Jake and The
Whitewater
This blog post is dedicated to Jake
Malone, a double black diamond ski dude, who well knew Jesus trumped the
highest of mountains and the roughest of rapids.
About thirty two years ago, John and I went on one of our
first “dates” together, on a whitewater rafting trip. This trip was through my
church at the time. Jake Malone organized the trip. I don’t really remember
when I first met Jake. I just knew him – a big man with a big voice and a big
heart- knowledge about God’s love. Jake ultimately went on to get his PhD in
seminary. John and I ultimately went on to get married.
So it’s fitting that I write this
post today, because at approximately 12:30am today, Jake went Home. And my post
today is about whitewater. Of course it’s about whitewater. Our middle daughter
is engaged to a wonderful young man, who, in his spare time, river guides down
the Chatooga. Suddently, whitewater returns to our lives. (Hey Jake, are you
listening?!)
On a beautiful Sunday in July, we
ventured down Section III of the Chatooga River, with three daughters, one
son-in-law, one future son-in-law, and one friend. As we were a crowd, my
husband and I split off from our group and joined another raft. In addition to
us and the guide, our raft group consisted of a father-son team and a young
couple. The father-son team manned the front of our raft. The son had earned
this trip as his 14th birthday present. It was his first experience
of this kind. The couple was young, and immediately indicated this outing was
somewhat of a venture beyond their comfort zone. When she paddled forward as
the raft guide yelled “paddle backward”, this was somewhat confirmed. John and
I brought up the rear of the crew, with the guide behind us. The team looked
dubious to me.
As we approached the first or second
rapid, enthusiasm ran high. That is, until the raft guide pitched forward and
an uncontrolled domino effect followed. The entire maneuver is somewhat murky
as I was the second domino to fall. As my head popped back above water, my mind
screamed about 6 things at once, “Point your feet downstream! Keep your feet
up! On your back! Move toward the raft! You’re drowning!” and maybe “It was a
good life!” Eventually those of us that took in the drink were hauled back
aboard, invigorated.
On the next rapid, we were
instructed by our trusty guide to follow his instructions carefully. Very
carefully. I’m sure the words “Very Important” came out of his mouth. As in “do
what I say.” I was pumped to comply. The paddle forward/backward girl was
somewhat pumped to comply. The father-son duo were shaken, but game. The guide
patiently explained that on the next rapid, there would come a moment when we would want to stop paddling out of
fear, but it was at that precise moment when he would screamingly ask us to
paddle. Ignore the fear, he said. It is important to paddle at that moment, he
said. You are safe, if you paddle, he said.
And so that moment came. I do not
know what happened. I paddled. When he bellowed, I put my back into it and
paddled. That’s what I did. However, something didn’t go quite right. While we
did not again drink the water, we did bump and rebound off a rock. During the
rebound, I caught a distinct vibe that perhaps we were not meant to hit that
rock. As the water calmed down, our ever-so-patient guide said ever so
patiently to Paddle Forward/Backward Girl: “Sweetheart, when I say paddle
backward, you must paddle backward, not forward.” To the shaky duo in the
front, he proffered, “There is a time to drop inside the boat for safety. And
there is a time to paddle. And when I say paddle, it’s time to paddle, not drop
inside the boat for safety.” For the record, the guide said this, beautifully
walking the line between guidance and correction, a feat much admired by me at
the moment.
Later, on the river, I saw what you
may have already seen. Forgive me if I didn’t see it then, because I was too
busy paddling. But while I am no expert, I am aware of certain things on
rivers. I know there are currents, and there are currents beneath the currents.
I don’t know all the cool lingo that these things are called, but I know they
are there. And I know that people have died on this river. I know that there
are rocks that will whap you, breaking your neck, even, and currents that will
take you down and hold you under, pinned for eternity. And I know that the
guide knows all of this information. That’s why I paddled when he said paddle. The
others? I think they saw white water and they freaked. Paddling to them did not
appear to be the smart, safe, expedient thing to do. Except it was. It was the
smart, safe, expedient thing to do: to listen to the guide and follow him.
And there’s the analogy that I
couldn’t see until I relaxed a bit. Sometimes, with our Guide, we don’t want to
listen. Everything in us screams one thing, while He’s saying another. But we
don’t know what’s underneath those rocks. We don’t know those currents. We
don’t have the first clue as to how close we are to death, figuratively or
otherwise. We just have to trust that He knows; and that when He says “Paddle,”
we paddle with our utmost. We put our back into it, and we paddle in whatever
direction He tells us. He knows the currents. He knows the dangers, and He
knows we are shaking and want to drop back in the boat. But the boat is not the
true safety. He is. We don’t go off and do our own thing and we don’t quit. We
keep on paddling…whichever dang way He tells us to paddle. Listen and follow
The Guide.
Isaiah
43:2 – “When you pass through the waters, I will be with you; and when you pass
through the rivers, they will not sweep over you.”
