When my children were young, we had a swimming pool at our home. Each day began with me standing in the center of the pool and helping each child take turns climbing onto my shoulders. They reached down, and I reached up to hold their hands until they could find their balance and steady their wobbly legs. Then came the moment when they slowly let go of my hands and stood on their own, triumphant and joyous, atop my shoulders. Eventually, they either lost their balance or intentionally jumped into the pool, laughing, until they went under water and emerged, smiling, and wanting to do it over again.
Many years have passed and recently, after taking a dip in the pool of a hotel in Santa Cruz, California; I put on a robe and sat on a chaise lounge chair as my son ~ who once stood on my shoulders ~ stood in the center of the pool and helped each of my grandchildren, one by one by one, climb onto his shoulders, as he reached up to hold their hands until they could find their balance and steady their wobbly legs. Then came their moment of triumph and joy when they let go of his hands and stood on their own atop his young, strong shoulders until they either lost their balance or intentionally jumped into the pool, laughing, until they went under water and emerged, smiling and wanting to do it over again.
From a chaise lounge chair at the edge of a pool, I watched my son and grandchildren and listened to the sounds of water and children’s voices as I contemplated all the shoulders I have stood upon in my life.
My own parents, unfortunately, were wobbly with alcoholism and defeat. They were too unbalanced for me to feel safe enough to stand on their shoulders while trying to find my own balance. That too was a lesson, albeit not one that was delivered in a way of learning that I would choose. I learned from them that some shoulders are simply not steady and reliable enough to be stood upon.
But there were other people better able to bear the shifting weight of my youth until I could find a place to stand and let go of their guiding hand. I stand on the shoulders of poets and musicians who showed me that joy and beauty were effective responses to adversity; and that creativity is a certain path to follow in times of uncertainty.
I stand on the shoulders of a teacher in my very distant youth who believed in me before I believed in myself. She saw something in me that I was too young and broken to see ~ but I sensed her sensing some strength or other gift in me that gave me hope that I would persevere and thrive.
I stand on the shoulders of many people who refused to give up despite much pressure to do so; and on the shoulders of many others who refuse to fight despite much pressure to do so, and who teach me time and again that victory can sometimes come through surrender.
I stand on the shoulders of people such as John Lennon who was strong enough to admit weakness; and audacious enough to begin a song with a very loud and public plea for, “Help!” My second book is dedicated to Mr. Lennon who is, next to Jesus, my favorite wounded healer. I used the royalties from that book to purchase a piece of his art: a serigraph from his Bag One series. It seems about once a month that I climb back up upon his shoulders and find courage to carry on.
I stand on the shoulders of two alcoholic men who co-founded a pathway for recovery from the ravages of addiction ~ the same plague that took down my father and mother and then almost took me down. I stand on the shoulders of the millions of women and men who, like me, are in long-term remission. They showed me ~ through their experience, strength and hope ~ that it is through our wounds that we are healed.
I stand on the shoulders of God, often with wobbly legs, and have been for my entire life ~ a God who took me from belief that the world is an unsafe place populated by people who cannot be trusted ~ to belief that the world is basically an awe-filled plane of existence populated by people who are also seeking joy and balance as we strive to create loving communities of help and healing in a wounded, yet wonderful world. Theirs are the shoulders I stand upon.
I stand on the shoulders of those before whom I kneeled as they laid hands upon me and ordained me as a minister in the United Church of Christ. I stand on the shoulders of the 31 previous and consecutive men and women pastors of the church I presently serve ~ to whom I frequently speak out loud as I wander through the twilight-infused sanctuary when all but the spirits of ancestors have gone home. On their shoulders stand, seeking counsel, and ask them, “What do I do now? What did you do then?”
I stand on the shoulders of time, reaching up to hold the hands of eternity until I find my balance, steady my wobbly legs, stand for a brief moment of triumph and joy ~ then let go and fall or intentionally jump into pools of traditions and transitions.
All these years. All these children. All these saints. All these ancestors. All these pools in which I have been cooled, cleansed, quenched and baptized. Their feet touch the earth, and my feet touch their shoulders. I stand on the shoulders of giants and to them I am eternally grateful. In so doing, I feel more alive now than ever.
Dwight Lee Wolter is pastor of the Congregational Church of Patchogue on Long Island and author of several books. He blogs at dwightleewolter.com
