Giggling. Such a strange sounding word. But still it is accurate enough for the sounds filling the slightly wooded area by the lake.
The children run kicking a small rubber ball. It is the same kind of ball other children kick on the main land. Though there is a distinct line drawn between the two, some things here and some things there still seem like common parts, even though they are two separate bodies. The giggling was also something they shared even though some would claim that the source is different. Some would claim that the source is the line that separates the two. It is a difference in joys.
A watchful mother wonders which joy drives the children. It is a pretty ball. She would have liked a ball like that at their age. But he is so much more fulfilling. She hopes and prays the children understand that. But they are children. They will live like they are untouchable demigods one moment and fall and skin their knees the next. They will cry like the pain will never go away, like they are broken for eternity. Only as they grow will they realize that neither is true. They will come to terms with who they are. And then they will have to see what they are in him. Graciously there is plenty of time for growth. He is so merciful and patient.
The group of five children kick the ball in their unorganized World Cup style. No real rules other than kick the ball and run. Most days those are enough rules for a child and the reward is big enough to be worthwhile. A child who seems to be a little faster than the rest has taken control. He kicks the ball making a bee line for the lake. He takes little notice of his destination, only that he has control and is in the lead. That seems to be the new rule. He laughs as he half way glances over his shoulder. Three other boys and a small girl are in hot pursuit. But he is winning and is loving it. A boy who seems to be a little older than the boy in the lead starts to catch up. It’s hard to run full speed and keep control of a ball. He might be a little faster, but with a ball he is not uncatchable. The good natured predator begins to close in on it’s happy prey. The boy senses his fate. Instead of losing the ball he kicks it hard. The ball sails for thirty yards. Splash! It connects ten yards from the bank of the lake. It skips twice and continues floating another fifteen yards.
“Way to go Ish!”, the children scream in unison. The small girl is about a half step behind in chanting the Ish-ological statement, but she seems proud of herself for completing it correctly. “Way to go Ish” was a very accurate and concise Ish-ological point. In universal truths it was was right up there with the most sound. God good. Devil bad. Way to go Ish. Ish or Ishmael to his mother, is the oldest of two boys. His younger brother Isaac was another of the pursuers. Isaac had coined, patented and trademarked this phrase. He let the others use it out of friendship. But soon, like Happy Birthday, it had become so common that it was useless trying to pen his name to it any longer.
Ishmael and Isaac’s parents were aware of the irony of their children’s names. It was their way of saying they believed that Jesus was getting the family back together. No longer half brothers fighting over the father, they were now full brothers with all rights to the father. Of course here biblical names were not uncommon. Even though it might seem a bit contrived to some, the elders think it is good for their sheep to understand the stories of the Bible and apply that truth to help make the truth more plain to others. Paper truth is nice, but living truth is a powerful thing. Besides you can not force a book into peoples hands. But also you can not ignore flesh and blood living next to you. Those stories are harder to not be effected by. With that philosophy it was hard to see why the elders had decided to live the way they do.
The good natured predator was Saul. His parents have hopes their son will be an example of leadership. They hope his life shows how Jesus can make a great leader of Saul again.
The other boy in the group is named Tim. It is short for Timothy of course. His parents were great admires of the two letters that Paul wrote to Timothy. They have high hopes for their son as a preacher of the Word. And secretly they have an affection for Monty Python and the Holy Grail. They taught him to introduce himself with the phrase, “There are some who call me Tim.” They greatly like anyone who catches the reference. Anyone else is good for a laugh, a wink and a nod. Tim never gets the pause quite right, but it is still a wonderful inside joke.
The young girl’s name is Sarah. Her parents simply liked the name when they gave it to her. Surprising enough she is not fond of Isaac. No ones quite sure just why.
The fellowship of the five stands there looking out over the water. The ball bobs up and down in the water bringing no one happiness. Ish raises his hands above his head. He shouts in a mocking tone, “Believe!” There is a small amount of giggling from the other children. These giggles doesn’t sound as innocent and pure as before. All but Isaac giggle that is. He stands about ten feet from the bank. He looks at the ball and then up. Then he looks back down to the ball. He never glances solely at the water.
“I believe.”, he states in a monotone voice. He runs at the water full speed. His mother stares on waiting, hoping, believing at a distance. Most children would leap in from the bank. Isaac never expects the solid mass to end. He keeps running. The water is barely disturbed. He runs on top of the water. He keeps his eye on the ball and his heart on the balls creator. Isaac slows to a stop as he reached the ball. It is strange having to bend over a little further than usual to pick up the ball. In an academic way, Isaac lifts a foot up so he could see the bottom of his shoe. The sides seem a little wet, but the bottom is dry. He dare not think about it too much. “Must not take my eyes off of the lover of my soul.”, he thinks.
You would think that the feat would have been a jaw dropper. That children would run screaming or that you would at least get a “Cool!” His mother stands at a distance almost holding her breath. “How long can he hold on to it?” she whispers to herself.
Ish looks proud and envious at the same time. Only a brother can do that as he watches the other hit a home run. Isaac had swung away and hit a grand slam. Impressive but not unheard of in this world it would seem. Ish closes his eyes and takes a breath. He walks to the bank. He talks a step forward. His step is high like a drum major. Splash! All he has is wet shoes to show for it. The innocent giggle returns to the children. Ish smiles. He wants to believe. He really does. Still smiling he splashes a hand full of water at Tim. Sarah runs to Ish’s mother screaming in delight at the thought she might be next. “Don’t baptize me Methodist style!”, she squeals. This brings another giggle from the group.
“Believe big brother. We are not at odds. We are safe in his arms.”, Isaac encourages.
Ish remembers the point of their names. He remembers the love for his brother. He remembers the one who makes that love possible in a situation like this. Ish takes another step. This time it is like stepping onto stairs. His shoes are half way in, but he is no longer on the bottom. A strong urge to be with his brother comes over him. He takes another step slightly wobbling. Then another. He is now walking on the water. Isaac walks to meet him. They hug.
“So this is how big a mustard seed is.”, Ish says. He looks at the ball. He gets a mischievous grin on his face and snatches at the ball. Isaac pulls back in protest. Suddenly as if a trap doors has been released both boys splash into the water. Soon they come sloshing up onto shore. Their mother is not worried. When you try to walk on water all the time you become a good swimmer.
Ish had won the ball as they fell. He splashes his brother and throws him the ball.
A man in his early twenties comes walking up a near by road. He sees the children and smiles. He calls out to the mother.
“Baptism or Miracle?”
“Miracle.”
“Like Peter he…”
“…sunk like a rock.”, the mother finished.
“Better to walk in faith and fall down than to keep walking into walls like a blind man though you never fall. Believe!” said the man. “Eye hath not seen, nor ear heard, neither have entered into the heart of man, the things which God hath prepared for them that love him. Grace and peace.”
“Grace and peace.”, they all reply. The children begin to splash around realizing there is no reason to stay dry. The mother watches as the young man rounds the bend. A gray streak slithers across behind him. She is not fearful, but uneasy of the streak. She turns her attention back to the children.