Boating Adventure

We just got back from a week-long reunion with Bobby's family in Michigan. All 6 families stayed under one roof at an enormous lakehouse on Stone Lake (Cassopolis, MI). We have a lot of pictures and stories to tell, but I wanted to tell this one first. 

The lakehouse had a 12-person pontoon boat included in the rental. Towards the end of the reunion, I took Robert and James out on the lake so they could drive. It was AWESOME watching them go from "nervous cautious" to "excited cautious" to "confident cautious" as they gained a little more experience. They loved to punch it and go fast. I did, too!

At some point, Robert slows down to take a turn when the engine coughs, sputters, and completely shuts down. We are floating dead in the water. Everyone's eyes get wide. Robert turns to me a little confused...did I break it? I check the controls and everything is as it should be, then it occurs to me that we may be out of gas. As soon as the words escape my lips, James exclaimes, "Are we going to die?!" Robert, completely flabbergasted, needs clarification, "What do you MEAN we're out of gas?" It's almost like he doesn't realize something like that could even physically happen.

We're pretty far from shore, but the lake is only half a mile wide, so I'm not that worried about us. It's easy to keep my cool as I inform them that there's another tank of gas on the boat. I hook it up lickety-split and the engine barely turns over. The second tank is ALSO empty. Huh. Now I get a little worried. I hear some liquid splashing around in both tanks and try to combine them into one tank. No go...the tanks aren't designed for that. Now the boys get reeeeeeally worried, "What do we do if we can't drive back to shore?!" Again James needs to know, "Are we GOING to DIE?!" I assure them that we'll be okay, but without a specific plan in place, they doubt my faith.

Then, in a stroke of heaven-sent inspiration, I remember there is a tiny emergency tank of gas under the back seat. Thankfully, that one is full. As I empty the tiny tank into the big one, the boys continue to doubt whether it'll be enough, whether we'll be able to swim to shore, whether we'll die of thirst and starvation before help arrives.

I hook up the tank and turn the key. Sputter, sputter, cough. Dead. 

What?! WHAT?! 

Then I remember boating with my dad. I need to prime the pump. Of course!

The engine starts right up and we're on our way. The boys don't feel like chatting or smiling or anything. They just want to get safely back to shore as soon as physically possible, but not so fast that we run out of gas again. I pull into the dock and the boys are off the boat lickety split. I want to give high fives and celebrate our cool-headed learning experience, but Robert won't even look at me. He wants off, he wants to get away. James gives me a high five of relief, though. That feels nice. 

A few minutes later, after some soothing ice cream, Robert tells me that he's still feeling tension and stress from the incident, like it just happened. That he wants to kinda stay near me and be quiet for a little while. I'm okay with that. 

The next day, Grandma and Grandpa purchase more gas for the boat. We head down to the dock for another boating adventure on the lake. James can't wait to drive again but Robert confesses, "I have PTSD from the last time." Then he adds, "I'm gonna go anyway." 

I was proud of Robert and James. I was also proud of myself. I stayed chill. I remembered important bits from my childhood experience when I needed them. That was a tender mercy from God. We had the resources and skills we needed to swim safely to shore and get help without any emergency gas, but we didn't have to do it. I was grateful for my Dad taking me out on his boat. I was grateful for running out of gas in other situations. I was grateful for a small tank of emergency gas that got us home with minimal fuss. 

This experience made me happy.