We gathered aboard the raft, the five of us, unaware of the trauma that awaited us. Bats flew overhead, and the sounds of water churning on the cliffs of rocks beckoned us forward, pulling us down the river.

The risk was inescapable. The moment we climbed aboard, we bid farewell to safety and any opportunity to turn back. The calm shore inveigled us into a sense of security that was quickly disposed when the first rabid rapid sucked us into the abyss, like an avaricious swarm of piranha drawn toward anything moving.

Our lack of experience served us what we deserved and betrayed our natural instincts for survival. Our screams echoed off of the canyon walls, the sounds' dissipation a testament to our seclusion that made more terrifying our situation.

Rapid after rapid threatened to do us in, twirling us deeper and deeper into profound disorientation until finally all we had left were our basic senses and each other.

Finally, after three hours, we found safety in a new shore, and we kissed the ground that welcomed us into security.

We hitched a ride in a van of fellow survivors, holding one another, drawn closer than ever before.

"How did we survive that?" Anna asked in the way one does when not looking for any particular answer.

"I don't know," Skylar responded. "I really don't know."

And then we saw the pictures.

Moses was with us.

This is for any of you out there who don't believe that Pioneer Day miracles exist.


~It Just Gets Stranger