We've all had what I like to call, whispers. They're those annoying little voices that pop into our consciousness from time to time. There’s no rhyme or reason and they're so subtle, we wonder if we've heard them at all.
What are they? What do they mean? Are they a warning, or maybe a premonition of something that might happen? I remember an experience that involved my youngest, Heather, when she was five.
During summer vacation, my three girls and I left New Hampshire to visit family in Columbus, Ohio, for a week. While we were there, we were invited to go out on a boat for the day on the Scioto River with my brother, Tim, his wife, MaryAnn, and their four children. The adults would water ski, the seven children would be tubing.
One by one, the kids each took a turn, first donning a bright orange life jacket. Once lowered onto the huge inner tube, they gripped the handles on either side tightly and took their turn. With each turn of the boat, the child flew across the wake, bouncing on the waves, feeling slightly airborne, and giggling with excitement.
Tim was a good, safe driver, adjusting the speed of the boat and its turns to the age and ability of the child. Still, MaryAnn and I were like two mother hens, watching over our chicks as they rode the waves.
When it was my 5-year-old Heather's turn, like the other children, I buckled and zipped her securely into the orange life jacket. As I was lowering her onto the tube, I heard a whisper, loud and insistent. “Stop. Warning.” Something was wrong.
I pulled Heather back into the boat, wondering what I should do about what I was feeling. I told Tim to find something for me to tie with. He searched the boat, but found nothing. Then I noticed MaryAnn was wearing sneakers, unlike the rest of us who were either barefoot or wearing sandals.
I asked her for the laces from her sneakers. She balked at first, but after hearing my argument for securing the life jacket further, she gave in and turned over her shoelaces.
I tied one shoelace through the circular metal rings at the top of the life jacket and the other through the rings on the bottom. I was beginning to hear a lot of grumbling about being over-protective, but the whisper that had been so insistent was gone and I felt reassured.
Again I lowered Heather onto the huge inner tube, giving her the same caution I gave to the others: "Hold on tightly to the handles and have fun".
Her ride on the tube, like the others, lasted about ten minutes. Back and forth across the wake as the boat turned left and then right, I watched as she bounced and giggled. Then once more, we slowed the boat and circled around to pick up our happy passenger.
I think I was the only one who wasn't surprised when Tim pulled her up and into the boat. The life jacket zipper was blown apart and the buckles had let go. The only thing holding the life jacket on Heather were the shoelaces tied through the rings at the top and the bottom.
Did we experience a miracle? I don’t really know for sure.
I’m certain it was ...