The vision of that Saturday vividly assaults me now, even now as I suddenly recall slipping off the wet rock into the deep water.

My daddy and I were taking a number of kids from our church in Kentucky to a pool on some river, water crystal clear and running swiftly. The banks rose sharply from the lapping liquid, and the seven of them were getting to spend this morning swimming.

None of the kids emanated from moneyed families. Not one of them had a car, so we all piled into the cavernous old Chevy my father owned, another hand-me-down from a neighbor in Monticello, dull black finish, heavily used, but enough to get us from home to the cool effervescence of the stream.

Without incident we arrived and with towels wrapped around young necks we all piled down the hill from the bridge just crossed to the waiting swimmin' hole perhaps fifty feet below grade. A few belly flops and dashes later, all the older kids were in the pool, while I sat on a rock jutting into the still surface.

We hadn't been there ten minutes when I stood up and promptly lost my balance, falling on my side into the clearest water I'd ever attempted to drown in, eyes wide open! I was only smart enough to hold my breath while seconds later, strong hands lifted me from the confluence and deposited me back on the rock, firmly seated. My daddy scooted up on the rough surface next to me, and with eyes filled with concern, asked if I was ok. For a mere preschooler, I had at least the presence of mind to answer through now shivering teeth that, "Yes Daddy, I'm ok and I'll stay put so you and the boys can swim."

We as small children aren't often smart enough to steer clear of danger, most of which we cannot see. Drowning seems just another way to enjoy the stream while we sink beneath the surface without flailing. Daddy God rescues us from certain calamity and deposits us on the path once more when we cry out to Him, "Abba! Daddy!"

May we ever be humbly reaching for his strong arms!