Have you ever had an experience that you never wish to relive?

A few years back, our youth group took a whitewater rafting trip. Todd and I were helping the youth leaders and decided to take on the rapids.

It was my first experience with rafting and it sounded like fun. My parents went rafting about 12 years before and they kept the picture on the refrigerator for years. Every time I looked at that picture I would think, “I bet I could handle that.”

When we arrived at the river, our hopes were high and the water was calm. It seemed like the perfect day to strap on a life vest and helmet and paddle off into the wild blue yonder.

Of course, we got a crazy guide who loved to throw people out into the river. He even offered to let people “ride the bull” which was sitting on the front of the raft and trying not to be tossed to the side like an old bologna sandwich.

We then came up to a part of the river called the “washing machine.” You could calmly paddle around it, or you could take the challenge and go through the middle of it. When you made it to the middle, it would spin you around and around until it finally spit you out. Our guide said that he had never been thrown before and if we wanted to do it, he wouldn’t be thrown then. The adventurous riders decided that was exactly what they wanted to do.

We got in the middle of this twister and lo and behold, we lost all control of the raft and flipped the whole thing.

I’m sure everyone thought that it was funny since there were many rafts around, watching our enthusiasm. The water was only about 6 inches deep.

As everyone loaded back into the raft, my wonderful husband looked around and said, “Where is Danielle?” It was probably at that time that the raft went over my head for the second time. The first time I was pegged face down under the corner of the raft and the rocky bottom of the river.

As soon as there was relief, I sprung up for a saving breath when the next raft pinned my head back under the water. It was at that point that I really thought I was going to die. I laid there, pushing with all of my might on a huge, yellow raft that was full of my friends. I remember actually thinking, “Wow, I’m gonna die in 6 inches of water. My dad is gonna be so disappointed.”

It must have been at that point that Todd noticed my disappearance and the raft was lifted and I was saved. For the next hour I didn’t say a word. I spent all of the time thinking of what would be left behind if I had died.

When we finally made it to dry land I vowed to never whitewater raft again. It’s a stupid sport that needs to be outlawed. What a dumb reason to die, right?

Well, it looks as though I may be breaking my own words next weekend. Our church has, yet again, gotten together a whitewater rafting trip. In order to get over the horrifying fear I feel when looking at people in rafts, I will be attempting to live through the experience again. If there is no column for the next few weeks, you’ll know that it didn’t go as well the second time around.