The God of Surprise

​I blame the cold plunges on an old-fashioned case of FOMO, or fear of missing out. A year ago, my friends and I attended a New Year’s Day polar plunge into the lake. I watched from the shore as participants rushed in, then rushed out all shouts and smiles. 
 
Smiles. 
 
I remained snug in my coat, my mittens, and my hat, unchallenged and unchanged. 
​

Aly Prades

​The plungers emerged cold yet transformed. 
 
I wanted that, too. 
 
***
 
This New Year’s Day, I planned my exit strategy to a T. Bikini for easy removal. Two towels held up by my dad and husband so I could strip off the icy swimsuit. A quick towel dry and shuffle into a dry fleece shirt and snow pants. Shake the tiny pebbles from between my toes, then put on socks, rain boots. Parka over all of it for the walk back to the car.
 
I did not plan what to do when I hit the water. Tiny snowflakes fluttered by almost imperceptibly. Blink and you’d miss them. Lake water in the low 40s. Pine trees dusted with snow.
 
I gave a quick wave to my family and heard the countdown.
 
No time to think or second guess.
 
Three…two…one!
 
The whistle sounded and I shuffled and almost stumbled as I dove in. I didn’t register cold, just shock, transition. I had wanted to stay in longer, but the participants around me were already running back to shore.
 
I stood up and my hands burned, the air felt scalding, not cold.
 
But my breath didn’t catch. I was awake and alive.
 
I did the thing! I moved toward the discomfort on purpose! Quite literally plunged in and came out the other side.
 
Do I have the resolve to stay?
 
***
 
I’m a sucker for a tangible metaphor. My own mental health journey (and life!) requires sitting with discomfort. I wonder if cold plunging can help me strengthen my discomfort muscles. If I purposefully choose to move toward the hard, will I be more equipped to handle the hard I don’t get to choose? 
 
I return to the lake alone a few days later, determined to stay in the water for more than a few seconds. I know others who use the time in the water to focus on their breathing, to meditate, to pray. 
 
I pull up a poem I wrote on my phone, aptly titled, Tenacious Surrender. 
 
Sun bathes the beach with a glowy winter light that I am tempted to bat at like a cat. I shrug out of my coat and the icy wind blasts my bare skin.  I step slowly into the frigid water until I am up to my neck with only my mittened hands and face exposed. 
 
I read, 

“Waves batter against jagged rocks, eddy and swirl. Retreat. 
Convictions accuse my jagged soul, eddy and swirl. Repeat. 
Does the wave wish it were further along?
Does it desire an improved surface to break upon? 
More polished, refined?
Is the wave ever haunted with feeling behind? 
 
I crave a safe harbor for the lapping, lapping. 
Waves break. 
Dawn breaks. 
My hope aches, cracks open. 
A whooshing in my ears, a throb in my chest. 
I brace my feet against the emptiness. 
​

​Light waves lap against my chest as I bob in the water, living into my own words and imagery. 

I strain to see the signs of progress.
Glinting signposts in the storm.
I dream of stillness, water waveless.
To be a rock with edges smooth and worn.
I cling to a fantasy, stagnant, dormant.
Bristle at the call to be reborn. 
​

​The words and water wash over me like a prayer: 
​

These days, I seek re-vision, release resistance.
Compassion pulsing in the salty spray.
To feel with, unjudging, nudging welcome. 
A tenacious surrender to the relentless waves.
I tenderly cradle my jagged edges.
Become the safe harbor that I crave. 
​

​The skin on my stomach, my arms, my legs screams and prickles, while I turn my face to the sun and heat spreads across my cheeks. 
 
I am struck by the contrast: warmth and cold together. How I’m holding them both, 
Together. 
 
I think of how God has held me in my own journey of self-acceptance and becoming a safe harbor. Through the cold and warmth, the dark and light. How I’ve been writing poetry, but He’s been speaking through me. The journey to love myself has really just been a return to knowing who I’ve been all along: loved by God. 
 
I can’t help but laugh at the improbability of it all. Me, a San Diego girl. The girl who loves sunshine and palm trees, hot tubs, and the smell of sunscreen. 
 
Before we moved, God showed me a verse. 
​

​“See, I am doing a new thing!
    Now it springs up; do you not perceive it?
I am making a way in the wilderness
    and streams in the wasteland.” Isaiah 43:19

​​Never did I imagine I would willfully submerge in near-freezing water and experience peace. 
 
Experience God. 
 
Never did I imagine this wilderness would make me new.
 
 I think that’s the point. 
 
You see, God doesn’t make something new just once, but is continually making all things new. Expanding our views of love and life to the full. Even my tolerance for cold. Even my definition of prayer. 
 
God can use any unlikely event to point us back to his goodness. I’m curious, where have you been made new? How is God surprising you lately? 
 
In His Name, Aly