Every time the Olympic Games come around, my mind wanders back to the summer of 1984 when they were held in Los Angeles. I was fifteen years old, between my freshman and sophomore years of high school, and had lived just a few miles from the ocean all my life.
There was a palpable energy in the area at the time, with thousands upon thousands of tourists pouring into southern California for the event. During this time my parents went out of town somewhere, and enlisted a woman they knew named Carlene to watch over us in their absence.
It was July and exceedingly hot. Carlene decided to take us to the beach for the day, which, despite our proximity to the ocean, was not a very common occurrence in my life. I wasn’t much into sunbathing (aka “sunburning” in my case), nor was I a very strong swimmer in an ocean setting. I mean, I could swim, but I definitely had a preference for keeping my head above water.
The beach was totally packed. I had never seen so many beach-goers in my life. It was as though every tourist in the world was seeking reprieve from the heat. Finding space next to the water was impossible, so Carlene set up camp about as far away from it as you could get, and settled in.
I headed down to the water and jumped in, wishing that we owned a boogie board to play on. The waves were coming in every few moments, and it seemed like it would be an especially good day to have one.
I’d been out for quite a while, body surfing and keeping above the waves as best I could. Initially I’d been near the shore where I could just jump above them as they broke, but every now and then a rogue wave so big that I couldn’t get above it would hit, and I’d get tumbled inside the roiling surf.
Time passed, and after a few disorienting tosses during which I’d drunk my fill of seawater for the day, I was worn out and decided to get out. It was then that I realized I’d drifted quite a bit, and had a long way to swim to shore. So I started in, keeping the lifeguard stand nearest Carlene in my line of sight as I struggled to make my way back.
I wasn’t panicked at first, but I slowly realized I wasn’t making any progress. No one had ever explained to me that in a situation like this one should swim in at an angle, verses in a straight line to shore. I was expending lots of energy trying to get straight back in. But the harder I tried, the more frustrated I became.
After what seemed like a long time, a helicopter began flying overhead broadcasting over a loud speaker that due to a strong rip tide, everyone had to get out of the water. This gave me great hope because I knew I was in trouble at that point. My ability to get myself out of the water was gone, and I needed rescuing. Lifeguards were patrolling and I assumed that if they couldn’t see me, the helicopter would, and alert them to the fact that there was someone not complying with the mandate to get out of the water. They would come out and bring me in.
But it didn’t happen. I’d been pulled too far out by then. Twice as far out as the jetty was long, I slowly realized that no one noticed the tiny speck way off in the distance that was my fifteen year old self. I was having an increasingly difficult time keeping my head above water. Wave after wave after wave caught and tossed me. It felt like I was churning in a blender and there wasn’t enough time to get above water before another wave caught me and sucked me back under.
In my exhaustion I remember opening my eyes and looking up through the swirling sea-green water towards the sunlight just a few feet above me, wondering if I’d ever get back up there again. It was then that I had this idea come to my mind, the source of which I have no doubt. It said to me, “You’re tired. Just close your eyes and take a rest. Only a little one, to get your strength back, and then you’ll be able to swim back to shore.”
By then I was so far spent that this idea actually struck me as rational, and I decided to go along with it. Crazy, I know. But literally just as I was about to stop fighting and give myself over to the suggested “nap”, there came into my mind a voice like no other I'd ever heard. Distinct, kind and clear, it sounded for all the world to me like an audible voice, although I’m sure it wouldn’t have been audible to anyone else. And it spoke only one word: Pray!
This voice pierced right through the fog in my mind and instantly I snapped back to alertness and clarity. I responded to the voice by talking in my mind, saying “but I can’t pray, because I can’t get down to the bottom to kneel.” (It was deep!)
No sooner had I thought this than I had an experience which many have described as “their life flashing before their eyes”. This isn’t an easy one to explain. Unless you’ve experienced it yourself, it’s hard to understand how it could happen because our minds tend to think about time flowing linearly, like a river moving forward in a straight course. But in this case, time wasn’t the way we normally experience it.
It was as if I could remember every detail about my life ALL AT ONCE…which would of course be impossible under normal circumstances. And more, this recall happened all in the exact same moment, but without the memories being all jumbled and piled up. It didn’t take up time the way remembering even one of those memories normally would. But in this experience, the focus of the memories was to highlight all the times I’d been taught about prayer. How we can pray any time, and any where about any thing, etc. That it’s not something we can only do kneeling on the ground. It was as though I re-lived every Sunday School class and Primary lesson I’d ever been in, where I had been taught a true principle, but which I had yet to implement in my life.
My reply to this has always amused me in hindsight. I replied back in my mind with the words, “Oh. Duh.”, feeling kind of sheepish that I’d forgotten such a basic, foundational principle.
And then I prayed. Interestingly, I had never in my life said a prayer that wasn’t completely formal, with all the traditional “parts” included. But in that moment, from my swirly green position out in the ocean, I offered what was probably my first truly heartfelt prayer, and it was only five words long: Heavenly Father, please help me.
I woke up some time later and found myself laying on the sand, just above the water line. Apparently I’d been there long enough to get a little sunburn, but when I first came to and realized where I was, and remembered what had happened, I looked around to see who had rescued me. The beach was still packed…no one was allowed in the water past their knees. Yet not a living soul was paying any attention to me. No person had come to my rescue.
And then it hit me, the magnitude of what I had just experienced!
He really is REAL! Not only that, He Knows Me! And I MATTER to Him! My life was worth preserving, even though there really weren’t that many people back then who would have been impacted if I’d died. Before this, I was just barely surviving, and not doing a bang-up job of it either.
I was also simultaneously impressed with the realization that if He knew and cared about me, the “ugliest girl in the world”, then He clearly knew and cared about EVERYONE. That we all really do have a Father in Heaven watching over us.
That experience transformed my life then, and would again “save” me many many years later (another story for another time). For the rest of my teen years, no matter how unbearable things got, I could never set it aside. And I will always be grateful for that unseen guardian angel, whoever it was, who was sent to “swim me to shore” and lay me down in a safe place, looking for all the world like I was operating under my own power. For I am convinced that that must be what happened. I look forward someday to hearing their side of this tale.
Grateful for:
1) A Heavenly Father who loves us all
2) Guardian Angels, both those above and the many who are right here among us
3) Help when needed
