I Knew He'd Come For Me!

A Rescue to Remember

I’ve been blogging at Perils & Pearls for over 3 years now, and the post that has received the most views and engagements is still  It Was a River Rescue to Remember. (That photo is the title image on that post. And that’s me fishing on the very stream that was the setting of the river rescue story!)

In the post, I tell the story of how my son, Nick, rushed down a steep, grassy hillside to defend his mom’s ‘honey hole’ against 2 fishermen who were squeezing her out of her very productive spot in a favorite mountain stream in SW Colorado.

In the days following this incident, it was not difficult for me to transfer the somatic response of being cared for in such a dramatic way to:

How God’s Son rescued me from eternity apart from Him, and continues to rescue me every day, every night, every moment of my life.

Then recently, while on a group peer coaching call, we were talking about how in our walk of faith - following and seeking a God we cannot see - it is vital to experience the attributes of God in human beings.

Those whose character has been developed to reflect the image of our Creator facilitate our attempt to embody the unfathomable, unconditional love God has for each of us - to recognize Him as Rescuer, as well as Redeemer.

This line of thought brought me to share with my cohorts a fresh example of yet another water rescue of sorts that happened recently during a sibling reunion in Florida, along the trendy and popular 30A corridor.

On a sweltering, cloudless day at the nearby beach, just a street away from the huge rental beach house where more than forty members of our clan (Yes, over forty!) were gathered for a week, I decided to take one of the group’s  stand-up paddleboards out beyond the swells. Others who had already braved the crowded water and waves, returned with stories about seeing a giant sting ray. I wanted a look. Jim usually accompanies me for SUP’ing, but he wasn’t feeling it, so I determined to go solo.

I walked into the water that was at a perfect temperature for refreshment, without being too cold, and pushed the board past the initial rounds of white water that were slapping the shoreline. As I was about to mount the board, an unexpected swell overcame me and flipped me and my SUP, kidnapping both my large-brim straw hat and sunglasses. Because it was large and buoyant enough to float, I recovered the hat; but after several minutes of scanning the surrounding water top to bottom, I deemed my sunglasses gone.

But I was determined to give it another try, so I steadied myself and board and got through the final wave-block to find flatter water for mounting. I got to my feet to discover my body remembered how to balance in moving water, calming my nerves from the ordeal of losing my sunglasses and conquering the waves to get to the scene of the reported sea life siting.  

Over the next several minutes, I set my focus downwards, peering into the semi-translucent turquoise water, to catch a glimpse of this purported huge sting ray. Once my eyes started stinging from dryness due to not daring to blink and miss my opportunity, I looked up and toward the shoreline to realize I had drifted from the angle of my entry. The groupings of people and umbrellas did not look familiar to me.

The current and wind had taken me sideways, disorienting my sense of where home was, and my nervous system registered a shift out of the r & r of the parasympathetic to the fight or flight feelings of the sympathetic nervous system - otherwise known as anxiety.

I quickly moved to the decision of getting back to shore so I could reorient myself and find my people! Once I got near the beach, I started to focus in on the people groupings to my left and right, looking for familiar faces and colors, listening for familiar voices...But all I saw was an endless seaside of strangers along a shoreline that stretched out for miles in either direction.

Every section of beach looked nearly identical. The waves, the distance, the beach houses, and the sea of colorful umbrellas all blended together. I knew where I wanted to go—I just couldn't tell where I had come from.

Now dragging my board through thick dry sand, it suddenly felt like the weight of a dead body, and exhaustion was the word registering in my brain. I finally remembered the flags that distinguished the various beach access points, and the red one that had been our marker for where to find our beach house among the masses of such in all directions. Yay! I’m almost to the red flag!

But even as I was celebrating my return home, I still did not see anyone familiar in the throngs of beachcombers. And then it hit me: This was the spot we had gathered at on previous days, but this morning, someone had pointed out there was a different beach access point closer to our address; and so we had staked our spot under the green flag - not the red one. Sigh...

What I did next is very uncharacteristic: I dropped my board and plopped down on it.

And the words that formed next testify to the banner that has flown over my marriage - fifty years of joys and sorrows, struggles and victories, peace and chaos, deep wounds and deeper bonds...and an ever-stretching canopy of acceptance and forgiveness:

It’s all in the knowing. Sitting on my paddleboard, I took a deep breath, and said out loud, "I'm just going to sit here and rest. I know he'll come for me."

And he did.

Jim had been watching from the beach the entire time. When he realized I wasn't returning where I had started, he began walking the shoreline until he found me. He just grabbed the board and said, “Come on Ger, let’s get you back to the clan.”

Later that day, my future sister-in-law shared something I hadn't known.

"I watched you watching her," she told Jim. "You never took your eyes off her while she was in the water, and as she walked down the beach."

Those words will stay with me. And the visual of Jim coming down the shoreline, confident of his mission, gathering me up and leading me back to the safe and secure of the known is freshly etched right alongside that unforgettable river rescue from Nick so many years ago.

And it all leads me back to my Good Shepherd, who never takes His eyes off me, as I navigate unsteady water, as I walk the pathway He has set for me........ He tends to me tenderly.

Most of us picture sheep wandering away because they're stubborn or rebellious. Certainly, that happens. But I wonder how often sheep simply become disoriented. They graze a little farther. They follow an interesting path. They become distracted. Then they look up and discover they no longer recognize where they are.

Isn't that true of us?

Life has a way of disorienting us. Grief may change the landscape. A transition can leave us without familiar landmarks. Fear can cloud our judgment. Success, disappointment, uncertainty, or busyness can slowly carry us farther away than we ever intended to go.

Psalm 23 reminds us we don’t have to rely on our own ability to navigate the seas and shoreline of this life.

It’s all in the knowing...that we have a Good Shepherd who never takes His eyes off us. And He will come and find us.

He provides green pastures and calm waters.

He notices when we've drifted before we even realize it ourselves. He never stops watching over us. And if we can admit our weariness and stop striving on our own, we can even sit and find rest where He provides it, confident in His coming rescue.

Perhaps today you're feeling a bit like I did on my paddleboard: uncertain, tired, and unable to recognize the landmarks that once felt so familiar.

Take heart. Your Shepherd will never take His eyes off you.

Reflection: Where in your life have you become disoriented—and how might your Good Shepherd be guiding you home?

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Blessed to play a part ~

g