By Andrea Peebles
"If you can believe, all things are possible to him who believes."
~Mark 9:23
It was a typical blistering hot Georgia summer, and like every other kid in the state I wanted to go swimming. The nearest pool was in the apartment complex six blocks away. I passed it every day on my walk home from school. My steps would slow as I walked past the fenced enclosure and I'd listen with envy to the cool splashes and squeals of delight coming from the lucky kids that lived there.
"If you can believe, all things are possible to him who believes."
~Mark 9:23
It was a typical blistering hot Georgia summer, and like every other kid in the state I wanted to go swimming. The nearest pool was in the apartment complex six blocks away. I passed it every day on my walk home from school. My steps would slow as I walked past the fenced enclosure and I'd listen with envy to the cool splashes and squeals of delight coming from the lucky kids that lived there.
The closest I was going to get was with our green backyard hose hooked to the garden sprinkler! It just wasn't the same.
One hot Friday afternoon as I passed the pool, the plan began to formulate. I pulled my sister Joan aside and said, "Hey, what if we just put our swimsuits on under our clothes tomorrow and ask Mama if we can walk to the drugstore for an ice cream cone? We could just go in the gate like all the other kids and we can swim and play in the water a little while, slip our shorts back on and the sun will dry our hair while we walk home. Want to?"
Joan was six. She looked up to me as the older, wiser one and nodded in total agreement. If I suggested it, it must be fine and somehow that seemed almost like getting Mama's permission. So the plan was set and the next afternoon we were going swimming.
Saturday afternoon, just as planned, we asked if we could walk to the drugstore and get ice cream. When Mama agreed, we ran in and slipped on our swimsuits under our shorts and headed out the door. That was when the first obstacle was thrown into the plan. Mama was standing at the back door with my four-year-old sister.
"Andrea, come and get Renee and let her walk with you. She is crying because you are leaving her."
It was going to be hard enough to get Joan to stay quiet — Renee would never understand she wasn't supposed to tell, and she didn't have a swimsuit on. I went back grudgingly, got her by the hand and headed down the driveway once more.
As soon as we were out of earshot I turned to Renee and said, "We are going to go play at a pool a few minutes and if you promise not to tell, we'll let you go swimming too — promise?" She nodded — delighted to be included like a big girl. "You can just swim in your shorts. That's how you do it in the sprinkler at home."
When we got to the pool the second obstacle appeared — the pool was closed and the gate to the surrounding fence padlocked. Again, I should have stopped but I had come this far and the pool was beckoning, so I climbed over the gate. Joan helped push Renee up to me.
We pulled off our shorts, laid them on a nearby lounge chair, and carefully stepped into the cool blue water. It was heaven.
We splashed and played, and I was careful not to let my sisters out of the three-foot section of the pool. After about fifteen minutes I decided that we should get out and start drying off. As I turned around to gather everyone's clothes I heard a loud "splash." Renee was nowhere in sight. I frantically searched the pool and saw the top of her head just under the water — directly underneath the diving board in the nine-foot deep section of the pool!
I wish I could say my bravery and concern for her made me jump in to save her, but the truth is I could not go home and tell Mama I took her baby and let her drown. So without thinking I sailed right in after her, never considering the fact that now neither of us could get out because I could not swim any better than she could.
Groping around underwater, my hand finally made contact with her. I latched on and pulled her up to the top of the water so she could get a breath. Of course as I did, and both my hands were pushing her upward, I held my breath as I went under.
When it felt my lungs were going to explode, I fought to get to the top as she sunk back into the water. I held onto her with one hand, knowing if I let her go she might sink to the bottom and I might not be able to reach her again.
As I went to the top for a breath I reached upward for the diving board — my only hope was to grab onto something stable so I could pull us out — but it was inches from my reach. I barely knew how to tread water and that was made more difficult with only one free hand. I sunk back down into the water and pushed her upward for a breath.
I remember thinking "God, help us — we are going to drown." As she came back down in the water I knew my strength was giving out and this would probably be my last chance to try to reach that diving board. I gathered all my strength to try to reach the end of the diving board, but again fell short.
As my outstretched arm failed to make contact and was sinking back down, I suddenly felt someone holding me up by my wrist. In shock I looked up into the face of a little boy no older than I was.
Not a word was exchanged. He did not seem upset or in a panic. He was just calmly lying on the diving board leaning forward, both of his hands wrapped tightly around my wrist. He didn't try to pull us out. He simply pulled my hand the few inches I needed in order to reach the diving board.
Once I had hold of something solid I was able to pull up and get to the side of the pool. I struggled and finally got us out, and holding tight to my sister, we fell back on the warm concrete terrified and exhausted. Suddenly I remembered the boy. I looked for him but he was gone. All three of us had seen him, yet no one had seen him come in or leave... and the gate was still locked!
My sister and I are alive today because of this mysterious little boy. I always felt, and even more so looking back on it today, that the only logical explanation was divine intervention.
One hot Friday afternoon as I passed the pool, the plan began to formulate. I pulled my sister Joan aside and said, "Hey, what if we just put our swimsuits on under our clothes tomorrow and ask Mama if we can walk to the drugstore for an ice cream cone? We could just go in the gate like all the other kids and we can swim and play in the water a little while, slip our shorts back on and the sun will dry our hair while we walk home. Want to?"
Joan was six. She looked up to me as the older, wiser one and nodded in total agreement. If I suggested it, it must be fine and somehow that seemed almost like getting Mama's permission. So the plan was set and the next afternoon we were going swimming.
Saturday afternoon, just as planned, we asked if we could walk to the drugstore and get ice cream. When Mama agreed, we ran in and slipped on our swimsuits under our shorts and headed out the door. That was when the first obstacle was thrown into the plan. Mama was standing at the back door with my four-year-old sister.
"Andrea, come and get Renee and let her walk with you. She is crying because you are leaving her."
It was going to be hard enough to get Joan to stay quiet — Renee would never understand she wasn't supposed to tell, and she didn't have a swimsuit on. I went back grudgingly, got her by the hand and headed down the driveway once more.
As soon as we were out of earshot I turned to Renee and said, "We are going to go play at a pool a few minutes and if you promise not to tell, we'll let you go swimming too — promise?" She nodded — delighted to be included like a big girl. "You can just swim in your shorts. That's how you do it in the sprinkler at home."
When we got to the pool the second obstacle appeared — the pool was closed and the gate to the surrounding fence padlocked. Again, I should have stopped but I had come this far and the pool was beckoning, so I climbed over the gate. Joan helped push Renee up to me.
We pulled off our shorts, laid them on a nearby lounge chair, and carefully stepped into the cool blue water. It was heaven.
We splashed and played, and I was careful not to let my sisters out of the three-foot section of the pool. After about fifteen minutes I decided that we should get out and start drying off. As I turned around to gather everyone's clothes I heard a loud "splash." Renee was nowhere in sight. I frantically searched the pool and saw the top of her head just under the water — directly underneath the diving board in the nine-foot deep section of the pool!
I wish I could say my bravery and concern for her made me jump in to save her, but the truth is I could not go home and tell Mama I took her baby and let her drown. So without thinking I sailed right in after her, never considering the fact that now neither of us could get out because I could not swim any better than she could.
Groping around underwater, my hand finally made contact with her. I latched on and pulled her up to the top of the water so she could get a breath. Of course as I did, and both my hands were pushing her upward, I held my breath as I went under.
When it felt my lungs were going to explode, I fought to get to the top as she sunk back into the water. I held onto her with one hand, knowing if I let her go she might sink to the bottom and I might not be able to reach her again.
As I went to the top for a breath I reached upward for the diving board — my only hope was to grab onto something stable so I could pull us out — but it was inches from my reach. I barely knew how to tread water and that was made more difficult with only one free hand. I sunk back down into the water and pushed her upward for a breath.
I remember thinking "God, help us — we are going to drown." As she came back down in the water I knew my strength was giving out and this would probably be my last chance to try to reach that diving board. I gathered all my strength to try to reach the end of the diving board, but again fell short.
As my outstretched arm failed to make contact and was sinking back down, I suddenly felt someone holding me up by my wrist. In shock I looked up into the face of a little boy no older than I was.
Not a word was exchanged. He did not seem upset or in a panic. He was just calmly lying on the diving board leaning forward, both of his hands wrapped tightly around my wrist. He didn't try to pull us out. He simply pulled my hand the few inches I needed in order to reach the diving board.
Once I had hold of something solid I was able to pull up and get to the side of the pool. I struggled and finally got us out, and holding tight to my sister, we fell back on the warm concrete terrified and exhausted. Suddenly I remembered the boy. I looked for him but he was gone. All three of us had seen him, yet no one had seen him come in or leave... and the gate was still locked!
My sister and I are alive today because of this mysterious little boy. I always felt, and even more so looking back on it today, that the only logical explanation was divine intervention.
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