Art Reflecting Life: If the TV Stars Took the Plunge…

On a family road trip along I-75 from Detroit to Georgia, we stopped at a motel with a pool. I eagerly seized the opportunity to teach myself how to swim, inspired by the show.

I backed up to the fence, dashed forward, and leaped, my eyes catching the stark warning “Eight Feet” on the pool’s edge.

The next thing I recall is splashing into the deep, chlorinated waters, gasping for breath.

My father swiftly rescued me while my mother captured the moment on a Kodak camera, showing me in tears. This incident taught me a lifelong lesson: it’s okay to linger at the water's edge, but diving into the deep end is risky.

This experience likely shaped my career as a newspaper reporter, where I sought objectivity and balance, instead of leaning too heavily towards one perspective.

Trust and Belief: A Swimming Pool Analogy

Years later, I understand that all forms of trust, faith, and belief resemble a swimming pool.

Whether experiencing love, entering a business arrangement, committing to a faith, philosophy, career, or ideology, the dynamics can be compared to the choice between staying in the shallow or diving into the deep end:

• Most believers occupy the shallow end. While many engage in faith, the majority prefer to stay in the safe shallows, merely getting their feet wet. This lukewarm crowd tends to remain in the shallow end.
• A select few venture to the deep end. The courageous, adventurous, or perhaps reckless individuals dive into the depths, seeking a deeper understanding and becoming part of something greater.
• Skeptics linger outside. Non-believers and doubters often stay at the pool's edge, occasionally dipping their toes in, especially during significant times like holidays.

We all navigate different zones of this vast pool of belief, fluctuating between the secure shallow end, the daunting deep end, and the crowd outside the water.

Every relationship intensifies when we dare to dive deeper.

My Journey through the Waters of Belief: From Shallow to Deep

I was born in the now-demolished North Detroit General Hospital, just across from Hamtramck, Michigan—a small, vibrant Polish enclave within Detroit.

The modest homes built around World War I encircled a grand cathedral-like Catholic Church (established in 1912), St. Florian, which stands at 247 feet—taller than Notre Dame Cathedral in Paris.

Nowadays, Americans often view their homes as personal castles. In 1912, however, our Polish immigrant ancestors invested their resources into their church, making it the heart of their community. Families gathered around the church, which served as the epicenter of activity.

The sacrament of Baptism, particularly in such a magnificent parish, symbolized our immersion in faith—becoming “priest, prophet, and king,” a part of the larger Body of Christ.

As a child, one gazed at that Church and realized our smallness in the grand scheme of things.

Soon after my birth, I was baptized—submerged into the waters of Catholicism at St. Florian. It felt as though the church was built for divine purpose.

By first grade, my family had moved to the suburbs, attending a newer parish that resembled a concert venue. Everything changed in the tumultuous 1970s. While we remained Catholic, our engagement became more casual—merely dipping our toes into the water.

We stayed in the shallow end except during challenging times, when we sought something more profound, such as special prayers or novenas for particular graces.

A Higher Power Draws You into the Deep End

By 2010, my wife and I were leading a University of Michigan trip to Poland. I had a strong sense that something significant awaited us in the Old World—a feeling I refer to as the Voice, while business leaders might call it “flow,” and Christians recognize it as the Holy Spirit.

Just days before our trip, I attended the Mackinac Policy Conference, where former U.S. Speaker Newt Gingrich mentioned, “My wife and I are going to Krakow Sunday.”

I felt a surge of excitement, realizing that my wife and I were also headed there.

A friend, firm in his beliefs about divine plans, suggested, “Perhaps you’re meant to meet him.” While it seemed improbable since our flights would be different, we indeed encountered Mr. and Mrs. Gingrich.

We happened to be seated in the front of the economy section on the flight from Frankfurt to Krakow, while they were at the back of first-class. In disbelief, I called out, “Newt!”

We engaged with the former Speaker of the House and his wife Calista, who would later become the U.S. Ambassador to the Vatican.

They invited us to the premiere of their film, “Nine Days That Changed the World,” chronicling St. John Paul’s 1979 visit to Poland.

Uncertain of our destination, we followed directions and found ourselves at the Sanctuary of Divine Mercy, the resting place of St. Faustina, the first saint canonized in the new millennium.

I sensed something significant was unfolding, pulling me deeper into the waters of Catholicism. Yet, instead of rushing in, I gradually ventured deeper, slowly immersing myself over the years.

No dramatic dives like those in “Hawaii Five-O”—just a gentle float, allowing the current to guide me.