Rescue Me...I Don't Mind

What does it mean to be rescued? In our contemporary, highly-individualistic culture, the word "rescue" carries many negative associations -- weakness, a lack of self-determination, impotence. Particularly for women, it calls to mind an image of the princess trapped in the castle waiting for her prince to rescue her. I don't need any of those archaic ideas, we proclaim. I am strong. I am self-sufficient. And those qualities are fine, except for one thing. We are human. Both women and men. We all have weaknesses. And we need to know that it's okay to ask for help. Sometimes, it's an absolute necessity. 

Several years ago, my husband and I took an anniversary trip to Kauai with the aim of hiking the famed Na Pali Coast. Arriving at our hotel, I posed on the terrace in the golden light with the mystical coastline behind me in the distance. We couldn’t wait to get started.

As I looked for this photo today, I realized I didn’t know the whereabouts of most of the photos we had taken on that trip. Probably because neither of us have had much desire to look at photos from an adventure gone horribly wrong. My husband had hiked this same coastline years before while on a summer student trip. He'd loved every moment of it and was eager to share the stunning views with me. However, we were there in February — the rainy season. 

The sky was spitting as we started on the red, muddy trail. We weren’t bothered. A little rain and mud makes for a good adventure. Our plan was to hike into a canyon to see some dramatic waterfalls, and we estimated we could accomplish that in a few hours. How wrong we were!

We crossed the mouth of a river near a stunning tropical beach and began to wind our way into the canyon following the path of the river. Soon, the sky opened and we were caught in a tropical downpour. Water gushed down every side of the canyon, and the river began to rise. We made several crossings until it was clear that it was no longer safe to continue. Trapped on a sliver of land between two branches of a raging river, we were cold, wet, and I was beginning to lose the feeling in my hands and feet.

Other stranded hikers began to arrive on our little island. At first, we laughed gloomily at our own stupidity and made a meager effort to build a shelter, but nothing was dry and no one had adequate supplies. Eventually, the reality of our situation began to dawn on us. The threat of hypothermia loomed large. Did anyone know we were there? Would someone send out a search party? We had to make a choice. Would we stubbornly try to control an uncontrollable situation, or would we seek help? I don't know about anyone else on the island, but my husband and I were praying for wisdom and divine intervention.

After assessing our situation, we determined that someone would need to go. A Seattle firefighter, who was amongst our group, courageously volunteered to attempt to cross the angry river and look for help. He was not equipped for such a feat in his flip-flops, so my husband contributed his hiking books to the effort. We tied branches together to help him cross and prayed for him every perilous step of the way. We all knew that one false step would mean death. We breathed a collective sigh of relief when he was finally able to take off running from the other side.

It turned out no one knew we were trapped in the canyon. It was close to sunset, and our firefighter made it to a lower camp just in time to notify authorities of our situation. Had he been any later, it would have been too late for them to reach us. A rescue helicopter was sent that could remove two of us at a time. I'll never forget the moment I saw the chopper hovering above us lowering a rope basket. Hope, at last! And I never imagined I could be so completely confident that a hovering rope basket was where I wanted to be. So much better than the only alternative.

The rescue turned out a little different than I'd imagined. There would be no hot shower or cozy hotel bed for me that night. As it was getting dark, the chopper only had time to move each of us to the other side of the river. We were then forced to hike down to the next camp to seek shelter for the night. Cold, wet, and in some cases, bloody, we arrived at a tent where some through-hiking Canadians literally gave us the shirts off their backs. Fifteen of us crammed like sardines into a seven-person tent. It was utterly miserable, but it was warm, and we no longer feared the worst. At first light, rescue workers arrived to help us cross the mouth of the river so we could hike back the rest of the way. 

One woman died that night. She was swept away near the same place in the river where we crossed with rescue workers in the morning. I will always think of her and the family she left behind. Her sister, whom my husband had the opportunity to minister to, will always wonder why her sister was the one who hadn't been rescued. Only God knows.

Occasionally, my husband and I still shake our heads at the fact the we allowed ourselves to get into such a dangerous situation. We could have turned back many times. We could have heeded the advice of a local who mentioned that morning that it didn't look like a good day for hiking. But we are human, and sometimes we make bad decisions. Sometimes we need to ask for help when we've done something egregiously stupid. 

If you know me, then you know that I have a stubborn streak. I don't like to be wrong. But God has done a lot in my heart over the years, and this horrible holiday gone wrong was just one of many times He managed to bring me to my knees begging for help. And I am so thankful that He sends people to rescue us, people to give us the shirts off their backs. It's okay to be weak. It's okay to vulnerable. It's okay to screw up. If King David can stand in a place of complete helplessness and cry out to God to be rescued (just take a look at Psalms 30, 31, 40 and 69), then who am I to think I can walk through this life without help? Be human, it's okay. God made you that way.