A Short Trial

We were in a situation that we had no means of getting out of. We were canoeing the Rifle River in the Upper Peninsula of northern Michigan on a chilly spring morning. The river was higher than normal because of the spring rains, but it wasn’t so high that it was in flood stage.

Becky (my wife) and I started out in a rented canoe on that crisp early morning shortly after we were married. The year was 1977. It was a year of accomplishment in the U.S.; Jimmy Carter became the President of the United States, Apple organized as a company, Roots was playing on TV, the Space Shuttle program began, and Star Wars opened in theaters in May.

The cool dark water raced down the river succumbing to the gravity that drew it ever forward. As the morning advanced and the scenery exploded, the sun began to warm our backs and our shivering appendages. We entered an area of slack water that slowed our canoe to a more manageable speed. Heavy brush hung over the banks dragging the water as it passed by.

We lazily rounded a bend and then they hit. Little black buzzing insects by the thousands descended on us biting our arms, necks, legs, and whatever else they could find. They were deer flies. I’m not sure where they came from but they were insidious, turning a pleasant morning into a tortuous expedition through the jungles of northern Michigan. Suddenly we wished for the fast water again! We just wanted to get away.

We swatted at the flies, swung our paddles at them, sprayed them with bug spray, pulled our hats down over our heads, and tried anything else we could to stop the little blighters from their sole-focused mission. Our combined efforts didn’t seem to make a dent. Though little black carcasses were strewn about the bottom of the canoe, their numbers were so great it was like trying to stop a leak by putting your finger in a dam. For every one that fell, a hundred more took up their charge.

“Paddle!” I yelled as one of the critters drew blood on the back of my leg. We felt like we were in the Kai Opua Canoe Club racing an outrigger down a swelling wave in the Pacific. We dug the paddles deep and drew them with all our strength trying to get some distance between us and the flying black plague. They were just too fast.

Near exhaustion, we noticed the river start to build up steam. The current quickened and the canoe soon flew downstream well out of the domain of our adversaries. What a blessing, what a relief! And then it quickened some more, and more, and still more. Within minutes we were staring a class 3 rapids in the eyes with no exit plan. We remembered the rapids notated on the river map, and that inexperienced canoeists should portage around them, but it was too late.

Down a steep incline of water we went, riding the rooster tail of white water atop the crest. “Hang on!” I yelled as the canoe listed to port after hitting a sizable rock. It didn’t slow our progress but did throw us nearly sideways as we dipped into another hole swirling angrily with foam. The front of the canoe shot out of the hole and landed hard in the rapids beyond. It was like a water ride at Disney World. We did everything we could to keep the canoe upright and off of the rocks.

About two-thirds of the way through the rapids, the stream split, one branch going right and the other left. In the middle was a little island and a large log jam. We were headed straight for it. I slammed the paddle down nearly to gravel trying to turn the canoe one way or the other, hoping to miss the imminent collision. It seemed at the last moment, the bow finally yielded to my pleading, slipping into the water of the left branch. As quickly as they started, the rapids ended. We glided into a little cove behind a stump, thankful for the reprieve and safety of still water.

We sat there dazed, trying to take in everything that happened. As we assessed the situation, we had all of our body parts, no broken bones, no drownings, no bumps or bruises. Other than a few bloody scabs from the deer flies, we were no worse for wear. In that short time we experienced fear, shock and a loss of control, yet God had us the whole time. Though overall the trip was great, there was a short time of uncertainty and vulnerability.

And that describes our lives; your life. You plan, you invest, you make decisions, and you work. And most of the time life is good; filled with joy, accomplishments and peace. And then you turn a bend in the river and the deer flies swarm over you and start biting, only to be followed by a stressful, at times terrifying path that seems filled with hardship, pain and danger.

How do you make it through those times? How do you walk through the red-hot embers with bare feet? You see, God knows something you don’t. He can see the end of the trip, the terminal point of the hardship. He knows that the trial will end and that a bright future is ahead. He asks us to embrace the hardship and grow through it; learning faith, and perseverance, and patience, and hope. Learn to lean into him drawing from his strength, for his yolk is easy and his burden light.

He loves you beyond your ability to understand, and he holds you in his hands. He knows your name, and he hears yours prayers. We are never more holy than when we are at our weakest; focused and trusting only in God. He is our Rock. He is our Salvation – praise him!
Amen!

Matthew 11:25-30
25 At that time Jesus said, “I praise you, Father, Lord of heaven and earth, because you have hidden these things from the wise and learned, and revealed them to little children. 26 Yes, Father, for this is what you were pleased to do. 27 “All things have been committed to me by my Father. No one knows the Son except the Father, and no one knows the Father except the Son and those to whom the Son chooses to reveal him.28 “Come to me, all you who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest. 29 Take my yoke upon you and learn from me, for I am gentle and humble in heart, and you will find rest for your souls. 30 For my yoke is easy and my burden is light.”