I have a six-year-old lab who cannot swim. At least, he doesn't think he can. I take him to the lake and watch for hours as he frolics back and forth, just far enough to where he can barely touch the muddy lake bed with his paws, but no farther. My wish for him is the same wish I have for my children, and if I'm honest, myself. I want him to let go and enjoy his God-given abilities without fear.
Of course, I don't love him any less because he can't swim. I respect the boundaries to which he has tethered himself. And my time at the lake with him makes me reflect on my own perceived boundaries. My tendency to close when something scares me. And the knowledge that if I close to protect myself, I will never grow.
