I was about four when we discovered my aversion to water.

During swim lessons, my mother would watch from the side as I splashed around in my yellow floaties amidst other pre-kindergarteners. When we’d sing “Ring Around the Rosie” and come to the “all fall down” part, all the other kids went under while I stood on my tippie toes, face scrunched to keep as dry as possible.

They tried bribing me to put my face in, but I refused. Fruit snacks weren’t worth the burning eyes and chlorine burps.

Years later, in the eight-year-old classes, one of our tests was the diving board—my worst fear. It’s noisy, slippery, and they always warn you about cracking your head open if you fall off wrong. I wondered why anyone would use it in the first place.

My skepticism was soon confirmed. During my turn, I inched to the edge and stood for about fifteen minutes, debating between falling in or turning back. When I realized that failing the class meant another year of water torture, I wobbled off the board, face up and arms splayed in an awkward attempt to minimize the impact. All I did was a painful belly flop, and I never touched a diving board again.

Since then, I’ve been to numerous pools, but I’m always first to sneak out to the hot tub. It’s not that I mind getting my hair wet, and I don’t fear drowning (though I’ve often used these excuses)—it’s a matter of comfort. I don’t like getting my face wet, so why should I have to?

But sometimes you can’t avoid what you don’t like.

The day I came to Christ, I had to face a lot of things I didn’t like. My selfishness, my pride, a life lived in complete self-centeredness. When it came to getting baptized, I noticed that I actually looked forward to going under water, and this stark change in my feelings about being dunked made me realize something.

My relationship toward something as simple as water had only ever been one of animosity. After fighting it for the majority of my life, the only thing I learned after all those lessons was how to put my energy into avoiding what I don’t like.

The same can be said of how I had felt toward Christ. I never saw how a man on a cross would be of any value to me, and surrendering to it seemed ridiculous. Who wants to face all the disgusting issues hidden in the cracks of your life?

But when God’s truth hit me, I couldn’t deny his gift and the fact that he had only ever wanted what was best for me. Repentance is painful, but nothing felt sweeter than giving God control.

So my baptism day came and under I went. And when I was lifted out, water went up my nose and my eyes burned and I’m sure it didn’t feel good. But I don’t really remember, because I wasn’t thinking about the water. I do clearly remember looking up through my blurred vision and seeing the big wooden cross hanging on the wall of my church.

Sometimes you can’t avoid what you don’t like. But I’ve learned a lot more from surrendering my comfort than from squeezing my eyes shut and hoping I won’t get wet.