river

Vacationing with my mom, dad, and little sister in North Carolina’s Smoky Mountains in the summer of 1978, Dad rented a two person raft from a sketchy-looking hill dweller.  We put in at the upper landing on the Nantahala River.  Life vests secure, we pushed off the bank into the bold current that was slowly accelerating as the gate at the Fontana Damn was opened just enough to get her flowing and filled.  For an 8 year old boy, it was exhilarating to feel and hear the water and rocks passing under the raft, the cool misty fog hanging in the air just over the water, and the sunshine lighting it all up through the spaces between the tree branches in the canyon.  It was sublime.  I was watching a hawk swoop down across the water, banked hard downstream-ward, and lifted.  In that moment I felt myself lifted-up and over the gunnel as the raft smashed into a rock.  When I broke surface I couldn’t seem to get my feet in front of me, or under me.  My little sister floated serenely through my line of vision with little alarm.  But the sound coming from the still-pinned raft indicated excruciating panic-the mom.  I still couldn’t get my head up completely out of the water and turned to see Dad’s hand holding my foot.  Mom screaming from the boat, the battle with Dad, and my sister floating further downstream without a whimper-it was a hilariously harrowing episode for sure!

In January of 2020, life was going better for me than it ever had.  The nest was emptying of our messy little birds, my wife was enjoying the comradery and fellowship of her job.  I was trucking back and forth across the great American divide making more money than I ever had.  Time at home was fleet, but satisfying.  One day I was sitting in the cab of the Freightliner in the shadow of Mt. Hood, Oregon, watching two bald eagles scouting for fish in the Columbia River.  The rain had just dissipated and the first warm rays of the sun were cutting through the wisps of clouds still leaving.  It was sublime.  Three days later, as I pulled into Madison, WI, I learned what “shut-down” really meant!  There were riots in many towns. I had to change my route coming in because of rioters throwing cinder blocks off of interstate overpasses.  The mood had changed rapidly.  You couldn’t even walk into a store without a gestapo agent chasing you and demanding you put on a mask.  The raft had slammed into a rock, and I couldn’t seem to get my head above the turmoil.

I went over the events of the past ten years in my mind.  Mainstream news outlets had shown their despicable true colors dealing in the smoke and mirrors of corrupt politics.  Elected officials were not only NOT doing their job, but were making feeble excuses of why they had to go docilely along with policies completely opposite to their campaign platforms.  The solid future I had seen weeks earlier was flipped over and floating quickly downstream of certainty, and it all seemed to be slipping away. 

By early April, 2020, I had reached my limit on shut-downs, and mask “mandates,” and quarantining, and sheltering in place.  My son, one of his friends, and I loaded up the truck the 3^rd week in that month and headed for the obscurity of Angostura State Park near the Black Hills of South Dakota.  The park services were not open, and there was only one ranger anywhere around and only in the daytime, but camping was permitted.  So after we had set up camp and gathered enough driftwood to keep a fire going for several days, we settled down around that fire under a light snow, cracked a beer, and watched the stars peeking out from under the blanket of clouds on the western horizon.  The silence was greatly ameliorative, like strong medicine.  We talked, sipped, and puffed cigars in such a sublime tranquility I had not experienced since my summer in Alaska.

Drinking up the solemnity of that moment, I thought about the scene on the Nantahala in 1978.  I had to break away from Dad’s attempt at securing my safety so that I could at least breathe air and not river.  I finally got righted, put my feet out in front of me and scanned for a solid rock easy to climb on to.  As Mom continued her panicky, screeching commentary of this comedic unfolding of events, Dad saw a couple of canoes further downstream, and paddled toward my sister as I climbed out of the water onto a large, flat, steady rock.  After what seemed like an eternity (only about 2 minutes), Dad had reached my sister, and with the help of one of the canoeist, reached the opposite shore.  The other canoeist had to tack upstream to position his craft to float by the rock I was shivering on.  Finally, after Dad retrieved the raft and its remaining occupant, we all met on the bank.  My sister had made no shrieking, or protests, no alarm seemed to be with her.  I, on the other hand, was a mess.  Our hearts were racing with the adventure of it all, but still glad to know that this river trip would have to be completed at another time.  I have always been conflicted about that.

Sitting on that campsite bluff high over the north end of the lake, feeling the light snowflakes hitting my face, I thought about all the mishaps and adventures I have had on this river I had been riding for 50 years-at that point.  I began thinking of all who braved its dangers before me, my own father making only to the 31 year mark.  I thought of my grandparents, some of whom were blessed to see the third generation beyond them putting in for this wild ride.  I thought of teachers, pastors, friends, all braving the rapids and enjoying the serenity of the peaceful sections.  I thought of the struggles we all encounter, smashing into big rocks, getting flipped around, tossed out of the boat, beaten, frozen, and almost drowned by the currents we find ourselves in.  I thought of the foolish evil things men in power were trying to do to other men, without compassion and bent on destruction and power-grabbing.  The sorrows we have met, the elation, the mundane, all mingled together on this river of life.

In the days and nights I spent frolicking in that  South Dakota wilderness, I weighed the forces pressing on my heart.  In the silent, obscure beauty of that wild place I felt God whispering to me, “Don’t go dark on your Faith.  Don’t fade out…”  In my frustration of the current events, I had sort of gone dark on God.  I lifted my eyes to the Black Hills northward, and remembered Psalm 121.  In the midst of such troubling times, if there is not a rock to cling to, solid and immovable, we are in danger of being swept away and beat upon the currents and obstructions of these times.  The writer of Psalms knew where to look, to the north, to the hills, to a God Who loves us and more than anything wants us to cling to Him.  On these ripping currents he sends His canoeists, His angels to take charge in our dire situation, gliding smoothly over the wrenching waters.  Yahweh, our God is the solid rock, immovable, unchanging, and all-powerful.  We have to relinquish our plans, our idea of us in these times and scan the surface for the Rock and cling to it for our salvation.  We may well be battered, bruised, soaked, and shivering from the cold of loneliness and frustration, but if we can just cling to the Rock…

Several years later I went back and conquered that river.  I came to know every drop, every eddy, every hydraulic through the years as my family returned over and over for some adventure and the memory of that day when nothing went as planned.  Every time we return I am reminded of the only thing that does not change, where I can find sanity, safety,  and even tranquility in the midst of everything falling to pieces:  The Rock.

 “I will lift up mine eyes unto the hills from whence cometh my help.  My help cometh from the Lord, Who made heaven and earth.  He will not suffer your foot to be moved; He Who keeps you will not slumber. Behold He Who keeps Israel shall neither slumber nor sleep.  The Lord is your keeper.  The Lord is your shade at your right hand.  The sun shall not smite you by day, nor the moon by night.  The Lord shall preserve you from all evil; He shall preserve your soul.  The Lord shall preserve your going out and your coming in from this time forth, and even forevermore.”  Psalm 121