Did I ever tell you about the time I nearly died?

I recently unearthed a pile of old journals I’d written in high school, and I was shocked to discover this account from 2000, when as a 17yo kid, I almost drowned. I repeat it here as it was written—though the words and memory still make me shudder.

“The River”

It’s the summer of 2000. Pastor B. just organized an activity in Decorah, Iowa, where we were to rent a bunch of innertubes and float down the river over the scattered rapids and whatnot. Being early spring, the flood stage is still high, and the river’s fast.

The tube rental place was unable to rent us enough tubes and said that, even if they could, they highly suggest we not ride the river in this condition. So, we decided to forget about riding in tubes and instead to find a nice, semi-quiet area of the river with a beach and room to wade.

We found such a place located beneath a bridge and decided to spend our time floating down the short span of the river. We jumped in at one of the bands, rode through a small section of rapids beneath the bridge, and came out on the other side where the river tended to slow. We rode this for a few hours, attempting different maneuvers to make it more exciting—stopping at a bridge pylon, swimming to the other bank, etc.

Once we discovered a tree solidly wedged against a pylon, we realized that (if we could reach it), we could sit against it like a chair, and then let the water rush against us in its torrents. It was an exciting discovery in an already fun-filled spot in the river.

About two hours after we arrived, the rest of my group ran upriver to a further bend for a longer ride. Left alone, I decided to make some jumps from the tree into the central rapids. What awaited me was one of the scariest moments I’ve ever encountered in my entire life.

As I sat on the fallen tree and felt the raging river roar over me, I leapt, hoping to land into the middle of the water curving past the pylon rather than the edge, because I knew the current was much fiercer where it wound past the pylon. As I prepared to jump, though, the speed of the rushing water surprised me, and I slipped. unable to give myself the push that would land me where I wanted to go.

I quickly gasped a breath of air as I plummeted into the current. I felt my body being torn about as currents from both above and below fought to possess me. The undertow—the current invisible to anyone above the surface—grabbed my feet and dragged my whole body to the riverbed. My feet scraped sand and pebbles.

The daylight that I had seen even through my closed eyelids disappeared. I felt helpless as I struggled against this powerful force of nature. My strength was no match for it, yet I continued to fight, determined not to allow this to be my final struggle.

As my feet lifted from the riverbed and light returned to my tightly-shut eyes, I thought I’d overcome the worst of this frantic river. I prepared myself for that unmistakable feel of warm summer air on my tired hand as I stretched my arm above my head as far as I could reach. But that comforting warmth never came.

I felt the current strain even harder on my legs as it dragged me deeper still. The light disappeared again. Thoughts flooded my head.

Would this continue? Am I going to die? Is this where it ends for me, beneath the flowing waters of this river?

My feet skidded across the pebbles and sand again, but only for a moment. As quickly as I had been pulled down, I shot up again. Three times. Then four.

As the light grew brighter and my lungs grew tighter, it occurred to me that I’d thrown myself into a roller-coaster-like undertow. I realized that this really was it. I was never to see the sunlight through my own eyes again. I would never feel the warmth of the air in my face, and I would never again feel the comfort of it in my lungs. I was destined to be tossed and turned about in this relentless river until it dragged my very life away.

Once again, thoughts came. For a split second, fear overcame me. I envisioned my youth group not knowing where I was and searching for me. I envisioned them finding my body cold and lifeless along the bank downriver.

It surprised me, though. As I realized that in a matter of seconds I’d no longer be physically alive, and then all I’d hoped and dreamed for my life would be lost, an amazing feeling of peace came over me. I was surprisingly 100% mentally aware of all that was happening as I prepared to make the final transition.

At this point, when my fear had subsided, and I felt a different sort of comforting warmth, I saw it. The tunnel that so many people declared clinically dead supposedly see. It was there.

What I noticed about it though—now that I can actually sit and dwell on it—was that this tunnel wasn’t real. I wasn’t a physical sight, but rather a mental (I don’t know) comparison. I saw “the light at the end of the tunnel,” but I realized what it was—more than just a vision, it was an actual comparison of where I was going to where I had been.

I was escaping the darkness of an imperfect, human life to the glory and perfection of Heaven—a place where I no longer had to fight against my flesh for righteousness, but where I would be regenerated into a true Christ-likeness. I saw myself slowly moving towards the light.

The desire to reach it was so great, that I contemplated sucking in the water that held me captive, thereby rushing me to my destination. But as that thought appeared, the image vanished.

My feet which had been tangled in the massive undertow were suddenly loosed, and my struggle was over. I flung my arms at the water above, flailing my hands until I felt the warm air in my hand. With one last heave, my face broke through the waterline, and I gasped my first breath of the free, warm air of this dark world.

©2000, 2026 E.T.