It was about this same time of year, early summer, some 40 years ago that I was rescued from drowning in the Atlantic Ocean... I was six years old and was literally saved from dying an early and tragic death. My rescuer? My Dad. My hero.
The day before my rescue, Mom, Dad and I were splashing around in the shallows of Kure Beach (NC)... jumping the waves as they came in to shore. My Mom was on one side of me and my Dad on the other, holding my hands, prompting me to jump at just the right moment as the waves swiftly passed underneath our floating feet. I was hooked. I loved the sensation of my feet leaving the ocean floor as the tides effortlessly lifted me up and over the crest of each wave. That's the first memory I have of the beach, and what a great memory it is. I'll never forget that day. I'll never forget the events that happened the following day either. A memory of the beach I have that stands clearly above all the rest. The day my Dad saved my life.
I don't really remember that night after my first day of jumping waves with Mom and Dad - I bet I slept like a rock. The next morning though, my Dad was anxious to do some surf fishing, I couldn't wait to get back in the water to jump the waves and Mom would be joining us a little later on the beach to catch some rays. So off to the sandy beach we went, my Dad with his fishing gear and I, the eager and young rookie wave jumper.
As my Dad set up his fishing poles on the shore a few yards away, I headed to the water, but only in the shallow part until either my Dad or Mom could join me. I was told I wasn't ready to take on the strong waves by myself. So, I reluctantly stayed within earshot of my Dad and splashed around in the knee-high water... all the while, wanting to head out deeper and jump the big waves, like I had done with my Mom and Dad the day before. Although I tried to stay in the shallow water like I was told, I ended up in deep water anyway.
This particular stretch of Kure Beach is known for its undertows - a strong reversed current that flows under the oncoming waves outward from the shore and back into the water beyond the breaking waves several yards from the shoreline. As I was splashing around in the shallow water, I began to feel a tugging at my feet down into the sand and toward the waves away from the beach. The pull was powerful and much stronger than I could resist. The undertow sucked my feet deeper into the gooey wet sand and eventually pulled me out into the waves beyond the breakers and into much deeper water where there were no waves at all. Before I knew what was happening, I was in water way above my head.
I remember seeing the pier farther down the beach as I helplessly began bobbing up and down into the ever-deepening ocean, flailing my arms wildly, gasping for air, swallowing what felt like gallons of salt water. By then, I was beyond the end of the pier... further out than any little boy (or anyone else) should be under any circumstance. When the water would float me up to the surface, I could see the beach growing more distant... and my Dad was nowhere in sight on the shore. Then I'd sink down below the water again. This went on and on - Up! Quick gasp of air. Then down - swallowing more sea water - over and over and over again. I can vividly remember seeing the murky ocean water growing deeper between me and the surface each time I went further below the waterline, the gurgling and shrill sound of my screaming for help under water and the burning sensation in my lungs while trying to hold in as much air as possible as I fought my way to the surface. I was frantically reaching for anything, flailing wildly, yelling for someone to help me - there was nothing to grab on to, no one to hear me.
I have no recollection of how long this frightening event actually lasted. But suffice it to say, I was drowning. It's usually at this point in a story like this where one would say they saw their lives flash before their eyes. But being so young, I hadn't lived much life for there to be any to flash before me. Other than the exhausting struggle itself, I don't recall much anything else other than what I just shared with you. What I do remember though, at some point, my arm hit something solid. It was my Dad!
From what my Dad has said when re-living his side of the story; he had called out for me to come closer to him because he had lost sight of me on the beach while he was fishing. He soon realized I was nowhere around. He threw down his pole and began scanning the shoreline and the horizon of the water for me. It's literally by the grace of God that my Dad was finally able to see my little flailing arm way out beyond the waves in the morning sunlit ocean. My Dad recalls of how my arm would appear, then disappear for a few moments, then, reappear again. I don't know if it was his former training in the Navy or the sheer burst of frantic adrenaline that enabled my Dad to fight the undertow, the waves and the deep water to make his way to me, but he did.
When my arm hit (something solid) my Dad - I later learned it was my arm knocking out two of his teeth. My Dad tells me of how he had to fight my flailing arms and legs while hoisting me onto his shoulders over his head to the air above so I could breathe as he would take a deep breath of air before sinking below the deep water's surface with no ground to support him. What a horrific picture; a father desperately trying to save his panicking son's life at the risk of his own... struggling with his tiring and aching arms, no ground to stand on and no air to breathe. Surely, at some point during all this, Dad had to have thought we would both end up drowning. Despite whatever thoughts raced through my Dad's mind, our drowning was not to be. Somehow, some way, Dad found the strength to stop me from flailing about and swim us both safely back to the distant shore.
I remember both of us lying face down on the sandy beach, just out of the water's reach - gasping deep breaths of air as onlookers made their way up to us to see what was going on. I don't remember much more about that morning, but I'll certainly never forget how my Dad saved my life at the risk of losing his own.
40 years have passed since that day at the beach - a day forever etched into my memory. And, it's hard not to see a wonderful parallel of this story and the story of the rest of my life with my other Dad... my Father... Our Father in Heaven. You see, my Heavenly Father saved my life too.
Just like my Dad on that day at the beach, my heavenly Father saw me flailing about in a world flowing with tides of evil and the vast distance between us created by a gulf of sin. He heard my cries for help as I sank below the surface, gasping for breath and desperately reaching for a savior. My loving Father saw me and sent His Son to rescue me. A Son who was beaten, spat upon and nailed to a cross for doing so. Yet, He saved me while defeating His own death too.
To tell you that I am blessed beyond compare is a gross understatement. I have been saved from death (at least) twice and have the joy to tell you, and any onlookers who want to know what's going on, all about it. The joy to tell you about my Dad, my Father... my Heroes.
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