143-Just Calm Down; Calm Down...

“Oh man, I want to jump into that river right now…” Amari spoke for the whole crew as they gazed off the two-hundred foot cliff, down to the water that flowed and sparkled off the sunlight that baked us way too steadily for early April. 

“Soon.”  I replied, knowing the weight of that word had its own context that this group was not yet privy.  Soonin the wilderness could be a matter of hours, usually in the several-hour category; the kind of soon that would leave you hungry if you were awaiting fuel for your tired body.  We would be at that fresh, flowing river after we rappelled eight guys down a hundred-foot cliff, then hiked down the additional four hundred vertical feet to the waters edge.  From there we’d dodge the poison ivy-ridden user trail, load our gear into the van, drive a few miles down the gorge to jump rock, hike from the parking lot to the steep, sandy slope that so many deemed a river entrance, then get into the icy, spring water—soon.

Soon came several hours later as predicted.  Despite the sun settling into the tops of the hills that enclosed on us from all sides, the eight of us opted to take a quick dip just for the experience of it, if for nothing else.  Life jackets in, hand we marched down the well beaten path that paralleled the Red River twenty feet above its broad edges.  As jump rock came into view I knew what I had to do—keep everyone safe as this is not your local swimming pool.  “If you are not a strong swimmer you need to wear  a life jacket.  You will have to prove to me that you are a strong swimmer if you think you have this…”  Our first contestant was swimming to the opposite side of the river with one of our leaders.  He looked very confident and competent.  Still, I wanted to be in the water next to the jump site so I launched myself from the sand bar along the shore and into the cold water.  The instant shock that came from my skin retaliating my brain’s decision was expected from similar acts many times before—river bathing in November, polar plunges in a frozen Lake Huron, ocean swims in British Columbia—I knew what to expect.

Kyson jumped first.  This was not a timid hop off the fifteen- to twenty-foot-tall rock.  No, he set the bar high by doing a front flip, before plunging into the water and popping back to the surface like a bobber fastened to a freshly-cast fishing line.  Success.  As I made my way to the shore opposite the rest of the group, I observed Ty doing his own little bob in the water a few feet from the sand bar, life jacket pulling up on his armpits.  Next Amari, hopped into the water next to him—his head broke the water’s plane with a splash as he reached out for Ty to clasp onto his life jacket pulling him under.  Not the time to play around guys, knowing that they were good friends.  Wait, he’s in trouble.  Where’s his life jacket?  The next ten seconds felt like ten minutes as Chase (our standby lifeguard) jumped into the water fully clothed and pushed Amari toward the shore that was only a couple feet away.  The struggle was real.  Why is Amari fighting the help?  I found myself yelling, “Calm down!” from across the wide river, as if in his desperation for air he would use logic to aid his rescuer.  In a matter of seconds Amari, Ty and Chase were out of the water; cold but safe and sound.  No water inhaled, but the shock of the cold water combined with an unexpected depth created a panic situation in which Amari enacted in its full potential… textbook.

What’s not in textbooks these days are how you feel when you are the one standing shin-deep on the opposite side of the river, helplessly watching what could be a complete catastrophe.  We had a lifeguard standing by, but I don’t want to use the lifeguard!  Why did he not have a life jacket on?  Clearly he can’t swim… why would he just jump into the river with reckless abandon?  So many questions, so many “thank you’s” to God and to Chase.  I never want to experience this feeling again.  I hang kids off of cliffs for a living, and now I’m processing an emotion of sheer terror that I’ve never had before.  This was worse than the car accident this past winter because I knew that the damage was already done at that scene.  This, this was unfolding in front of my very eyes and I wanted to be in control—but I wasn’t.  I couldn’t be.  It was not my role at that moment.  So, now what?   Thank you Jesus for having my back for when I don’t have everything under complete control.  Could I have?  I don’t know, but help me to learn to not need my lifeguards, but completely and without fail lean into Your guidance and direction.  Thank you for Your control over this swim session.  I never want to go to jump rock again.  Amen.  Often times when I reach a “now what” moment, I pray.

Prayer can be a lot of things for a lot of people.  For me, it’s a conversation that I start when I wake up each day, then continue when I wake up the next.  Prayer is thankfulness for the breath that Amari and Ty are breathing today; for Chase volunteering his time and energy that weekend and for being our lifeguard; it’s praise for the beautiful gorge that was carved out by our Creator, leaving jump rock behind for us to play on.  It’s stillness, listening and unplugging from the busy.  It’s recognizing that we are not in control of everything.  Turning to God is not weakness, it’s honesty.  We cannot control everything in our lives—sometimes we might just be standing shin deep on the far shoreline, terrified… and that’s okay.  Sometimes.

-Matt