The Waterfall, and The One Important Thing

Born of Water

On the last day of August this year I drowned in an obscure, isolated river in Costa Rica. I really did drown, as opposed to nearly drown; I looked up the definitions afterwards. I tried to swim under a waterfall in a cafe-au-lait river, in a bowl of sheer rocks that held the churning water captive for a while before the strong current could escape downstream. It was the rainy season, and the river was much deeper and more powerful than it looked.

I remembered at the time that it’s dangerous to swim under waterfalls, but I couldn’t remember why, and the experience of my young companions trumped the voice of physics in my head. Besides, I’ve been under lots of waterfalls in our lovely desert Deseret, and had no trouble. Rivers just aren’t the same in Utah. 

A friend who’d been there before got in the Costa Rican river first, and I followed almost immediately after her. Once in the water I struggled with the current, broke through to the waterfall, tried to tread water and catch my breath behind it, gave up and tried to escape underwater on an inadequate breath, tried to float on my back to the surface, couldn’t float for some inexplicable reason, expended the effort to come up twice more for short gasps on the surface, hit the slick walls but could not find even the smallest handhold, and stayed under the water after that. The water was brown, green, and foamy white. In a little while I couldn’t open my eyes any more, or move at all.

There are two reasons you shouldn’t swim under waterfalls. The first is currents and whirlpools--I couldn’t get away--and the second, most important, is that you can’t swim in foam because the water isn’t dense enough. You can sure drown in it, though.

I felt tremendously focused while I was drowning. I hoped for rescue, but wasn’t at all sure of it, or even if anyone would notice in time. I knew I really, really needed to not breathe in water, which was surprisingly easy because I had water in my windpipe and there’s a reflex that keeps you from inhaling in that circumstance. Once you inhale water you dilute your blood, which quickly causes organ failure. I knew that in less than a minute I would probably lose consciousness, inhale the water, and sink all the way. But by far my most overwhelming thought was that I was about to find out, right now, what happens after you die. I was angry with myself for stupidly losing the 30 more years I had been banking on to finish the work I still wanted to do in this life. And I longed for my family.

About then my incredibly brave daughter-in-law, even though she was scared to death, at huge risk to her own safety, got in the water and grabbed my arm. I didn’t move at all because I felt that the arm grasping mine wasn’t very strong, and I didn’t want to pull my rescuer under the water. My eyes were closed, and I actually don’t think I could move anyway. Another reflex, I think. Half a minute or so later there was a stronger arm, a toss away from both rescuers (was I drowning someone else? Actually, my aptly-named rescuer, Angelo, was trying to toss me free of the whirlpool), the weaker arm again, the stronger arms again, and finally a shove onto a rock shelf. Still in the water, on my face, unable to move. The strong arms then were above me and pulled me onto a shelf with shallow water. Still on my face. Finally, someone rolled me over, and I gasped in the amazing air.

I went home, took some antibiotic and asthma meds (for some reason my lungs were clutching up), tried to nap, panicked, and went shopping instead.

The part of my experience that disturbed me most was that I have never been afraid to die until now. I guess I sort of expected a spiritual experience. Drowning was not spiritual for me, although I suppose if I’d lost consciousness it might have become so. Instead, it was intensely physical, and very frightening. It shook me up. Where was God?

And of the Spirit

The thing is, I’ve met God. A couple of months post-drowning, I have decided that I’ll just have to get used to the idea that death is real and very scary (only a naive Christian could ever think otherwise, but there you go), and remember God where He is and as He is.

For background, I’m going to tell you a little about my family. There are lots of holes in this story, but they’ll have to wait until another time.

I’ve had a lot of kids, and I’ve lost a few, although I’ve come to realize that loss is more temporary than I used to think. Our first girls were twins who died from complications, one at birth and one seven months later. We also adopted three children, and were unable to rescue the two older boys, who have returned to the drug-laden underclass that they came from. My heart still yearns for them, but they only contact us when they want money.

Right after the second boy left home--he was an 11-year-old whom I adored and had such hopes for, but I couldn’t protect our younger children from him--I was in a state of overwhelming grief. Only someone who has loved both an abuser and his or her victims can understand. I felt like a huge failure as a mother; I was terribly frightened of the long-term consequences for the younger children; and I despaired for the future of these boys I loved, for the suffering they would both experience and cause in their lives because of their inability to choose good things. And they were all so young. The abusers were victims themselves, and I could not help them.

After some of the chaos had subsided a little I went to the temple. I was by myself, and it had been a long time. On my way inside I saw a fresco of Jesus with the woman by the well, and it was then that I realized that I really was coming into the house of the Lord--that the temple was His house, and He could be there if He wanted to be. I felt so broken. So I began to pray for healing.

The One Important Thing

This experience happened many years ago, and I have been hesitant to share it. But I just recently realized that I could die anytime. I need to tell this story so it will be out there, in the world, when I am not.

After the temple session, I sat praying in the Celestial Room in front a picture of Jesus, when something happened. Something happened to my eyes, and suddenly the eyes of the Savior seemed alive to me, I sensed movement, and I knew He was there. Mostly I was just flooded with the love of my Savior, Jesus Christ. It was Love, but love is a completely inadequate word for the feelings that  flooded my soul. All my grief was instantly gone, replaced by peace and tremendous joy. I saw so very clearly every time I had failed as a parent, and yet I saw with equal clarity that it didn’t matter, that Christ could and would make up for my failings. I was forgiven before I even knew I needed to ask. I also knew throughout my whole being that the power of Christ’s love was enough for my poor, damaged children as well. Against all reason, they would be okay. Enough is also too weak a word. I can’t really describe this experience. I didn’t really see anything with my physical eyes. But my heart was healed, my burdens were gone, my suffering was swallowed up in a vast sea of love. I didn’t need anything else in the world but His love, and I knew I never would.

I felt that love in my heart for many months. Maybe it has slowly faded a bit, or maybe I’ve gotten more used to it. But I can remember. I met my Savior in the temple, as surely as if I had touched Him or seen Him with my eyes or heard Him with my ears. I know it happened, and I remember that His love was the only important thing. The one important thing. The only thing that matters.

Born Again

So, I have a new life. I now know I’m going to die, it’s going to be scary, and even 30 years from now is too soon. That makes every moment on earth precious, to be spent with great care, and each moment of human love and beauty a priceless treasure. I’m trying to spend each of these jewels much more carefully.

I also know that someday I will meet, touch, see, and hear the Love I felt once again. I know that every soul is infinitely precious. And the love of Christ is enough for all of us.

That’s the One Important Thing.

The Moons of Jupiter

Sometimes I wonder about God. Don’t get me wrong--I am a committed believer, and I have seen many miracles in my day. God’s love is the center of my personal universe. But, like all humans everywhere, some days I still wonder.

Today was one of those days. Our choir broadcast this morning was about children, and the women sang a song where the sopranos assumed the voice of a child:

“Mother, tell me the story that I love to hear:

Tell me of heaven, and why I came here.

Mother, tell how you love me, and gently speak,

And then I’ll go to sleep.

Mother, tell me of Jesus and how He is near;

Tell how He loves me, and I will not fear.

Mother, tell how His Spirit brings comfort and peace,

And then I’ll go to sleep.”

I was struck by our human need to feel safe and protected in this dangerous and uncertain world. Parents are so powerful compared to children, and their power and love are potent antidotes against fear for their small children. But we grow up. Surely part of our need for God grows out of our desire to continue to be protected by a powerful parent. And part of the struggle of faith is that we are not always protected. Some people are miraculously healed of cancer, while others die and leave their families and friends grieving, though their faith and prayers may be equal. Some people of faith live in poverty in chaotic, lawless places, while others (like me) spent their lives in plenty and safety. Is faith just wishful thinking?

Did we just make it all up?

But then I remembered the Moons of Jupiter.

Galileo Galilei read about a telescope that had been made by a German astronomer, and he decided to make one himself, which was an exceedingly Renaissance thing to do. It was also a bit heretical: the Church at the time was convinced that the Bible proved the earth must be the center of the universe, with everything else moving around it. The new theories of Copernicus and Kepler, which suggested the earth and the other planets actually moved around the sun, were anathema to the church hierarchy.

Well, Galileo built his telescope and turned it to the sky. He looked at Jupiter. To me, what he saw there proved to be anything but heretical; in fact, it has bolstered my faith many times. Galileo looked and Jupiter and saw, for the first time, Jupiter’s moons clearly orbiting the giant planet. They looked like a model of the solar system orbiting the sun, and they were definitely not orbiting the earth. The first thing mankind saw when we looked into the heavens was a model of how the heavens are put together: Jupiter’s moons, a type and shadow of the earth orbiting the sun, the solar system orbiting the galaxy, galaxies orbiting each other, black holes and red dwarfs. Galileo saw the whole miraculous universe in miniature, if you can call Jupiter miniature. And he didn’t want to keep quiet about it. So he got to spend the rest of his life on house arrest.

We really, really can’t even begin to comprehend God. We worship the Being who made Jupiter and its moons, who flooded the heights and depths of the earth with a fierce density of self-replicating life: biting, stinging, eating, birthing, dying, healing, decaying, fighting, loving, sacrificing, changing, resilient, growing, competing, building, breaking, worshipping life. He made the mountain that makes my house seem so temporary and so small. He made my body and my mind, and those of everyone and everything I love. Everything constantly changes and passes away in the blink of an eye, and yet life endures, and He endures. My Father is incomprehensibly powerful.

And yet...He made the moons of Jupiter. Everywhere we look, He has placed symbols and metaphors to help us understand, solar systems in miniature. Fruit flies have giant, simple genes for us to study. There are fires to help us understand the sun, and the conveniently placed moon to help us see our motion around the sun. Tidal forces drive the circulation that keeps our planet alive. The sun helps us see and keeps us alive. Spring comes every year after everything seems dead. We bear children and age and they take our place. We love our tiny children with every fiber of our beings, and we sacrifice everything for them.

He calls Himself our Father.

The next song was sung by the men, a lullaby to an infant. The men’s faces were transcendent with love as they sang. You could tell they were thinking, each one, of their own children.

“Hush, little baby, don’t say a word,

Papa’s going to buy you a mockingbird,

And if that mockingbird won’t sing,

Papa’s going to buy you a diamond ring…

More than birds and bells and rings,

Papa’s going to give you a heart that sings.

When you lift your voice in song,

In my heart you will belong.

Hush-a-bye,

Don’t you cry,

Papa’s here and always nigh.

Hush-a-bye,

Close your eyes,

Papa’s always here in this lullaby.”

He calls Himself our Father, and He loves me that much. More than that much. I can’t understand Him, but I can feel His incredible love, especially since He has given us our own children to love. Like the moons of Jupiter, my own relationships as a parent and a child can help me understand His relationship to me.

And the greatest miracle of my life is that I have felt His love, by which all earthly love pales in comparison. “Love divine, all loves excelling, Joy of heaven to earth come down.”

Hello, Jupiter’s moons.