Saturday, several of my church buddies and I ran the Upper Gauley through Hurricane Ian’s rain in a private raft. The water was 58ºF. The air was 49ºF. The mist rising off the water and around each fold of the gorge made it feel like we were paddling through a scene from Jurassic Park. None of us wore GoPros. But it wasn’t just scenic. We got to pound and paddle our way through some wild water.
I don’t know if I’ll ever make it back to the Conrad,
But that’s not for lack of longing.
I already miss a place I didn’t even know existed for my first 38 years.
If I do return, I’ll see more rock and less ice.
There will be less of the glacier.
But the Conrad will see more of me—a better me.
The story I’ll remember most won’t be the one on the screen. It’ll be the one God wrote and directed behind the scenes. A story of rescue, a tale of sovereignty.
Then, I started thinking about the auction industry I serve. I don’t have enough fingers to count the times a client has tried a project I’ve wondered if they should’ve declined. Those are the times when I get this phone call or email: “Hey, I’ve got this auction. I’ve never sold one of these before. How would you market it?” They’re hoping I’ve helped another auction company sell something similar.
I don’t know that I felt courageous at any point on that river. Until my ungraceful exit, I just kept focusing on the frothy, incessant rapids. You could make the case that my adventure was cut short. I wouldn’t argue, but I left with both contentedness and determination to one day finish. I told Mark that I got what I came for: a story.