The Roar of the Falls

A favorite bike trail of mine parallels a breathtaking mountain stream. Following heavy rains or snow melts, it becomes breathtaking for another reason—to use a bit of river rafting terminology, it becomes big and scary. As in the days of Noah, the deluge draws boat people—kayakers in particular. There is one series of stair stepped falls that must be intimidating, even to kayakers, because on big-water days you see the telltale signs of them making a portage around the falls. I don’t blame them. Whenever I see that cascade of water at its fullest I think: there are only two things that go over that falls--fish droppings and fools.

Last month, after two warm days with heavy snow melts, I was biking up the trail when it began snowing. As I pedaled away, thinking that I was the only one crazy enough to be out here in such weather, I came upon four guys standing at the foot of the falls in rapt discussion. Their elaborate garb gave them an alien appearance—kind of a cross between football and water sports with full face guard helmets and padded wet suits with floatation devices. Kayakers in the snow! And they were at the falls contemplating going over? Stopping was the only option. This was also a great opportunity to test my people analysis skills. They all did a lot of pointing. Two of them frowned a lot and shook their heads. The other two had that odd gleam in their eyes associated with contact sports and nodded vigorously. For once I had gotten to the show on time. Where is the buttered popcorn when you need it?

After their survey, all four ascended above the falls and the first two guys, we’ll call them Sane One and Sane Two, returned carrying their kayaks and climbed down to a good rescue position. This was a great relief because I was wearing my brand new Rocky S2V boots and didn’t want to get them wet. In a few minutes the other two guys, we’ll call them Wildman One and Wildman Two, came into view wearing kayaks and staging themselves above the falls. Wildman One went first and aimed for the center plume of the fall where the water was fullest and fell almost vertically. It was awesome. I have heard that urinating inside a wet suit is one field expedient way to heat it up; if so, he was undoubtedly comfortable. Unfortunately, he came out of the hydraulic upside down and spent the next several heart-pounding seconds successfully performing a corrective roll. Hand out kayaking medal number one. Wildman Two followed the exact same route and performed flawlessly coming out of the churning water in perfect form. Hand out kayaking medal number two. By now a couple of other bikers had stopped and we spontaneously gave all the kayakers a standing ovation. Considering the weather, one biker spoke for us all when she said, “And I thought we were crazy!”

Some of our favorite stories from the Old Testament involve people being rescued through dangerous waters. Noah sailed safely above, Moses marched safely through, and Jonah floated safely below. But all were delivered through the waters. The ancient listener would have probably smelled the salty sea air whenever Isaiah 43:1-7 was read reminding them of these patriarchs of the faith. Verses 1-2 declare “Do not fear, for I have redeemed you; I have called you by name; you are Mine! When you pass through the waters, I will be with you; and through the rivers, they will not overflow you.” Christians today might find a metaphorical application and comfort from these verses as well. Sometimes the peaceful waters of life become intimidating rivers. Notice how God does not promise us continual “flat water canoeing” on idyllic lakes. Sometimes the flat water turns to falls and it becomes time to get into kayak mode. A key to remember when you find yourself kayaking the falls is not that God has forgotten you but rather that he will be with you in the midst of it.

The Thirteenth Rugger

I was standing before the registrar’s desk at Trinity Western College in British Columbia minding my own business when I was suddenly surrounded by very large guys who start shaking my hand, pounding me on the back, and encouraging me to sign up for a sport I had never even heard of. I suppose they picked me out of the lineup because I am fairly large plus they found out that I had just gotten out of the military. They assured me that, although this sport is a little like football, it is “a lot more fun.” They looked normal enough at the time, so feeling a bit special about having been selected, I said “Okay.” After all, I thought, what harm could come from playing a game called “rugby”? 

The first day of practice I kept wondering when we would get our protective gear—shoulder pads, knee pads, helmets and such. We had our rugby shorts and shirts, but where was our equipment? None ever arrived. We lined up for tackle practice and it dawned on me—there was none. It suddenly felt as though I was preparing to play football in the nude. I remember facing this guy named Wayne at about ten meters distant. We were supposed to run at each other as fast as we could and see who tackled whom. I was familiar with being in high school and running with football pads, being in the military running with body armor, but rugby is played by scantily clad lunatics and now I was one. Even with our little shorts and shirts on, I still remember the uncomfortable feeling of racing across the rugby field as naked as the day I was born. By the time the dust settled, I probably would have fared better trying to tackle a Brahma bull than Wayne. A Brahma bull doesn’t want to tackle you a second time—Wayne does.

About halfway through practice I was told that, thanks to my height, I was going to play a position where I actually did get to wear some special protective gear. Praise God, I thought. I hope it looks like a Brinks truck. They hand me this little thing that looks like two Krispy Kreme donuts with straps. “It’s for your ears,” they said. “My ears? What about the rest of me?” They showed me how to strap this little contraption onto my head so that my earlobes didn’t get chaffed in an upcoming event called “the scrum.” The scrum is an unforgettable rugby experience which, suffice it to say, involves a lot of close-quarter kicking. I recall thinking “Here I am walking into a scene from Gladiator and you are worried about chaffed earlobes?”   

            This memory resurfaced while I was preparing a message to illustrate the perplexity of Matthew 19:30 where it states: “But many who are first will be last, and the last, first.” How paradoxical; how absolutely backwards to our human perception. What a concise look into the eternal notion of God’s ways not being our ways. His ways are beyond ours and quite frankly, they often confuse us. But isn’t that a great comfort blanket to snuggle up with. Trusting His unseen ways in the midst of confusion brings a peace that truly does transcend earthly comprehension. We devise ambitious plans to ensure our security, but, instead, we find ourselves running down life’s rugby field wearing a couple of donuts with straps protecting our earlobes. What about the rest of me? I will trust Him. And then, when I am last, I am first.