Angel to the Rescue!

January 18, 2015

I didn't drown. That's about all I know about it, even after all the intervening years. I was about six years old, perhaps seven. Every summer, we went camping as a family. For years, we landed at Golden Lake campground in the Adirondacks. To a young boy, they were glorious weeks spent fishing, swimming, staying up late for campfires in the evening, and the occasional foray to surrounding tourist attractions like the North Pole. For anyone unacquainted with the Adirondacks, there really is a North Pole, NY, replete with Santa, elves, and a genuine refrigerated North Pole; to a kid, it is as close to heaven on earth as you'll find. After a few years of the Adirondacks, we decided to try Canada, which is where my adventure took place.

We were camped with my cousins and some of my folks' friends from work at Silver Lake, somewhere near Perth, if my memory serves me well. In reality, my memory hasn't been serving me well for quite some time; when it should have been hard at work, it was sneaking smoke breaks out back, snoozing in the break room, or cavorting with those ne'er-do-wells down the street. I should have fired him long ago, except I can't seem to find anyone else willing to take on the job. The campsite was situated on the shores of a small cove in the lake, which is where it all happened.

The adults were all out in deeper water swimming or floating around on air mattresses, having such a good time that I figured I should join them. I could barely dog paddle, and certainly wasn't up to stroking my way out to where they were, what seemed like a hundred yards or more to my six year old mind. So I grabbed an air mattress out of one of the tents, hopped on, and started paddling my way out to where they were. For awhile, all went pretty well. If I leaned just a bit and looked over the side of the air mattress, I could see the sticks and weeds on the muddy bottom as I paddled. "Just a bit" quickly turned into "just a bit too much," as I tumbled off the air mattress into the water that was now over my head. The adults were too far out to even notice, and I was thrashing around in a panic, not getting anywhere. Next thing I know, I'm standing on the shore, not knowing how I got there. The adults were still out in the bay. I don't know where the other kids were, but they weren't nearby. To this day, the only explanation I can figure out is that one of God's angels grabbed me, yanked me out of the water, and plopped me down on shore. What I do know is that I didn't swim my way back. I don't know why I happened to think of this story tonight, but I am grateful for Divine intervention, however it comes. I've had nearly sixty years to remember that day, and to live in gratitude for salvation, and it never grows stale.