The Canoe Trip

Did I ever tell you about the time I thought I was drowning in the Jatate River in southern Mexico? No, I’m sure I didn’t. We were still at our Jungle Camp’s Main Base. I felt cheated when I had to miss the two day hike to visit the Baers. Phil and Mary Baer were Bible translators living among the Lacandones, the most primitive Indians in Mexico. We mothers had to stay in camp with our children while the rest of the campers went. How well I remember watching in the dim light of early morning while the mules were packed with the hikers’ gear. Ed, with his canteen and machete attached to his web belt and his straw hat on his head, hardly looked like my husband. Little did I realize as I watched them disappear over the first hill that even this was preparation for the future. Many times I had to stay behind with our children while Ed traveled to meetings or helped allocate another missionary couple.

Five days later, the hikers straggled back to camp with unbelievable tales. They told of trails so muddy they’d suck your boots off—almost. They had stories of eating monkey meat and watching Lacandones worship their god pots. (Well, I guess I made that up about the monkey meat. Ed says the campers didn’t have to eat any.) Maybe staying with the children was the lesser test, but you couldn’t convince me at the time.

When our director announced an overnight canoe trip, Ed graciously offered to stay with the children so I could go. Maybe it wasn’t such a gracious offer after all, considering Ed never liked water. Anyway, I was delighted to be able to go. The river held a fascination for me. In fact—I’m a little embarrassed to admit this—that’s how God first got my attention to begin talking to me about becoming a missionary. We saw a film that showed a missionary family traveling in a dugout canoe. Oh, how exciting, I thought, to paddle a dugout canoe on a jungle river!

Near our camp, there was a quiet place where we swam nearly every day. The purpose was to build up our strength and hone our skills so we could handle ourselves in the water. I loved to float on my back and watch the birds flit through the trees overhead. Never have I found a more peaceful place.

A few days before our scheduled canoe trip, our director used the swim time to instruct us on handling a dugout canoe. I remember the day before the trip, he impressed upon us, NEVER tip your canoe into the current.

When the great day arrived, we carefully seated ourselves in the canoes and we were off. Two large canoes that held several people started down the river first. Then a smaller one with three people in it followed. I was in the last canoe with one other woman and a man who sat in the back and was supposed to keep our canoe going in the right direction. This particular man was a whiz at linguistics, but he wasn’t much of a hand at practical things. And he’d had no more experience with a canoe than either of us women. We got along fine as long as the river went straight, but we were approaching a bend. The instructor waited at the bend in the river to warn us of rapids.

“This is kind of a tricky place,” he said. “You may come ashore and lead your canoe around the bend, or if you want, you may try to shoot the rapids.”

Adventuresome soul that I was at that young age, I said, “Let’s go for it.”

As soon as we hit the rapids, we lost all control of the canoe. The current swept us to the opposite shore and we hung up in the bushes. My two companions did what any sensible person would do. They each grabbed a branch and pulled themselves up onto the shore.

“If we just bounce it a little, we can shake it loose and go on down the river.” Caught up in the adventure of the moment, I stood in the canoe and began bouncing to try to shake it loose, the very thing we had been warned not to do. Instantly, the current swept me off the canoe and into the raging river. I went down, down, down. It felt like I went down forever. “Lord,” I prayed, “here I come.” Surely this would be my last great adventure on this earth. Instantly I felt myself floating up, and I surfaced in the calm water below the rapids. There a canoe waited crosswise of the river. My missionary trainee friends fished me out and we proceeded on down the river, grateful to a Lord who cares for his own, even the foolish ones.

I wonder whatever happened to that straw hat I was wearing when we started the trip.