I remember asking my aunt for water when I was very young. She asked, “hot or cold?”
I had no idea. Up to this point in my life, there was only water. When I was thirsty, I asked for water. I got water. I drank it and I wasn’t thirsty anymore. That’s as far as it went.
But I took a stab at it. I said, “hot.”
Thus, began a lifetime of choosing the slowest line at the checkout and the merge lane on a congested highway. Fair warning. If you see me in line at Costco, get in another one because I’m in the slowest.
I watched as my Aunt turned on the tap and let the water run over her index finger, testing the temperature. My mother did this too when she gave me water. So far so good.
She handed me a beautiful clear glass of water, half-full so I wouldn’t spill it. I took it gratefully and downed a big gulp.
I immediately felt sick to my stomach. Everything inside me recoiled. I gagged. My head began to pound. It was hard to breathe.
I have held onto this memory ever since. It stays with me after I have forgotten everything else about that day.
I don’t remember which of my aunts it was, I have no idea why she asked, ‘hot or cold,’ or anything that happened after that. Did she see my reaction and apologize profusely? Did I ask for more water? Cold this time? (Probably not, but I should have).
In my head, I can play it out any number of ways.
What I do remember though, is a profound sense of betrayal. How the fundamental nature of the world changed in an instant. In a gulp of hot tap water.
This was no longer a trustworthy, reliable place. The world was now a place where you could ask an adult you trusted for something and they could give you something you hadn’t wanted at all. Something that would turn your stomach and make you want to throw up.
This was going to take some getting used to.
I get so tired when people argue whether Adam and Eve were real. As though the truth of that particular creation story was based on some kind of historical fact. When in reality, the truth is that we all leave Eden. All we need do is look at our own lives to see that.
Rabbi Lawrence Kushner writes that we have to leave Eden if we’re going to grow up. He speculates that what Christians call “the Fall” may be nothing more than a necessary step toward becoming who God made us to be in the first place.
I can see that. The Bible says that God leaves Eden with us. We often assume that God stayed behind and maybe, one day if we’re good enough, God will let us back in.
I expected cold water, even though I didn’t know how to ask for it, and my expectations were shattered. And with them, a large part of my world was shattered too. I was left in a larger world, with more knowledge and understanding.
Ohhh, I wanted COLD water.
There is a big difference between our expectations (the truth that we hold) and reality (the truth that holds us). That’s behind a big part of the polarization in our country today. Confusing the truth that we hold (and twist all too easily to our own liking) and the Truth that holds us.
As people of faith, we trust the Truth that holds us, and we learn, often times the hard way, to hold our own truths lightly. With grace and compassion. To offer them as gifts to something larger and let them go when they are not suited. To reach for new truths, more suited, and to grow in the process.
That’s what discipleship is. That’s the story of Paul on the road to Damascus (Acts 9:1-9). The story of Peter when he arrives at the house of Cornelius (Acts 10:34-36).
Because the truth that holds us is the Love of God, and the Love of God transcends our disappointments, endures through our failures, speaks assurance when we’re frightened, and calms the stormy waves of our anxiety.
When we cling too tightly to our own small truth, we can’t lean into the Truth that holds us. We become stagnant and stuck, bitter and resentful.
So, perhaps another reason this memory has stayed with me all my life, is that it was the beginning of my learning to ask better questions. My disappointment led me to resources in myself I never would have discovered otherwise.
They say that the secret to carrying a cup of water without spilling it is to look at where you are going, not at the cup. Keep your eyes up.
With each disappointment I encountered in my life, a little more of the horizon became visible to me. Soon I began to see that it was ahead of me and behind me, above me and beneath me, within me and without.
Leaving Eden, even against my will, led me to lay hold of something more constant and abiding. If I hadn’t left, I never would have found the God who loved me enough to go with me.
So, this Christmas, our sniffly granddaughter padded downstairs one morning and asked me for something to drink. My water story immediately came to mind. I saw myself standing there in her (without the purple princess pajamas of course) and recognized a healing moment. A chance to extend a kindness to the little boy I was in that moment of vulnerability and make up for what happened to him.
I reached for a cup, and let the water run until it was good and cold and handed it to her. Half full so she wouldn’t spill it. I was filled with a warmth and kindness. In the background I could almost hear angels singing.
She reached up and took the cup in both hands. Looked in it and handed it back.
“I drink orange juice,” she said.
I wanted to burst out laughing. When…when…when would I ever learn?
I took the cup and asked, “hot or cold?”
Charles Oberkehr 