The River

The River

Every river has an undercurrent that seeks to pull you down and destroy your life. It’s called the undertow, or undercurrent. It’s taken me seventeen years to bring this story from being buried deep within to the surface. 

 

It was a beautiful sunny day, not too hot and not too cool. Just right some would say. The cookout was in full swing, honoring those who would serve the whole summer in an endeavor that would surely change lives for generations to come.

 

The undercurrent of the river could not be seen; it was a slow flowing river that seemed to be beautiful on the surface. Evil was lurking just below its calm exterior.

 

The Meramec River, or more commonly known as the river of death, was deceptively dangerous. As some waded out into the water, laughter cried out, and it was a joyful occasion. It was beautiful but there was an undercurrent that day that no one saw coming. As more people waded out into the river because the current looked so calm, the river was not speaking anything but peace and harmony in the moment. Then suddenly the undercurrent took over!

 

My voicemail to this day says, “George, give me a call; give me a call, there has been a tragedy.” It was about two in the morning, and I was out of a cell service area. The next morning I arose early and went to a location where I could get a cell signal and made the call. 

 

My friend answered with urgency and told me what had happened. “They died; they all drowned, five of them, George.”

 

I didn’t know what to say, other than “Why did God allow this?”

 

She said, “God didn’t; the devil has orchestrated this evil.”

 

The undercurrent had pulled them under, dragging them to the bottom of this godforsaken river—a river that had claimed lives before and would surely do so again. All five of them left a profound impact, altering the course of those they left behind in their wake. I was one of the few directly affected, swept up in the aftermath. The impact of their loss changed the course of my life forever, as it did for everyone involved in this tragedy. The undercurrent not only pulled them under but also left the living broken and haunted. That dam river! I hate that river. And I hate even more that it’s taken me seventeen years to finally write about it. 

 

I have always referred to them as the five—five souls who brought so much life to this world and had so much to share with humanity. Who would ever know now? The river of death claimed them,and now where are we? Living…but are we? What has the undercurrent done to us, the ones left behind? As I sat on the shore of the lake, I stared blankly into the horizon—a lost soul looking for direction, asking God, Why? What happened? Why didn’t you see this coming? I was angry! If you are God, then why did You allow this? My questions seemed valid I thought, but they required no response from my God who created me and who holds the universe in His hands. 

 

My soul sank to a new depth. Death could have received me in that moment, and I am sure I was not the only one who felt that way. 

That was supposed to be the greatest summer of all times. We had planned to reach out to so many wonderful inner-city kids who had never seen the breathtaking nature of a lake, been on a boat, or even tried water skiing. Then the undercurrent happened. The evil that it holds, and the slow, unseen current beneath the surface, are always present. This undercurrent seeks to destroy us all. 

 

At that time in my life, I truly wanted to disappear. It wasn’t entirely about me or even this event, but something had shifted profoundly, leaving me with a deep, desperate wish to no longer be on this earth. The undertow is real. It doesn’t just destroy those caught directly in its grip; it pulls at anyone near its edge, gradually drawing them in without their even realizing it. Suddenly, they’re struggling to stay upright as it pulls them under. 

 

A particular song resonated so deeply with me that I clung to it, and it sparked a shift in the neighborhood between my ears. 

Linkin Park’s Numb, captured exactly what I was feeling—a sense of being overwhelmed, weighed down by pressures beyond my control, and gradually becoming numb to everything around me. 

 

I had become numb to the emotions causing me such intense pain. This is the point where you realize you’re in a dark place, with the undertow threatening to engulf you into the phantoms of death.

 

This is the place where so many struggle to survive, where suicide can feel like the only escape from the unbearable pain. It’s a place where your smile, your laughter, and even your words can hide what’s really happening in your soul. You don’t know the power of the undertow until it pulls you down and holds you there. It’s dark and lonely, even with friends and family nearby. The undertow is where we all struggle to become more like Him, calling on Him with everything we have. 

 

In the undertow, we feel numb but long for life. At rock bottom, hope feels lost, and in that place of despair, we cry out for something—anything—to bring us back to the light. 

 

Then it happens. Hope shows up. It might come from a trusted friend, a daughter or son, a coworker, or even a stranger who has seen your struggle and offers you a smile, a hug, or an encouraging word—just enough to change everything. 

 

That’s how the undertow works. It holds more than just death; it holds hope and a God who reaches out to bring you through. He strengthens you through this undertow, showing you that you can make it. 

 

No matter how strong the current, how deep the numbness, we must never quit. This world needs you and the purpose you bring to humanity. Fight with everything you have—fight for your loved ones, for life, and against the undertow that seeks to destroy you. Let hope rise to the surface and bring light to a new season! Breathe!

www.sandwestedit.com 

The Catfish Pond

The Catfish Pond

It all started about 1975. I was in a startup group home for boys called the Haven House, located on Shepherd Street right off Hillsborough Street in Raleigh. There was a great deal of controversy surrounding the establishment of this group home in the beautiful neighborhood of the small Raleigh community. 

The neighbors were not happy about our arrival. I was number eight out of ten boys who would live there for the next year. There was really no time limit to our stay; that was just their best estimate.

To bring this into perspective, there were ten at-risk boys living in a home situated in a beautiful community near Cameron Village and the Rose Garden. What does this have to do with a catfish pond? It has everything to do with that pond, as that’s where it was created. 

Let me list the wonderful and inspiring individuals who were house parents at the Haven House. There was Peter. All he did was write all day long, documenting our stories as they were happening. There was Barbra. She wore a long robe and flip-flops and smoked a pipe. I can still smell that pipe till this day. The pleasant aroma of the pipe matched her beauty; she was always asking, “Are you ok? Are you doing well?” Then there was Michael, who was the hippie of the group. He was composed and consistently worked to calm us down and keep the peace, always striving to defuse situations and support us at-risk kids. I’m not sure if this group knew what they signed up for. Nonetheless, Michael was up for the challenge. He would gather us up a few times a week to teach us how to connect with our inner being; he called it meditation. We had a name for it, but you probably don’t want to know what it was. We were just teenagers trying to figure out life and how we fit in. 

He always sat us in a circle in an upstairs room and told us to close our eyes and imagine a pond, a beautiful sun, grass fields, light wind, and earth on our skin. He told us to breathe in and out, inhale and exhale, until we were at a place of solace. A tranquil place of peace! It actually worked. We sat for hours like this, and when we came out of this state, we seemed to be different people. The peace and this place of safety gave us hope. Despite the pain, suffering, and destruction we faced, we had hope that we would make it one more day. I adopted this way of life at an early age and named this place the catfish pond. Each one of us there never saw the place the same, just as it is in life.

The catfish pond is where I would go when trouble was on the horizon or seemed to be near to me. It was a place of solitude that brought me freedom and comfort. It was my safe place. It was where I was taught to go to in my time of need. It calmed me and brought me peace. Then life happened, and I left Haven House and 28 Shepherd Street became a memory. A wonderful memory it was. 

Over the next few years, I would often go to the catfish pond, remembering those breathing exercises that brought me to that wonderful place. 

Some forty-seven years later, I would find myself in a place full of stress, exhaustion, and lack of life. I found myself sitting in the place I had been familiar with in my younger years, the therapy couch. If you have read my other stories, you know that I am extremely transparent about my therapy. I’m not suggesting that we should rely solely on therapy, but that we all need support in sorting things out from time to time. 

God is wondrous, and He has placed extraordinary people in our lives for a reason. My therapist is not only a professional but also a good friend. I often say our paths have crossed in a remarkable way, and I am grateful for that. 

We are almost three years in, and I’m still learning about me and the details that have helped me to become me. So how does the catfish pond fit in this story, you may ask? Well, about a year into my sessions, the therapist decided to ask me to do some breathing exercises. Oh my, I thought, let’s do this. As we breathed in and out, she said, “Relax, deep breaths, inhale, exhale, deep breaths. In through your nose and hold it, then exhale. Let’s do that again and again.” The breathing exercise can go on for a minute to several minutes; it just depends on your mental state. 

Then it appeared out of nowhere; the catfish pond was right in front of me. I hadn’t been there for more than forty-seven years. It was still as beautiful as ever. 

I can see it now; it has changed so much, but it’s still so magnificent. The glowing sunshine, perfect temperature, blue skies, and lovely green grass flowing in the wind. There are new things here at the catfish pond. A small stream flowing into the pond that reads on the surface: peace, joy, love, and harmony.

As I try to enter it, I am met by an outer ring of exquisite white crystal-like sand. As I walk through it, it’s not like sand you and I think about, but it looks like diamonds with the same texture as sand. It’s about a twelve-foot-wide ring that is met by a dome of sorts. 

You can’t enter here if you are stressed. I think for a moment during my journey there: this is where I can come to relieve my stress and seek peace and harmony in my life. The voice continues to say, “Breathe, inhale, exhale,” until I am allowed to enter into the place of peace, harmony, love, and joy. I step into this place and know instantly that I am where I am supposed to be. The catfish pond has grown so much over the past forty-seven years. I walk in and am greeted by many friends and family. Not much talking at all, more observing. 

Let me describe what is in this pond. First, it’s not just a pond but a glorious and vast body of water. It’s turquoise, and the shore has white sand. There are so many people there resting in peace. I know all of them. 

I believe this is the place where Jesus speaks because this is His place. The dome above sprinkles down mercy, grace, peace, joy, and love. Just like the stream that follows into this place. 

At the catfish pond, my beautiful Lisa is smiling at me and is right by my side, holding my hand. She motions to me that it’s going to be okay. My grandchildren are fishing there, but the fish are unlike any you could ever imagine. The catfish are talking to the children and playing along with them while they swim on their fishing pole lines. They are enjoying the peace and solace that this activity brings all of us. 

When you step into this place, you are instantly void of all outside influences. Over to the right of the pond, I see my mom relaxing. She smiles at me as to say, “Thank you.” I see my brother, Chris, who loved to fish, standing by my grandchildren, teaching them the things an expert fisherman would teach. He’s found peace in his life finally. My daughters are here, resting and relaxing with their husbands. The therapist is here, observing the dynamics of this place and how it significantly contributes to bringing peace and harmony to humanity. 

Then there is this reality. There are others here as well. I can’t see them, but I sense them in my spirit. They are searching for the same peace that I am experiencing here. There are times I can speak a name and they will answer to that. I know they are searching for the same thing I am—peace, love, harmony, and joy. My friends from my past, who have gone by the way of their own demise, are here. I’m not sad they are here; they create no drama here. I wish for them to experience what I have: peace in this world, joy in my soul, and harmony in my spirit. Love encompasses all of this. 

There are those who try to invade the catfish pond, but they cannot. For the most part, I am unaware of this but feel their presence from time to time. There are only a few rules to enter into this place: no drama, no hate, and no confusion. The fountain of mercy and grace that flows here is immeasurable. The joy that is rained down here is more than we can take in, and love is abounding in this place. It’s amazing grace! 

The dome of the catfish pond is vast and contains miles of transparent words that circle it like a covering, speaking of joy, hope, love, and harmony; join us in this. It speaks the name of Jesus, declaring the hope of life and the peace that He brings us. Whatever you make of this place, it has grown over the past forty-seven years and now is a place that I visit often. 

His name is power; His name is Jesus; and His name is life. He has broken so many strongholds in my life here, bringing me the healing that I so desperately needed. 

Let Him heal you! Do you think you want to visit the catfish pond? Close your eyes and start the journey. 

www.sandwestedit.com