The soft sand under my feet made me feel safe.
True, the warm water was almost to my neck, and the waves made me jump to keep my head above water.
But between the waves, my feet were on safe, secure sand.
Being out there where it was deeper gave me some distance from my younger, shorter cousins. Their crazy tag and splashing games kept them closer to shore.
Me? I liked the quiet farther out.
I wanted to live on the edge.
In fact, I found the edge.
There was a spot where the sand dropped away quickly.
I could swim.
Some.
After my brother pushed me into a pool a year before, I decided I’d better learn.
I took lessons and I did okay, except in the floating exercises.
As a tall, very skinny 12-year-old, there wasn’t much fat in my body to keep me afloat.
The riptide, a strong water current that could have pulled me out to sea was right there past the edge of the sand.
I knew I’d better stay back.
Still, I got as close to the edge as I dared.
I was close enough that I was sure my mom would be yelling for me to come closer to shore.
But Mom was back home.
My stepmom was on the beach, drink in one hand, book in another. Maybe she looked up occasionally to see where my stepsister was.
Her nephews and I probably never crossed her mind.
If my dad was watching, it was from a bar at the hotel. His eyes were more likely on sports on the TVs there.
That was okay.
I was enjoying my time to myself in the less crowded areas on the surf.
“Help!”
I heard a faint call.
I saw no one.
Then, as I bobbed up on a cresting wave, there they were. An old man and a young girl in his arms.
Well, arm.
The other arm frantically alternated between paddling and waving for help.
They were beyond where the sand dropped off.
I went toward them and got to the very edge of the sand and reached.
I knew if I swam beyond the edge, I would never have to strength or skill to pull them to safety.
The man saw me.
Between waves that assaulted his face, he reached for me.
They were inches beyond my reach.
But they weren’t getting any closer.
The debate raged in my mind.
One voice screamed “You need to swim out there and help them!”
The voice of reason shouted back, “You’ll drown along with them!”
The debate did not continue long.
Before I knew what was happening, a lifeguard zoomed past me and got the pair safely on a rescue float.
By the time the next wave crested, they were heading to shore, and I was swimming for shallower waters and the comfort of the sand beneath my feet.
That story really happened to me when I was twelve and went on a cheap Hawaii vacation with my dad and stepmom and some of her family. (a rich friend of my dad’s paid for most of it).
It taught me a very important lesson.
When in trouble, turn to someone who can really help.
All I could offer to that man and his granddaughter was a little hope.
But the lifeguard was fully qualified and equipped to rescue them.
Sometimes life can feel like that beach with the riptide pulling you away from safety.
Maybe there is someone offering help, but they’re stuck in the riptide too.
Sometimes life can be scarier than the worst haunted house.
You need someone who can get you safely through the hardest times of life.
There is no one more qualified than the one who created life – God.
Like the lifeguard, God will rescue us, except He can rescue us or protect us through all of life’s scary times.
All we have to do is call out to Him, accept His help, and trust Him to rescue us.
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