When You Don’t Feel Safe

I jumped off the boat into the Caribbean Sea, only to discover that despite my excitement to be snorkeling, the act of breathing normally while underwater immediately triggered an anxiety attack.

I scrambled back onto the boat, pulling off my gear on the way. The boat captain, Ron, calmed me down enough that I could talk. But all I could say was, “I couldn’t breathe,” over and over again. As I sat on deck shivering and shaking, Ron got a large bucket and filled it with water. He set the bucket in front of me and handed me my mask and snorkel.

“Try it here,” he said. “You won’t drown. I’m right here to help you.” I vigorously shook my head no, to which he replied, “Take your time. We have all day.”

Once I realized he really would sit there until nightfall, I decided I might as well get this over with. He had me put my face in the bucket, then immediately take it out. After this I did some deep breathing exercises to get my pulse down. Next I submerged my head and counted to five before resurfacing, followed by more focused breathing. Then I counted to ten while under the water.

After I reached thirty seconds in the bucket, Ron said, “It’s time for you to go back in the ocean. Once you get to the bottom of the ladder, hold on to the sides and do the same thing you just did in the bucket.”

I was hesitant, but he assured me he had been taking people snorkeling longer than I’d been alive and hadn’t lost one yet.

After I had counted to one hundred underwater, I popped up and proudly said to Ron, “I did it! I snorkeled!” With a huge smile on his face, he replied, “Now all you have to do is turn around, let go, and swim away.” I grinned back, and in one quick adrenaline-fueled move, I let go of the boat, spun around, and pushed off, kicking my fins as hard as I could. Once I was about twenty feet from the boat, I realized I still had my eyes closed. I internally laughed a little and opened my eyes with gleeful expectation.

Directly in front of me was a four-foot-long barracuda, mouth gaping to show all its extremely long and incredibly sharp teeth.

I have never moved away from something so quickly in all my life. I thrashed about wildly in the general direction of the boat, hoping to live long enough to inform Captain Ron that I was never, ever snorkeling again.

I practically jumped directly from the water onto the boat deck. Ron ran over to ask what happened, but all I got out was, “B-b-b-barra…” before he started giggling. I yelled back, “This isn’t funny! A barracuda is right there!”

Through the tears of laughter now streaming down his face, Ron explained, “That’s Barry! He lives here, sitting right next to boats to eat the leftover food people toss over the side. I’m pretty sure he hasn’t been hungry enough to eat live prey in more than a decade. Barry is hands down the laziest animal I’ve ever seen. Just swim past him; he won’t bother you.”

As if to prove his point, Ron took a flying leap over the side of the boat and headed straight for Barry. I went down the ladder and put my face into the water. Ron was petting the barracuda and waved for me to go in. When I did, Barry swam off and Ron popped up to the surface to say, “See? No problem.” I had to agree, much to my chagrin.

Ron knew I would be safe. He knew I was safe. Nothing about the situation seemed safe to me. It had induced extreme panic. But Ron had been there so many times he knew even a fearsome-looking barracuda presented no threat.

C.S. Lewis wrote about Aslan, the lion who represents Christ in The Chronicles of Narnia series, “He isn’t safe. But he is good.” It’s hard for me to remember this about God since, as you have just read, I appreciate and prize safety. I don’t like taking risks or doing anything not guaranteed to have a positive outcome. But I do try to keep God’s goodness in the forefront of my mind, even amid great and sometimes overwhelming fear and anxiety.

When we do what God calls us to do, no matter how terrified we are, we discover he has gone before us to tame the barracudas and remind us how to breathe. And someday—perhaps not now or even soon, but someday—we’ll see him smile kindly and say, “See? No problem!”

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Bethany Beams is a certified doula who can’t get enough of storytelling, which she pursues through website design, photography, and freelance editing. Her many loves include her son, napping, libraries, ice cream, singing, snow leopards, Bagel Bites, 75° weather, the color turquoise, and lists. She blogs very occasionally at bethanybeams.com.

Photograph © Peter Simmons, used with permission