Raft
“What would you do if you knew you only had 1 day or 1 week or 1 month to live? What lifeboat would you grab on to? What wish would you fulfill? What is the minimum in life?”
~ trailer from “One Week”
The water was running dangerously fast. That meant that the penultimate day of our five-day raft trip through the Royal Gorge had to be relocated. In fact, several parts of the river were closed due to the incredible flow of melted snow. I was there with five graduates from the youth group I had helped lead over the last year. The snow on the ground around our tents and the water that raised our voices a full octave explained why coming this early in the season was so much cheaper.
On our last day, we pulled out of the river just before lunch. Our guides went around the bend to determine if “Seidel’s Suckhole” was even navigable. They said it was iffy, but the youthful fearlessness and adrenaline of my compatriots made the decision. We were going!
When we circled the bend, we realized that every other guided trip had assembled on the banks of the river, waiting to see if anyone was stupid enough to tempt the “suckhole”. We did as instructed and paddled like crazy away from the drop it offered, but it sucked us over nonetheless. We obeyed our next instruction that if we dropped into that hole, we should paddle like our life depended on it (because it might), in the hopes we might pop out over the edge of that wall of water.
We did not. We flipped upside down.
Heroic kayakers pulled most of my kids out of the water, but I journeyed quite a bit further downriver. When they caught up to me, I grabbed on the side of the life raft and asked to be pulled in. The guide said that they shouldn’t do that, but that I should hang on tight for the next two sets of rapidly approaching rapids.
I am not the guy who holds on for dear life. I am the guy who helps others hang on for dear life while they matriculate through the next couple of sets of rapids in their lives. In fact, I am usually the guy sitting high in the back of the boat with the two big oars allowing everyone else to think they are controlling the vessel when actually I am.
I was reminded this morning that life feels more like hanging on to the edge of a life raft. And the rapids seem to keep coming. The energy and reserve tanks are both running pretty low. It is taking me longer to do things, my mind isn’t as clear, and I am not sure how much churning water I am up for.
Maybe you are still sitting at the back of the boat, commanding everything, big oars in your hands, making the challenging seem effortless. If you are, we’ve never needed your ability more desperately than we need it right now. If you are like me and most other people in our country, you better have a lifeboat you can hang onto. You are going to need it.
The successful treatment of cancer comes with a bill that must be paid. And sometimes, I’ve heard, the cure can even feel worse than the disease. We haven’t paid all the bills we’ve mounted from the last 2 years, but they are coming due.
You better be tethering yourself to a source of life that transcends your circumstances.
You better be flanked by others doing the same.
You better be preparing for the next set of rapids.
Consider
How ready are you to pay the bill that is coming?
What lifeboat are you holding onto?
Who is around you to help you navigate the coming season?