part I
Attacked by man
Daylight was quickly running out as the sun slipped behind the Utah hills. Alone I searched for a place to sleep for the night down a small dirt road. A locked gate rerouted me till eventually I came upon a fork in the road. The fork to the right was more a trail than a road. I squeezed my van down it and along the river to a clear flat piece of land with a bit of twilight remaining. Not a soul in sight, but a sign saying, “No overnight camping.” I figured a van blurs those lines, but it wasn’t without consequence. I woke to a man shouting expletives at me outside my window.
Good morning to me! He hiked on, and I was wide awake now; I decided to explore my surroundings. Boardies on, I walked a trail down to the water and jumped into the Virgin River. Feeling alive and refreshed, my life flashed before me. A large rock splashed next to me from a 30 ft cliff above. I tucked in under an overhang of the cliff above where my attacker was perched. I waited in silence, considering my options. As long as I was next to the cliff, he couldn’t hit me. I waited, scared, all while fighting the river’s current trying to push me out of my position into the open water. I held my ground, but another rock splashed, and another, and another. He couldn’t see me, and I couldn’t see him, but my clothes were on the beach, so he knew I was down there.
I recently heard a story from a friend in Montana who accidentally wandered onto an Indian reservation. They knew it because natives were racing toward them at top speed in their pickup truck, rifles out the window, shooting live rounds at them. It’s open season on reservation trespassers.
Did I wander onto a reservation and am free game?
After a few minutes of stillness, I figured he ran out of ammunition. I clawed my way against the current back to the beach where my clothes lay. Cautiously I scan the edge of the cliff for my attacker. I hiked back up to camp, watching my back the whole way. Sure enough, my grumpy old man alarm clock was on the trail ahead of me. He yelled something I couldn’t quite make out, to which I replied, “Were you throwing rocks at me?!”
No reply as I got closer.
“Can’t you read the sign?” Said the old man.
“Were you throwing rocks at me? I ask again, visibly angry.
“I don’t throw rocks.” said the ten-year-old boy inside the old man’s body.
He then lectured me about how I’m not supposed to be down in the river.
I said, “I didn’t read the sign, but more importantly, you could have killed me!!”
He walked away, and my eventful stay in my van down by the river had come to a close.
Part II
Attacked by nature.
A few hours later. . .
I needed a new spot and recover from the adrenaline. Testing out the van’s 4×4, I crawled along the edge of a bumpy dirt road up stream. Another opening presented itself, and it was beautiful. I pulled up to a clearing, walked down with my chair and journal, and posted up on a smooth rock. The water was rushing a couple of feet below my perch.
A good hour went by as I enjoyed the solitude, beauty, and kind words from Jesus as I journaled and prayed. The sun was hot, so I jumped into a calm pool formed by an eddy below. Returning to my journal, I turned my back on the river to avoid the scorching sun. (Not a smart idea).
The following is an excerpt from my journal from that moment.
(Side Note: I have a practice of trying to hear from God. I write a question to him in black ink, then in blue ink, I write whatever comes to mind, giving myself the benefit of the doubt that Jesus is speaking to me. More often than not, I am pleasantly surprised by what I hear. This moment did not disappoint).
“Jesus, what are you saying to me out here? Thank you for this spot. Thank you for this solitude.”
“Stay connected to the wild, son.
You are wild.
You were made for it.
You were made from it.
Get out as often as you can and bring your family into it. I speak to you uniquely here. You are more in tune with me here.
I see you.
I love you.
I care for you.
Connect with me so you can connect with others.
I am a river in dry land. No matter how hopeless it may feel, I am life restoring hope to the hopeless.
Cast all your worries and cares on me, and I will give you rest for your soul.
That’s all for now. It’s time to pack up and go, son.”
Still facing downstream, I put my journal and blue pen in my backpack, folded my chair, and swung the backpack over my shoulders. Turning around, I step off the rock just in time to avoid the swelling river of a flash flood!!
I kid you not, the river widened in seconds, and had I not packed up when He said to; I would have been swept away, as my back was facing upstream that whole time.
Moments later, the calm river turned violent and brown. I watched a giant log rush over the rock where I was sitting.
Jesus literally saved my life.
Adventure is spoken of often these days, usually to sell something. Most adventure we modern folk experience is curated, calculated, measured, and safe.
There is no greater adventure than an intimate walk with God. It is an authentic adventure when we put our trust in Him, releasing control of outcomes. No wanderlust hipster Instagram influencer can compare to the adventure of a life with Jesus.
I learned a valuable lesson of listening and obeying. Had I not got up when he told me, I might not be here today.
I am so thankful for how He sees us, how He loves us, and how He cares for us.
Jesus is a river in dry land, hope to the hopeless, rest for your soul.
Here’s to your next adventure with Him.

