I was telling them about the book by Randal Wright (Making Every Day Meaningful) and how I wanted to work at remembering some of life's experiences. We all were in agreement how our long term memories are not so great. On the way home from dinner the topic came around to Lake Powell and "do you remember that one scary trip where I was holding on for dear life in the front of the boat while the waves were so high?"
Hey, that was an old memory we just recreated. But to make it meaningful, we had to find meaning in it. So here's what we came up with.
"Hold on tight."
"Don't capsize."
"Don't fill your boat with frivolous stuff like Spaghettios and Ding Dongs and Pop Tarts."
"Stay in the boat from Elder Holland."
So let me recount one of our other Lake Powell adventures.
For some reason there were several Lake Powell trips where we went in July . . . when it's crazy hot. I wouldn't recommend that. At least I wouldn't recommend how we did it, pitching a tent with no shade and living in the water all day to stay cool.
We would get to Lake Powell, fill the boat will all our camping gear, cooler, and 7 people, and launch out into the deep. I'm surprised that little boat didn't just give up the ghost at the dock and raise the white flag of surrender. He must have thought he was the little boat who could because he chugged and chugged until we found the perfect camping spot.
This particular trip back in 1989 we had been camped for a day or so when dad dented the propellor to the boat as he was backing it up. I'm guessing a dented propellor does not give you great gas mileage because a quick fishing trip used up the 2nd of our 3 gas tanks. The decision was then made to head for home and pray we made it. About two miles from the dock the gas ran out as it was getting dark and our little family of 7 drifted in to shore and set up a make-shift camp as dad decided he would hike back to the marina with the gas can.
Yes, we were stranded. And now for the rest of the story . . .
Dad made it back to the marina with the gas can but was unable to get down the cliffs and had to turn back thinking he would just hike back to camp. In the dark he missed it and when he came to some water, he thought it was just a small channel he would need to swim. Leaving the gas can, in he went only to turn back with a strong feeling that he needed something to hold on to. Finding a log he started back into the water. After swimming quite awhile, he made it to shore only to discover that he had swam the main channel. That, my friends, is quite a distance.
As he retold this story to us later, as a family we were so grateful he had listened to that prompting to get something to hold on to because out in the middle his legs began to cramp and he would have quite certainly not made it to the other side of the lake.
He was able to find a camp with some men from California who kept telling him that they knew they were going to help someone but they figured it would be out on the water. Eventually we made it home, all in tact and grateful for whisperings of the Spirit and kind people.
Good things
the smell of the forest
a roast cooking on Fast Sunday
strong trees
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