DON'T FORGET TO SAY "THANK YOU!"

It was a very cool day on Vancouver Island and four little boys were ready for an adventure!

Chemainus, British Columbia, a very small, harbor town on the east coast of “the Island,” where I was born. Grandfather Patterson had emigrated from England and for a couple years the family lived in Alberta before eventually settling in Chemainus, a small company town built for the workers at a lumber mill. Both my brother and I were born there but we moved to Vancouver when I was just two, and I lived there until I left to attend college in California.

As a boy, our family would return to “the Island” once or twice every year to visit. Uncles, aunts, cousins, two grandmothers and family friends still lived in the area, so the visits were always fun and full of activities.

When I was about eight years old, my brother, two friends and I set off in a small boat for a ride in the harbor. I was the youngest of the four and was taken along out of pity, I think, or maybe my mom said, “You can only go if you take David.”Anyway, we rented a small wooden boat with a tiny inboard engine that was mostly used by sport fishermen in the town harbor.

It was a very cool day and we dressed accordingly; I wore a flannel shirt, jeans, sneakers and a wool sweater. We spent about an hour puttering aimlessly around the waterfront—no speeding, no wakes shooting up behind—just four carefree boys having fun in a tiny, old, slow boat.

We were headed back to the dock, as our rental time was just about up, when suddenly a fire started in the area right around the base of the inboard engine. Apparently the fuel line had begun to leak, dripping gas right onto the hot muffler, and after a couple of minutes it just exploded.

When the fire flared up, we were about 50 to 60 yards from shore. I don’t remember there being any life jackets or flotation devices on board and after a few seconds, all four of us went over the side into the cold water and began to swim for shore. That’s when the trouble began for me!

I had taken classes at a public pool near our home and knew how to swim. But learning to swim in a nice warm pool and diving into cold seawater fully clothed was another matter. I had no sooner begun to swim toward the shore than I felt as though I was encased in lead and being dragged downward. My wool sweater sucked in water like a sponge and within a few minutes I was in real trouble.

My brother tried to help but there was little he could do because he was dressed much the same as I was. I vividly remember the darkness of being under the surface, the terror of trying to get my breath and getting a mouthful of seawater, instead, and struggling to get to the surface. When I did manage to get my head above the surface, I had to spit out seawater before I could breathe and it was a losing proposition.

Suddenly, from out of nowhere, a big strong arm grabbed me and began to swim to shore, holding me up so I could breathe. When the fire broke out on our little boat just across the inlet, two mill workers on a boat positioning logs to go into the sawmill saw the flames and immediately headed toward us. Seeing me in difficulty, one of the workers dived overboard, grabbed me, and helped me swim to shore.

In a few minutes it was all over. The police arrived and took us to our parents, soaked, shivering cold—but alive.

I have one deep regret about that happened that day but it didn’t occur to me until sometime later. I never did get to really say thank you to the man who saved my life. I was so shaken and scared when I got to shore that I don’t think I said much to anybody. I know that mom and dad later talked to the two mill workers and thanked them but we went back to Vancouver in a few days and I didn’t see the men again. I am so sorry that I never had a chance to say to him, “Thank you, you saved my life!”

There’s Someone else we often forget to thank. He dived into the waters of life that were about to pull us down and His strong arm lifted us above the drowning; He carried us to shore and put us on solid ground! Jesus rescued us when no one else could.

Perhaps it’s my personal memory of being rescued from drowning and my sense of regret, but I make it a habit every day to express to Him my gratitude for lifting me out of the drowning waters of life. I am so grateful!

One of the reasons the apostle Paul is so insistent in his writings that God’s people express their thanks to Him is because Paul never allowed himself to forget that Jesus had rescued him from a wicked, vile life. Paul was a Christian-killing terrorist filled with rage and confusion and he had a lot to be thankful for. And so do we—all of us!

Don’t forget to say THANK YOU!