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!
