In Over My Head

By Fred V. Beck
As Told to Cheryl L. Miller

For a moment, my head bobbed above the water's surface, and I tried desperately to fill my lungs with air before the swirling rip-tides pulled me under once again. I was growing tired. Too tired to fight much longer against the strong currents threatening to drown me. I didn't even have the strength to call out for help. Even if I could, there was no one around to hear me. I was struggling for my life in this channel ... and I was all alone.
It was a beautiful July afternoon in the summer of 1921, a perfect day for a trip to the beach. My father, mother, younger brother Walter and I hopped into the family car and took a ride to Great Kills, a public beach in Staten Island. Almost as soon as the car came to a stop, my brother and I jumped out and took off running, whooping and hollering all the way down the beach. After a while Walter settled down to play in the sand while I decided to go exploring. A short distance down the beach I noticed a group of families crossing a channel of water to a small sandy shoal about one hundred feet away. That looked like an interesting place to explore, so I lit out in that direction. When I reached them, I could see that some of the kids crossing the channel were about my height, and the water only reached their mid-sections. I decided that even though I couldn't swim very well, I would cross the channel too. After all, the water would only come to my waist; it wasn't like I was getting in over my head. I didn't realize, however, that the water was shallow because the tide was out, and that my security was only temporary.
I tagged along behind the other kids and their folks and made it easily to the small island. I left the group and took off to start exploring. I was having so much fun that I completely lost track of the time. Soon I realized, much to my dismay, that the sun had sunk considerably lower in the sky. It was getting late. Oh-Oh. Father would be angry with me. I'd better head back to the beach; on the double. I looked around, trying to find the families I had crossed over with, hoping to follow them back. But no one was around. I looked across to the opposite shore. Not a soul in site. There weren't even any boats on the horizon. I began to panic. It must be later than I thought; everyone had gone home! Oh boy, Father was going to be furious. I'd better hurry. I knew I was going to have to brave crossing the channel alone, so I started for the water's edge.
Something wasn't right. The water seemed to be moving much more swiftly than before. And it looked a lot higher than I remembered. The tide was coming in--fast. At the time, my eight year old mind didn't comprehend how very dangerous it was to cross the channel during a high tide. All I knew was, high water or not, life wouldn't be worth living anyway if my father had to come and retrieve me. My father was a very hard strict man, possessing very little patience and I knew he would not greet my present situation with any degree of sympathy. I I cautiously stepped into the water and started across. The current was swift and it was hard to make much headway. The hundred feet across the channel seemed like a thousand. The further out I paddled, the deeper the water became, until soon it was completely over my head. I made it about halfway across the channel, and realized I was in serious trouble.
The current was merciless, constantly dragging me under, and I couldn't force myself to the surface often enough to get sufficient air. I was drowning. The undertow was overpowering, the shore so far away, and I was exhausted. I would never make it alone. I started going under for the last time. Suddenly a pair of strong arms were lifting me out of the water. Coughing and sputtering, I found myself sitting in a small rowboat, across from a very large man, who was quickly rowing towards the shore. Neither of us spoke. I was still speechless with shock and bewilderment. (Where did this guy in the rowboat come from? Only moments before there was no one in site. Anywhere. And how could he have maneuvered this tiny rowboat to reach me in these riptides? He should have been tossed about like a leaf in the wind. Besides that, how did he even find me? I hadn't even called out for help.)
Before I had time to ponder these things further I saw that we had reached the shore. Crawling out of the boat and into the sand. I suddenly realized I hadn't even thanked this man for saving my life. I turned around to do so, but the words fell from my lips as my jaw dropped in disbelief. He was gone. So was the rowboat. I scanned the beach and the horizon. Neither the man nor the rowboat were anywhere in sight.
Seventy-- two summers have come and gone since then, and I have never forgotten how the Lord saved my life, or the lesson I learned that day. I shall never cease to be grateful that we serve a kind, compassionate God who is always near, watching and protecting us, even at times when we are in way over our heads and feel quite alone. It's a great comfort to know that during those difficult times in our lives when it seems as though we are being dragged down by the eddies and currents of trials and suffering, we can be assured that our precious Savior will not let us drown in those sorrows, lift us up with His strong, loving arms, and set your feet back on solid ground.