Cade Weaver and the Weight of Water
Caught between her church’s expectations and her own anxieties, a nine-year-old’s journey from the community pool to the baptismal font becomes a quiet search for belonging in a world that promises salvation but delivers uncertainty.
Baptism story. Expectations church. Jean Dowdy
The baptismal pool of the Balm of Gilead Baptist Church looms large behind the pulpit platform. Above the pool, a stained-glass window radiates the morning: John the Baptist and Jesus of Nazareth, waist-deep in the River Jordan, under the watchful benediction of a descending dove.
Three steps at each narrow end to enter, then exit, the pool. Three steps down into the shimmery font and the welcoming arms of a pastor with a kindly face. An invocation, a full-body immersion, then—hallelujah! —resurrection into the world and the assurance of heavenly reward. Nothing could be simpler.
Unless, of course, you happen to be Cade Weaver, a nine-year-old girl for whom nothing is simple. Cade stands sixth in a line of kindred souls awaiting baptism and is suddenly questioning her decision to become Washed in the Blood of the Lamb. Though a decent enough swimmer, the girl also suffers a crippling phobia of any headfirst plunge into water. This fear had twice this summer cost her the Total Swimmers Certificate at the community pool because it required a freestyle swim the length of the pool, which had to begin with a dive into the water.
Baptism story. Expectations church. Jean Dowdy
Cade winces at the recollection of that double shame. She has since spent countless fraught attempts at “self-immersion”—nose pinched and eyes squeezed shut—in the bathtub at home, in preparation for her baptism.
Cade twists her hands into the front of her baptismal robe. She worries—for surely the hundredth time—that, once dunked, this garment will float up immodestly over her waist, in full view of the congregation. She is wearing a bathing suit under the gown, but still. Cade glances out into the sanctuary and sees her family in the front pew. Her father’s expression is implacable, as usual; her fourteen-year-old brother stifles a yawn. Her Bible-obsessed mother’s smile is harder to read. None of these eases the girl’s agitation as she reflects on the events leading to this moment.
With a lifelong collection of evangelical Summer Revival meetings already under her belt, Cade had approached last month’s gathering with a fresh and terrifying obsession with the Book of Revelation. If The End was truly at hand, she figured, she’d best be prepared. Recalcitrant by nature, she wasn’t entirely convinced she’d yet amassed enough sin to require actual atonement, no matter what her know-it-all brother maintained. But if Dedicating Her Life to Christ was what it would take to prepare for the Final Days, so be it. Anything to hold this new apocalyptic dread at bay. And so, when a sudden crack of thunderstorm lit up the altar call that last day of the revival, Cade Weaver deemed it a sure sign from Above—and leapt forward like a bolt of lightning.
Screaming is entirely possible, given her phobia and the immediacy of this point of no return. The small voice inside her head pipes up: What in the world are you thinking, Cade? There’s no way you’re ready for this.
The reluctant girl inches closer to the pool. A pair of teenage sisters in front of her are easing, amoeba-like, down the steps and into the receiving arms of the pastor and assistant deacon. Cade watches with rising apprehension as the men drape a supporting arm behind each charge. A cloth-covered hand gently covers each mouth and nose to prevent aspiration. Or screaming, Cade guesses as the sisters disappear underwater. Screaming is entirely possible in Cade’s case, given her phobia and the immediacy of this point of no return. The small voice inside her head pipes up: What in the world are you thinking, Cade? There’s no way you’re ready for this. Pulse quickening, Cade concentrates on the scene before her. The sisters reemerge as dripping angels, fresh from heavenly waters. Their beatific smiles turn toward the sunbeams that just now gleam through John the Baptist’s halo. The older girl weeps unabashedly, and the pastor steadies his arms around the two and smiles down his blessing. The congregation bursts into applause—and the deacon guides the young women to the exit steps.
The pastor turns to Cade and smiles, kindlier than usual. He beckons her forward. And Cade, stomach dropping to her feet, gathers the robe to her knees, takes the deacon’s hand and steps into the water. She faces the pastor and closes her eyes.
“Please,” she whispers. “Please, just make it quick.”
Quickly, he begins. The pastor’s left hand supports the back of Cade’s neck, the other presses lightly over her mouth. “Repent and be baptized in the name of Jesus Christ for the remission of sins,” he intones, “and ye shall receive the gift of the Holy Ghost.”
Water roars into Cade’s ears. Her eyes fly open in panic. The pastor’s kind face shimmers down benignly through the wobbly lens of baptismal water. Anchored by his reassuring gaze, Cade feels herself, and time, fall still. She relaxes into the cloak of warm water, arms crossed over her chest. Any prior fear of the robe’s indecent flotation is now forgotten. She could just make out the organ’s warbled “Jesus, I My Cross Have Taken”...all to leave and follow Thee / Destitute, despised, forsaken, Thou, from hence, my all shalt be.
I wish I could just stay right here, Cade thinks. Forever. Closing her eyes, she surrenders to the comforting warmth. The enormity of having to...perish every fond ambition, all I’ve sought, and hoped, and known...has yet to dawn.
Sudden levitation through a rush of water, hair swirling across her face and shoulders. Cade gasps as she is pulled to her feet to face the congregation’s ovation.
“Well done, Cade,” the pastor murmurs. The girl blinks in confusion. But wait: Now what is she supposed to do? The pastor has already directed his attention to the next in line. She stands awkwardly, arms dripping at her sides, and slowly focuses on her family. Her mother rises from the pew to head toward the baptismal pool, and Cade sees a small look of triumph slip across that righteous face.
The deacon taps her shoulder, steers her towards the exit stairs. She clutches the gown away from her legs and carefully climbs the steps. Her mother takes a proffered towel and wraps it tightly around her. And leaning down to kiss her daughter’s wet head, hugs a little too hard. “Good job, Cade,” she says. “Jesus and I couldn’t be prouder of you.”
The girl can’t imagine why. Her back prickles against the lye-soaped roughness of the towel. She looks to the altar cross for any forthcoming guidance. But despite all the hoopla and the pastor’s kindness, Cade feels no different than when she woke up this morning. Where is the ecstasy, she wonders, the jubilation? Where are the Jesus rays showering down from On High? Why does she feel no reassurance of finally being safe and free from sin, after all this? Is there something wrong with her? Cade can’t remember what she expected to feel just now, but she feels...nothing.
For the sake of appearances, she squeezes her eyes tight and tries to think of something tragic or scary that might prompt weeping. Neither images of sinners wailing and writhing against the fiery backdrop of Armageddon nor thoughts of families ripped asunder by The Rapture can summon a single tear.
In this sudden silence, it’s not so much how peaceful the water now appears; rather, its promise of warm benediction slowly pulls the girl’s arms above her head. Hope shall change to glad fruition, that small voice now whispers.
Cade opens her eyes. Well, she thinks, at least I didn’t drown in front of God and everybody. Or embarrass myself by thrashing around like a catfish. That’s something to be thankful for, I guess.
And, shivering, the girl turns with her mother toward the women’s changing room.
Three weeks later, Cade is standing at the end of the low diving board at the community pool. She slowly shifts from foot to foot and considers this final hurdle of her swimming test. This will be her third attempt to nail the dive and finally earn that coveted Certificate. Her swim instructor—after the last failed efforts—doesn’t appear too hopeful.
“Just go ahead and jump, Cade,” the instructor calls out, though not unkindly—to the general hilarity of the small crowd of Junior Swimmers. “There’s no need for you to torture yourself. Again.”
Cade grits her teeth and steels herself against the catcalls that will, as usual, accompany her resigned step off the board. But this time, something stays her feet. She leans forward slightly and gazes into the clear blue below. All backfield chatter stills, the world falls away. And—in this sudden silence—it’s not so much how peaceful the water now appears; rather its promise of warm benediction that slowly pulls the girl’s arms above her head. Hope shall change to glad fruition, that small voice now whispers. Faith to sight and prayer to praise. Unbidden tears swell, then seep down her cheeks. She lengthens ever so balletically—and, instead of simply stepping off the board, she springs upward. Head steady between her arms, right hand firmly atop the left, the girl arcs downward. She enters the water cleanly, toes pointed, with barely a splash.
A dive as pure as prayer.
Jean K. Dowdy is a hopefully soon-to-be-retiring horticulturalist who lives in the relative wilds of northeast Florida. Aside from gardening columns featured in local periodicals over the years, her work may be found or is forthcoming in Oberon Poetry Magazine, SWWIM Every Day, The Louisville Review, and Appalachian Journal.
