It was a bright summer day in Oklahoma when our friends and former neighbors returned from Kansas City. They returned to visit and reminisce of days gone by.
Their son, Vincent, 11-years-old at the time, went with me and my brother Steve on a hike. I was nine and Steve was 12. And, though our parents knew we were leaving, they had no idea where we were headed. We hiked down to the Arkansas River and, after removing shoes & socks, we jumped in the water.
To our surprise, the water was just waist-deep. Which was nice, but boring. So, with a sense of adventure, we decided to wade all the way across, thinking the water would be waist-deep for the duration. And it was waist-deep, till Vincent and I stepped off a 30-foot ledge.
Lagging behind about 10 or 15 yards, Steve saw the two of us go under. I kept bobbing up and down, gasping for air, as the river's current carried me downstream. However, Vincent never resurfaced. Helpless to help, Steve returned to shore, ran to the highway, and flagged down a car that took him to the nearest gas station where he called police.
I was a skinny scrawny kid back then, no match for the mighty current, and it was all I could do to keep coming up for air. Ingesting more and more water, fighting for my life, my arms grew tired. And, just before passing out, I cried out to God, "Help!" When I opened my eyes a short time later, I was flat on my back. Lying there beneath the warm summer sun, I found myself on a sandbar and knew that God had answered my prayer. But what about Vincent?
Screaming sirens could be heard in the distance and, as the sirens got louder and louder, I saw the ambulance and police cars and firetruck come racing across the bridge. Paramedics checked my vitals as police and firemen sprang into action. They called it search and rescue, but everyone knew there'd be no rescue.
Our mom and Vincent's mom were having tea back at the house when a policeman came to the door. "There are two boys in the river and I believe they're your sons," said the officer, "You should come with me." As you can imagine, these moms were in shock as they were taken to the river's bridge. But the shock turned to hope when they learned that one of the boys had been taken to the hospital, though the other was still in the water.
All the way to the hospital, these moms sat in back of a squad car, each praying that it would be her son they'd see, that her boy was the one still breathing. Upon arrival, Mom sprang from the car, ran to the E.R., and, seeing me on the gurney, cried out, "Mike, thank God it's you!!" Vincent's mom was close behind and collapsed when she saw me. She collapsed to the floor.
After three days of searching, they found the body, and, returning to Kansas City, Vincent was laid to rest.
Why the Lord saved me and not Vincent, I don't know. But it gave me a sense of responsibility. God had spared my life for a reason, and I believe that reason is to share this message with you, the message found in this book.
In hopes of reaching as many as possible, I've published this book under different titles, with slight variation. Which means you probably won't wanna buy more than one of 'em. Unless, of course, you're shopping for gifts.
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