A Raging River

Week of January 18

It is June and time for our annual family reunion camping along the banks of the Raven Fork River in North Carolina. Only this one will change the course of my life.

On the drive from Florida to Cherokee, N.C. my wife and I talk about the offer made by the pastor of our community church in Sarasota. He wants me to serve as Interim Children’s Director on a six-month trial basis. I have served the children’s ministry as a volunteer for several years while my paying position is managing a restaurant for a national chain. My heart is with the children but my head and my wife are saying it would be financially irresponsible to take an interim position for six months while a committee searches for a director. Besides, I would have to take a pay cut and with a wife and two children to support that would be financial stupidity.

We arrive at the campsite in a steady drizzle. Most of the families are gathered under a large tent fly. After lunch I decide to go fishing and thinking. The Raven has eight-foot banks opposite the campground and is relatively shallow ranging in dept from calf deep to waist deep. I put on waders and rain gear and walk into the calm water. Most of the adults are playing cards and the children board games under the canvass. Pete, my brother-in-law, stands on the bank and watches me fish.

I am so engrossed in fishing that I am oblivious to what is happening around me. The flow of the water picks up and quickly the color changes to a muddy brown. The river rises rapidly from waist deep to chest deep. Now I sense the danger.

I turn toward the near bank. This is a big mistake. The river is deeper on this side and my waders instantly fill with water and drag me under like a sinker. I’m held down by the weight while the rushing river propels me downstream. I am struggling to regain my footing and get to the surface. Suddenly I hit a rock or stump with such force that it pops me upright like a bobber. I stand there gulping in air with the water pushing against my chest. I am unable to move.

My brother-in-law is frantically yelling and the other men soon appear on the bank above me. They lower an inflated tube with a rope tied to it but it doesn’t reach. Then they throw the inner tube but it blows past me and is punctured downstream when it hits a sharp object. Someone finds another piece of rope and ties it to the first rope. The men lower a deflated tube tied on the longer rope. After a couple of attempts this one reaches me and I wrap the rope around my hand.

When the men pull on the rope I am immediately projected prone in the water and with the river pushing against me and with my extra weight from my water-filled waders, my rescuers are nearly pulled in on top of me. It takes all the strength of those ten men and older boys to hold me against the current. Gradually they ease me to the bank, which is terraced with rocks held in place by a wire mesh. I am able to grab a tree growing out of the bank and I hold on while some men crawl gingerly down the mesh and help me out of the river.

Later standing on top of the embankment several of us watch logs, branches and other debris being propelled down river by the rushing water. A large log shoots right over where I had been standing helpless against the river. Ouch! That could have been disastrous.

I see first hand the power of water and how fast things can change. I realize now how people can be caught in a flash flood and carried away. Pete’s voice interrupts my musings.

“Chris you have to see this,” he says holding a rope in his hands, “this is how close we came to losing you.”

What had been my lifeline is frayed so badly that in one spot is down to a single strand. Pete snaps it with his fingers. I can only stare at the broken strand in a sobering silence.

I could easily have drowned this afternoon if I hadn’t hit that object, which stood me up providing time for others to help me in my distress. As I think about my life ending in that river I ask myself, do I want to be remembered as a restaurant manager or do I want to be known as a teacher of God’s children?

I decide to step out in faith and take the position of Interim Director of Children’s Ministry at South Shore Community Church.

Chris Cahill
Bradenton,Fl.