When I was young I used to tag along with my older sisters Girl Scout troop on their many camping and canoeing adventures. I am not sure why I was allowed to tag along, but I remember each of those trips like it was yesterday. The baggy maroon colored sweat shirt I wore, my mom “putting on her face” by the light of the morning sun, watching my sisters and their friends try to curl their hair in the bumper of a car (to impress the nearby Boy Scouts of course), the taste of my first “Score” candy bar that I bought with my own money from the campground “store”. But those are not the reasons I remember those trips so well. It was because I got to tag along with my two older sisters. And the best part of course was that they let me. They invited me in to their world. And that felt like heaven.

It was a few years before my love of those trips ended, but I will never forget the day it did. It was a beautiful sunny day up in the mountains. The smell of redwoods filling every breath. We were headed on another canoe trip, paddling several miles down a large and torrent river. I loved these trips. I, being a fresh little chicken at the age of 8 or 9, got to sit in the front and “paddle” while my older comrades in the back and middle of the boat did all the navigating and propelling of the boat. It was the best of all worlds. I truly thought I was helping that boat along, but when the white rapids approached I got to put my paddle in the boat and just hold on, feeling my heart leap into my throat and giggling and screaming with glee the whole way. This day was different though. Instead of being paired with some of the best oars women, I got paired with an older and heavyset woman who had never been in a canoe before. My mom stroked me with words of confidence of what an accomplished oars woman I had become. But my gut churned.

The river was beautiful. The sun dancing on it in all it’s glory.  The birds chirping and flying above.  My heart slowed and my gut stopped churning.  The girls had started a splashing war and the giggles echoed through the mountains.  I felt peace. 

A lot of the details of what happened next are a blurr to me.  All I know is that suddenly we headed toward the bank of the river and a large branch came right for our heads.  This is a common event with immature paddlers, and usually nothing to fear.  You just duck from that tree and navigate your way back to the river.  On that day I ducked but my canoeing partner leaned. 

I felt the boat go to the side and the water come rushing over my head.  Everything went black.  I heard my mom’s words in my head.  “Don’t panic.  Just put your feet down river”  Through a small miracle I found down river and pointed my feet in that direction.  My head surfaced.  But my fear did not subside.  I saw the rapids ahead of me, my oar, my bag, my lunch all getting thrashed on the rocks ahead.  I was certain death lied ahead for me.  Or at least some broken limbs.  The river tossed me side to side.  The water didn’t seem to notice my presence, just like one of the many leaves or twigs that got engulfed and mangled.

Many days I feel like  life is like that river.  Sweeping me along, thrashing me side to side and sometimes I feel mangled at the end of the day.  Some days my head goes under the water and I wonder when it will surface.  I travel so far down the river and I have no idea how I have gotten there.  I am sure that I passed many things on the river bank, but I have no idea what I missed since my head was under the water for most of the journey.  Some days I feel the thrill of the rapids.  Some days I feel engulfed by them.  Many days I hear my mom’s guiding words in my head, “Don’t panic, just put your feet down river”.  I try to find peace in the midst of the current and by a small miracle I get my feet under me.

 Today was a day that I woke up and I saw the river from the bank.  I got to stand back and really look at it and see all it’s beauty.  Instead of feeling the roaring rapids take me away and engulf me, I got to watch them from afar and revel in their majesty.  The river, even at it’s most chaotic parts, is truly beautiful. 

I thank God for creating the river and letting me ride down it.

A moment from our recent vacation to Hume Lake