I had been facing the beach for only a few seconds before I turned again to face the ocean. Too late. I barely had time to take a breath before a huge wave broke over me and my three kids. I hate it when I don’t see them coming. This one smacked us all into the churning surf. Just as we recovered our footing, a second wave took us all down again. And again. And again. All of us came up sputtering and spitting saltwater. My sinuses screamed in response to the injection of saline. I’d had enough. I made my way to the shore, sat down, and kept my eye on Joshua, Jessica, and Samuel.
The beach was a bit crowded on this hot day in July, but we all did our best to keep “socially distanced.” The “family” nearest to us consisted of an older man, two young adults in their twenties or so, and two kids. No one was paying much attention to the youngest girl, maybe 7-years-old, so I kept my eye on her. At one point, the older man (Jason) started making his way out for a swim. I noticed that he alone had taken note of the little girl and motioned for her to come closer to the rest of them. I was glad to see that he, at least, was paying her some mind.
Right about then, my oldest son, Joshua, yelled. I didn’t hear words, but I heard the tone in his voice. It wasn’t good. His face looked strained. I ran into the water to find out what was wrong. He was exhausted. The rip current was strong. Jess and Samuel were in trouble. It had taken all his energy to swim in. He didn’t have the strength to help them. They were out too far, and he didn’t know if they could get back.
Without hesitation, I started asking for help, talking to people in the water and on the shore. Is anyone a good swimmer? Can someone help? My kids are in trouble. They got out too far and need help getting back in.
The immediate response was heart-warming. Our entire section of beach went on high-alert, and at least five men jumped into the water, making their way to my kids. One, it turned out, was a collegiate swimmer for Michigan State University (MSU). He had even participated in the Olympic Trials. He is the one who brought Jess in on a boogie board.
Samuel had managed to get himself to safety on his own. Jess, too, probably would have been okay. She had just managed to get a toe down when MSU reached her. But she was exhausted and happy enough to get the assistance back to shore. Although they were not, in the end, in imminent danger, I felt extremely grateful for how quickly the people on the beach responded. I thanked those involved, and we all sat down to take stock and debrief.
Within just a few minutes, we heard another yell. Two men in black shirts, friends of MSU, were still in the water. They were near the party of five whom I had been observing earlier. They yelled and motioned for help, and once again MSU grabbed a boogie board and ran into the water. This time it truly was a matter of life or death. Jason, the oldest of the party of five, had gotten caught in the rip current and nearly drowned. As the drama unfolded, I saw the kids watching from the shore, so I went to them to make sure they were okay. (That’s when I learned the man’s name was Jason.)
MSU got to him in time and brought Jason in on the board. He was blue (oxygen-deprived, “cyanotic”), and someone called 911. Jason tried to walk it off, playing the tough guy, but he staggered only three steps before collapsing. He was not okay. A few good Samaritans put an umbrella over him, propped up his legs, and stayed with him until the fire department arrived.
No doubt he would have drowned had MSU not gotten there sooner. No doubt he would not have been noticed struggling had the men in black not been in the water. No doubt they would not have been in the water had my kids not needed help. No doubt my kids would not have gotten help if I had hesitated to alert the people around me. No doubt I would not have alerted the beach had Joshua not chosen to get to shore rather than try to help his siblings. No doubt I would not have been on the shore if the roiling waters had not smacked me under and irritated my sinuses.
No doubt the momentary trouble my kids and I experienced became a lifeline for Jason.
I pray for Jason now that he will meet his true Savior, Jesus Christ—the one who orchestrated his rescue and wants Jason to know His love.
Sometimes our troubles aren’t about us. The Lord promises to turn the Valley of Achor (literally the valley of turbulent trouble, the valley of roiling waters) into a Door of Hope (Hosea 2:14). In this instance, my family and I were given the privilege of participating in God’s plan to save Jason, to give him hope and a future. Redemption is God’s deal. Turning ashes into beauty, grief into joy, despair into garments of praise—this is what he does. Jesus warns us we will have trouble in this world—but it never has to be meaningless suffering. Through the cross, Jesus has overcome everything the world, the flesh, and the devil can throw at us. Through the cross, the Valley of Trouble has become a Door of Hope. Jesus Christ, our Living Hope, invites us to partner with him in bringing as many people as possible into a saving knowledge of the truth: God is love. God is light. God is good. And he works all things together for good for those who love him. What a privilege to know that our momentary troubles can be used for someone else’s good.
The next time you feel troubled—by anything, small or great—remember that what’s happening might not be about you. If you look for it, you just might see the redemptive purpose God has in it. If you don’t see it, that’s okay. God isn’t obliged to explain himself, and we can only begin to grasp the fringes of his ways (Job 26:14). But whether we get it or not, God’s promises still stand. The valley of trouble is a door of hope for you and those around you. Walk through it.
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