"Today is my 15th birthday, November 23rd," I thought back in 1997 as I quickly sat up in bed, having wakened suddenly. Looking around the room, everything was strange to me. After a few seconds of trying to figure out where I was, it suddenly popped into my mind. "Of course! - I'm in the Dominican Republic!" I recalled how I had left my parents and home back in Long Lake, eagerly setting out for my first vacation without them. To be honest, my only time alone was on the non-stop flight to Santo Domingo. There, I was cordially greeted by our best family friends, the Lamos's. They too lived in our small town of Long Lake, but were spending several months visiting relatives native to the island. I had only two weeks to soak up the beauty, culture, and language of the land before being obliged to return home myself. And already one week was gone. I quickly gathered my clothes and headed to the shower, following my usual routine in the morning. Finishing, I wandered toward the kitchen, curious to see everybody's whereabouts. But before I could get there, Mr. Lamos, or Dave as I call him, stopped me. "Johnathan, why don't the two of us take a walk down to the ocean. You've been saying that you want to see where I go every morning." "That's cool," I said. My vocabulary was increasing at a rapid pace then, but maybe not in the best sense! We walked down the still quiet calle, or street, crossed a major road, and followed another street that led to the 30-foot cliffs overlooking the Gulf of Mexico. The long, jagged, and uninterrupted cliff line provided a stark contrast to the crowded city behind our backs. No one was in sight. After meandering around the porous, sharp rock making up the cliff, Dave and I decided to sit down at the tip of a slight promontory, making sure the rock was dry. After about 10 minutes of small talk and watching the storm-ridden waves pound relentlessly at the cliff, I interrupted. "Don't you think we should start heading back for breakfast? You told Grecia that we'll only be a half-hour." Unnoticed to us, a huge ocean swell was surging toward our vantage point on the cliff. Before Dave could answer my suggestion to get going, the swell apparently overcame the cliff with ease, and suddenly a wall of water rammed into us from the left side. There was no matching the ocean's power. The next instant I can remember, I was plummeting down amid a whiteout of saltwater spray. "No! This has to be a dream!" my mind screamed, and then all was silenced. Meanwhile, while I was helplessly following a route over the side of the promontory, Dave was instead somehow knocked over the tip. He struggled desperately to grab the serrated rock, but it only served to tear his skin as he was swept away. I remember nothing until I found myself by the hand of God, instinctively treading water side by side with Dave, looking back with astonishment at the same cliff now 300 feet away! We both remained calm, and being good swimmers, thanked the Lord for His protection thus far and begged for His mercy. Dave's condition worried me, though. He was bleeding from his multiple lacerations, including a major gash on his forehead. As for my condition, my adrenaline prevented me from feeling any personal injury, and as it turned out, thank God, I had only a couple minor cuts. Looking at my friend's bleeding lacerations, I was glad that I had remained ignorant of whether this part of the sea held any sharks. "What should we do?" I gasped as a wave of saltwater splashed in my face. But there was nothing we could do except wait and pray, hoping a boat or person on the cliff would appear and then notice us. Swimming in to shore and trying to scale the unending cliffs would be suicidal, since our bodies would be smashed against the rock and possibly be caught in the undercut alcoves just under the foaming surface. In desperation, I cried, "God, if you save me, I will serve you forever!" I was already a Christian, but at the time, it was the only thing I thought was fit to say. Ironically, Dave made a similar plea and promise, recognizing that God put us in the sea and was the only One who could take us back out. 15 minutes later- Some poor local fishermen suddenly appeared at the cliff's edge, beginning their daily routine of trying to earn a meager income. "Help! Help!" we both started to scream. But the incessant, roaring, storm-driven ocean mercilessly drowned out our frail pleas, and Dave and I reluctantly realized we were wasting what little energy we had left. We could only pray that they would spot two little specks bobbing up and down between the waves. 15 minutes later, after treading water 30 minutes- The fishermen finally noticed us! The three of them congregated in one spot, shouting instructions (I think) at us in Spanish. They appeared frustrated when we could not respond. Finally, two of the men abruptly left while the third fisherman continued to holler Spanish at us. After a seemingly long time, they returned with several capped Clorox bottles, two of which were tied to a green palm branch. The bottles were thrown out as far as the men could muster. "Johnathan, swim in closer to shore and try to get those bottles before they float away! We need them! I'm too tired to go anywhere. But be careful not to get too close to those rocks!" "But Dave, are you sure you want me to leave you? We should stay together!" "It's our only hope!" So I began to work my way to shore doing the doggy-paddle and trying to keep my head above the cresting swells. I knew how dangerous it was to start allowing the waves to cap over me. Eventually, I reached the bottles, which had miraculously not floated away yet. I quickly grabbed two, and feeling myself being drawn closer to the deadly rocks with each coming swell, I put the bottles under my arms and furiously started kicking my way back out to sea toward Dave. By the time I reached him, we had been separated another half-hour. I found him coughing up water, arms over the palm branch! He later recounted to me what he said to God after I left him. "God, if You want me to have that branch, then You'll have to make it come to me, because I have no strength to get to it." In between bobbing under the waves and fighting the urge to give up, he noticed the branch floating closer. Finally, he lifted his arms -all he had strength to do- and the palm floated under him. Shortly after our reunion, we heard sirens on land coming our way. Then, the sirens slowly faded away along with our hopes. Finally, after a few long minutes, the sirens returned, this time coming to a rest in our vicinity. Three divers, equipped with only snorkels and floatation rings, quickly appeared on the cliff's edge. After only a second's pause, they astounded both Dave and me by suddenly jumping into the water below. Our rescuers quickly swam out to us and replaced our bottles with the rings. I frankly had no idea how they were going to rescue us, much less themselves now. However, they escorted us closer to shore, where they asked me if I would volunteer to let Dave be rescued first, as he was now vomiting. I unselfishly answered "OK" -a word common to both our languages- and waited with the divers about 20 feet away from the rock, while Dave swam to the base. Some men had lowered a rope into the water, and after he grabbed it, they hoisted him up the cliff to safety. When the rope was lowered back into the water for me, the divers had me wait for a few seconds. Then, in between two swells, I furiously swam to the rope and took hold of it. But just as I started to ascend, another swell rose up and washed me off the rock. Determined to not let go of this lifeline when so close to rescue, I maintained my death grip until I was quickly hoisted up to dry ground. For a couple minutes afterward, I could do nothing except blankly stand there. Then, before I knew it, they were motioning something at me again. I reluctantly realized what they meant, and was obliged to give up my pants and hand them over to Dave, who had nothing on at that point! I had earlier taken off my shirt and shoes in order to unweight myself from my heavy, wet clothing, whereas Dave, afraid that his shirt might get stuck halfway over his head, chose a different way to unweight. So as we made our way past the junkpiles and onlooking crowds of curious locals to the waiting ambulance, I was forced to recite Matthew 5, verses 40-42, and to console myself that boxers weren't a whole lot different than shorts, and maybe the natives didn't know the difference anyway!
AFTERWORD
The ambulance ride to the hospital proved to be another adventure in itself. As the driver and passenger up front argued about how to get there, and the antiquated ambulance swerved between the animals and pedestrians on the four-lane "highway," Dave wondered if we were rescued from the ocean only to meet our Maker in this way. I had the advantage of being able to hold on, but poor Dave was strapped to his bed on wheels! Once at the hospital, Dave was quickly treated and released, but only after I ended up having to assist the doctor in bandaging him up. Though not needing attention medically, I felt I needed it in other areas, as I was walking between the emergency and x-ray departments still shirtless and wearing only my "shorts!" Our only delay was caused from trying to find the phone number of where we were staying in a Spanish libro de telefono. Later that day, I had my surprise birthday cake that had been left uncovered for the flies for 10 hours, but, needless to say, it was surely anticlimactic! Dave eventually met with the rescue team and was personally able to thank them and witness about God's power and love. In addition, he went back to the cliffs almost every day trying to find and thank the three fishermen. As it turned out, on the last day before leaving for the States, he found them. Using his wife, Grecia, as an interpreter, the fisherman told Dave they had actually seen us earlier but thought we were out for a pleasure swim! They finally realized we were in trouble by our frantic waving. Of the two men who left, one nearly got hit crossing a busy road to call for help and to retrieve Clorox bottles from the roadside dumps. The other fisherman climbed the first palm tree of his life to cut the branch that floated to Dave. And, as it turned out, that particular area was indeed known for its sharks that feed on restaurant scraps thrown into the sea. The numerous sharks there remind me of the Biblical story of Daniel and the Lion's Den. Finally, I want to praise God for miraculously intervening on our behalf in so many ways and showing Himself so real to us.