...for dear life.

I’ve had a reoccurring nightmare for the last 14 years, and last night, it re-occurred again (yes, I realize that statement was redundant.). It’s always about the same terrifying event that my family lived though in July of 1995. But last night, G-d used that terrifying nightmare to show me something INCREDIBLE. I’d like to share it with you:

It was a beautiful and unseasonably warm July day in Buena Vista, Colorado. I was 10 years and 10 days old—exactly 10 days beyond the minimum age requirement for whitewater rafting. Katie and Holly (8yrs and 4yrs) were staying back at the cabin with a babysitter, while Dad, Mom, Bobby, and I were going rafting!

We opted for the half-day trip down the river, and were promptly stuffed into full-body wetsuits: full wetsuit, wetsuit jacket, and booties. And aside from just that, I was proudly sporting my brand new purple and green Focus On The Family hat, from our trip to Colorado Springs the day before. I was ready to hit the water, my body protected 100% by slick black neoprene, my head protected by James Dobson himself.

We were given a LONG safety lecture—what to do if you get bumped out, how to grab onto the rope-in-a-bag (grab the rope, not the bag!), how to steer yourself down the river in the event that you would need to navigate the rapids without the raft, and how (though they assured us this would never happen) to escape from beneath an overturned raft. I listened as intently as any 5^th grader does (though I was secretly deciding which guide I thought was cuter), and we headed for the river.

Our river guide, Darren (unfortunately, the less cute of the two), guided year-around, going between Colorado in the summer, and Central America in the winter. He was good. In his 8-year career, he had only ever flipped twice, and NEVER on the Colorado River. He told us that the river was running especially fast that day—at 6,000 cubic meters/second—so it was going to be a swift and exciting ride! The temperature was also dangerously low due to the large amounts of melting mountain snow, and the river was running extremely high, due to a reservoir of water that had been released that morning. I know what you’re thinking: This is a recipe for disaster! Well, friend, read on.

For the first 45 minutes we admired the sites, and it took but a few splashes to convince us that the water was WAY to cold to take a swim—we’d be staying in the raft! We entered our first two rapids: Screen Door and Storm Door. These were low-level rapids that led into the highest-level rapid of the river, the Pinball. Darren had to navigate the first two in such a way to make sure we entered the Pinball at precisely the right angle. It was thrilling and terrifying and freezing and probably screaming my head off, and Bobby and I were loving it! And then, as we entered the Pinball, Darren yelled, “This is where I make my money!” 

That’s the last clear memory I have until about 20 minutes later.

Our raft flipped violently heels over head, sending Larry and Janice, our backseat rafters, flying hrough the air and down the river along with Darren. My parents were sitting on the edges in the front, and were both thrown to their respective sides—Mom to the right, Dad to the left. The raft splashed down between them, and Bobby and I were forced underneath. I didn’t know what was happening until I was underwater, my back up against the raft above me. I pushed and fought my way up, and surfaced in the center section of the raft, where Darren’s feet had been but a minute before. Thankfully, Bobby escaped the underneath of the raft—I never even saw him—and I was alone in complete darkness. For the first time in my 10 years and 10 days, I thought—I knew—that I was going to die. And I was terrified. I screamed at the top of my lungs to God, telling him that I was not ready to die, that I didn’t want to die, that He couldn’t let me die yet. I pounded at the bottom of the raft, above my head, yelling for my parents. I tried time and time again to escape my dark trap, but failed each time. I prayed and screamed and sobbed out loud when I had air, and when the river filled my small air-pocket, I prayed and screamed and sobbed into the murky, cold water. Though the combination of pure adrenaline and freezing temperatures kept me from feeling much pain, my body slammed against the seemingly endless boulders beneath the river’s surface. My stubborn will to live joined forces with my lifejacket and together we fought SO hard against the death that I knew was imminent. I had never been that terrified in my life, and have never been again in the 14 years since that day.

With the help of the safety-kayaker, our guide Darren, and the only other raft on the river with us (the one with the cute guide), the riders who had been thrown into the river were slowly snatched up and hauled onto the slick underside of the raft. Right on top of me. Eventually, they all made it up safely and clung to each other for dear life. For dear life. I could hear my mom crying my name, “Jillanny! Jillanny!” with a voice I’d never heard her use before, and have never heard her use again. I cried with her as I listened to her pleading with G-d on my behalf. I heard my dad screaming, “Where’s my daughter?! Where’s my daugher?! I can’t find my daughter!” and in my chest I could feel the panic and terror that I heard in his voice. It’s those voices that, to this day, wake me from my sleep in a cold sweat.

Finally, long after James Dobson had been washed from my head and down the powerful river, someone heard me shouting from under the raft, and every free hand above me was commissioned to reach beneath and search. I found a hand and held on for dear life. This hand hauled me out of the darkness and toward the marvelous light that waited. I was finally out from underneath and on my way up! But as quickly as I had been pulled out, I came to a halting stop and could go no further. Still underwater, my panicked blue eyes darted everywhere, searching for whatever it was that kept me from the air above. Though six inches of muddy water separated us, my eyes found my father’s gentle, terrified, determined blue eyes staring down at me, saying, “It’s alright, kiddo. I found you. I’ve got you now. You're in my hands. I won’t let anything else happen to you.”

I was abruptly returned to my dark prison and struggled against the bonds I now knew tethered me to the darkness, away from my father’s waiting arms. While we were flipping, the straps of my lifejacket became entangled with the joint that held the oar to the raft, trapping me beneath. Darren pulled a knife from his lifejacket and jumped into the water to cut me free, while my dad and Larry grabbed my arms and pulled with the force and adrenaline felt only by a parent when his child is in trouble. And his sheer determination was enough. I came free—out of the darkness, into the marvelous light. I was tucked into the arms of my father, who had searched for me, who had called my name, who had fought for me and cried for me and pursued my life until he held me safe in his arms, where I feared nothing. My strongest advocate had pulled me from the darkness and death that entrapped me, breaking away that which held me down and hurling me forward into the safety of the awaiting light.

I was thrown, along with Bobby, into the second raft, while my parents went with Darren to flip our raft right-side up. We made it to the riverbank soaked in muddy water and each others’ tears, but we were safe. We had to hike out of the canyon to meet the vehicles sent to take us back to the company’s home base. Following our accident, authorities recognized the unsafe conditions and the river was closed down for the rest of the day. We later learned the less than 24 hours earlier, a 45-year-old man had been killed on the Pinball.

Did you catch that imagery? God, our Father, the Creator of the universe, pulls us from the death and darkness that holds us captive—that holds me captive. And yet, we let it hold us prisoner, and even hold onto it ourselves. I have a death grip on darkness. He pulls me out, but there is still 6 inches of dirty, threatening water between Him and me—I can see Him and he can see me, and we can both see everything between us; everything that I let come between me and God is floating around in those six inches of mucky water between me and the welcoming arms of my Father. And yet, though I can clearly see Him, I am stuck in my ways; I am stuck in death. But with only the strength and determination felt by a Father when he knows his child in trouble, G-d pulls and pursues and beckons and pulls and pursues and beckons, and I finally let go and sail into my Father’s waiting arms. I let go of my death grip on darkness and hold onto my Father for dear life. And you?  He calls to you and weeps for you and beckons you and pursues you…His arms are wide open and waiting.

Not only did I live past 10 years and 10 days, but I’m 24 and basking everyday in the marvelous light of my strongest advocate and the pursuer of my soul, clinging to Him for dear life.

"But you are a chosen people, a royal priesthood, a holy nation,

a people belonging to God, that you may declare the praises of Him who

called you out of darkness into His marvelous light."

2 Pt. 2:9