Suddenly and Without Warning
The line between eternity and the present has become blurred.
By Dan Schaeffer
I sat peacefully beneath the oak trees of O'Neil Regional Park. From my
perch on the cliff I gazed down toward Trabuco Creek, dry and empty of
everything but rocks. The sycamores and oaks shaded me from the sun. How I
enjoyed these scenes of quiet nature. Unlike the rest of my life as a
pastor, everything here was still and calm. This was my secret place, my
escape from the commotion of life. Nothing bad ever intruded upon my quiet
place of prayer.
As was my custom, I had escaped my office and the demands of ministry to go
and pray. My office was situated in a rural canyon with the park be-tween
office and home, so I would leave the office early on Wednesday, pray for an
hour or so, then walk home. I could focus on eternal things without the
constant cacophony of the temporal.
It was my sanctuary - until May 12, 1998. On that day, I was struggling to
pray. Though I was undistracted from without, I found myself curiously
distracted from within. I wanted just to sit and look and drink in the
solitude. The familiar caw of the crows overhead and the mournful cry of a
hawk crossing the canyon mingled with the distant sound of cars passing over
the bridge a few miles away. Then came an unfamiliar shout.
"Dad!"
The cry was distant. Many parents took their children for walks in this
park, and since the park was heavily wooded, it was easy for children to
lose track of parents. I returned to the task at hand, praying.
"Dad!"
The voice was a little closer. It is amazing how every time a child yells
"Dad," it sounds like your own child. I closed my eyes to pray . when the
cry became closer and more urgent.
"Dad!" It was Andrew, and he sounded upset.
"I'm here, son." I caught sight of him, and he ran over to me breathlessly.
"You've got to come, Dad!"
"What's wrong?"
"It's Brian . I think he drowned!"
A BORN SWIMMER
Reality has a way of hitting us suddenly and without warning. Brian was one
of my nephews. He was good-looking, popular at school, and more at home in
the water than on land. He had lived down the street from us for years. I
had spoken to him just the night before at Haute Cafe, a coffeehouse in town
where he worked. As usual he had tried to give us free coffee or hot
chocolate.
"Brian didn't drown, son," I assured him. "What happened?" I was sure Andrew
was just excited and confused. Brian could no more drown than I could break
my neck on my computer keyboard. Brian was a born swimmer; the ocean was his
second home. He was on both the varsity swim team and water polo team.
Andrew gasped, "Mom got a call from Aunt Keri. She's on the way to the
hospital. He drowned at the pool at school, and they're taking him to the
hospital now."
"Is he dead?" I heard myself ask, not believing I was saying these words.
"I don't know; we've got to hurry!"
We both started running. The solitude was gone, the insulation removed. I
was breathing hard when we finally arrived home. Andrew was right. Brian had
suffered some kind of swimming mishap and had been pulled from the pool
unconscious. That was all we knew. Keri, Brian's mother, was on her way to
the hospital and Phil, her husband, was on his way from work.
We jumped in the car and raced to the hospital saying little, praying a lot.
I pulled up in front, jumped out of our van, and started running toward the
hospital entrance. A number of young men Brian's age were staring at the
ground, while several adults stood around. As I raced toward the door I
spied a woman watching me. She must have guessed why I was in such a hurry.
Catching my eye, she slowly shook her head, tears filling her eyes. I
stopped in my tracks. I moaned the words "No!"
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