes, or the sea (less accessible, but all the more desired).
Writing these lines, I realize that perhaps, in fact, I began to ardently search for that childlike courage, that lively peace, those sensations that told me I was alive, that awareness that insecurity doesn't mean panic... I have become the woman about whom it can truly be said, in weaker moments, that she's not in her element! What a long epilogue I've outlined for the story I wanted to share with you. Well, now, just bear with me a bit longer, I'll be there shortly...
I don't remember an Orthodox, religious childhood, although I went to church occasionally (more often than just on major holidays, that is), although I sang with my grandmother at funerals and memorial services and we prayed together when I slept at her place, although I spoke with my grandfather about God as if I knew Him personally (and, in a way, I think I knew Him without knowing it − perhaps that's what it means to be like children to inherit the Kingdom of Heaven!), but I became estranged so subtly, and imperceptibly followed the path of the prodigal son. I have a kind of rebellion against our world, in which I rarely find myself, because it stole my most precious gift − improperly called 'stolen,' for the gift of life in Christ is the only one that can neither be taken by force nor lived by force. In these memories, I rediscover His presence in the normalcy of each day, in the everyday immersed in nature, in laughter and in tears. Somehow, time didn't exist except as a spatial reference, not as an abstract, internal pressure.
I suffered greatly after I began to lose precisely... ignorance, innocence. Looking back, it was as if I lived my own expulsion from Paradise. How can you realize that you were in the Lord's Garden, of the One Who created everything, all living beings, only when you've been left outside? Now I'm glad that I at least try, realizing the necessity of knowing Him, to live not separate lives, but one whole life, in Him.
In my nostalgic quest, at the beginning of summer, I got it into my head to take Thias, my younger brother, for a boat ride on the lake in Cișmigiu. We also called Brianna, our cousin, to celebrate some good news together, plus shared beauty multiplies, in fact and in truth. Happy and more relaxed than the resident ducks, I dared to be overly delighted when it started to drizzle over us: what more could I want? On the lake, and cooled by the rain!
In control, with oars in hand since I was nine, but also stubborn, I initially refused to get impatient, to pull to shore, under the pretext that I hadn't paid for an hour just to give up so quickly because of the rain. Half-jokingly, half-seriously, it started to thunder and lightning, and I remembered that I might hold the oars, but not the water, nor do I change the wind's speed, so I rowed seriously towards the dock, where I stubbornly insisted again that I had to turn the boat around, because that's how it's done. Does “that's how it's done” matter when there's a cloudburst overhead and you have a young lady and a teenager in the boat? Oh, pride, damn it!
The gentlemen from the boat rental were huddled in their small shelter and watched us struggle, when one of them decided to shout at us, practically, to jump out of the boat ourselves, at which I laughed almost ironically, considering it a very good joke coming from a full-grown man. Thias was the first who, literally, jumped out of the boat when the strong current pinned us against the other boats tied to the shore, and the chain also held us, so we could quickly abandon the situation. My stubbornness, which more or less becomes a leitmotif of this story, made me repeat that I'm not getting off like that! In the end, one of them did come to help us, at which point I apologized for not being able to bring the boat in any other way or place. He said it was no problem, but that he had one request: “Get out of the park as fast as you can, because the trees are in a bad way!” Alright, alright, and we got out, because that very second, about fifteen meters from us, a very large branch fell to the ground.
When we reached the main street, the storm unleashed itself. We couldn't see anything but the curtain of water... I kept looking back for Brianna, who was in flip-flops, and for Thias, who was walking five steps at a time with his eyes closed, and I was shouting at them to move forward, so we could get somewhere safe. I know that if you haven't experienced it, it might seem like a measly storm was getting the better of us, but it was the first time I understood what it means to be blown away by the wind.
I tried to take a step, realizing not only that I couldn't move forward, but that I had been forcibly pushed back several steps. How can I put it, I didn't panic, but a momentary despair overwhelmed me, so much so that I was about to cross without seeing, not just without looking! Then the sirens of ambulances, fire trucks, and police cars started to blare. We were aware that, although we were alone in that place, we were not the only ones in danger, and clearly not in the most risky situation possible; true troubles had probably already occurred.
Brianna and Thias hurried towards the park fence, although I insisted that it wasn't good to stay under the trees. I joined them with the thought that, if we couldn't shelter from branches, at least the wind wouldn't carry us away, because it was no longer a hypothetical fear, but a reality. Until then, let's say I would have been balanced, after which I thought I saw Thias crying – I remembered that he's my thirteen-year-old little brother, not the man who sometimes seems more mature than all the adults around. I suddenly felt maternally responsible for him, and yet, I didn't even get to do much before it hit me: Thias was loudly uttering, with all the force of his soul, Our Father, as if our lives depended on it, and they truly did.
The wind was mercilessly beating down on us, and I was naively looking up at the trees above, as if asking them with my eyes if they would hold out. I began to distinctly utter alongside him: Thy will be done, on Earth as it is in Heaven... And then something happened that profoundly calmed me: the gust of strong wind and abundant rain subsided, as if stopped by a shield, right in front of us.
I had never felt that I recited the Lord's Prayer properly until that moment, when I felt that I was addressing the Father, that He not only hears us but is with us and we are protected, enveloped in His paternal, divine love. What Thias did was an act of spiritual presence, just like I used to do only when I was very little. At his age, I, probably not even now, lost in the agitated landscape of despair, wouldn't have done that. I was very proud of him afterward, and I understood what it means to have a somewhat Orthodox childhood, meaning no more, no less, to have an upbringing in which Christ in our midst is a reality, not just words.
Even though the storm continued that evening, we arrived home safely, and I still didn't regret not having rowed more diligently even when the storm was already lurking around us.
I conclude with my favorite verses from the Psalms, which I keep repeating whenever I feel that problems are bigger than me, but I know they are not bigger than Him: Do not forsake me, Lord my God, do not depart from me, heed my help, Lord of my salvation. (Psalm 37:21-22)
Gala Jura
Photos by cottonbro studio / pexels.com