Chapter 1
Beginnings

The day I was born was the day I should have died. It wasn’t the only time I should have died either. It was just the first.
When I was three years old, my parents took me and went on vacation in Michigan. We rented a canoe, and my folks decided to take me canoeing. It was a slow, tranquil river, so they didn’t mind taking me. It was also clear, a river notorious for its beauty and crystal clear water. There was almost no chance whatsoever that we could sink. The first part of the trip went flawlessly. The drive up was scenic; there was very little traffic on the country road we took. We had no problem renting a canoe. The wiry old man behind the counter seemed delighted to hear that we wanted a canoe.
“Too many people in your generation take no interest in nature” were the exact words, delivered with a tone you expected to come out of a babysitter, not an aging canoe salesman. We hopped into the canoe (well, my parents did. Obviously, I was carried into the canoe) and set off. Around noon, my parents got out and pulled the canoe onto a shady beach. We had a picnic on the beach, and with our stomachs full of food, we decided to go back into the canoe and get going. We were lethargic, the combination of a hot, lazy summer day and a big lunch had made everyone more than a little tired. I was asleep when it happened.
Suddenly, the wooden canoe stopped with a jolt. I woke up in time to see my Mom and Dad get up from their position on the floor; apparently they had fallen when the canoe had come to such a violent stop. Then, I noticed my feet were wet. I made a cry of displeasure, but it was quickly drowned out by my mother’s voice.
“Adam, the canoe is leaking,” she said, surprised by the situation, but in control.
“That’s not good. Honey, do you think you could swim to shore? It’s only 300 ft. or so.”
“Of course, but who’ll take John?”
“I’ll take him on my back. It isn’t far at all, I’m sure I can make it with him on my back.”
“Alright, let’s get going.”
The water had by now reached my waist, even though I was sitting on top of a cushion at the front of the canoe. Strong, callused hands picked me up and I was placed on my father’s shoulders.
“Hold on tight, kiddo. We’re going for a little ride.”
I gazed at him solemnly. I knew what was going on, even if I couldn’t communicate that knowledge, so I did what he told me.
My father, having taken off his New York Yankees shirt and New Balance sneakers, jumped in the water with the confidence of someone who learned to swim before he could walk.
The water was cold even though it was the summer, and deep. I looked behind me, and saw a huge tree root that had been submerged. So that’s what we hit I thought).
“Don’t squirm, Johnny,” my father scolded me over his shoulder.
He might have said something else but I couldn’t hear anything except the roar of water in my ears. When I had looked back, my dad had twisted a little to accommodate my weight and I was struck by a protruding log. I started to slip, and I reached for my father’s belt, but the grip of a three year old is not very strong. Inevitably, I fell into the water (which, though it had been clear before, was now murky and dark). Instinct stronger than all the teachings of humans everywhere took hold of me. I started to thrash, and found out I was trapped under the log. Fire burned in my chest, my lungs were being branded. My throat, slaked by so much river water, was raw. My eyes burned from contaminants in the water. I tried to hold my breath, but God the fire hurt! My nostrils burned as they flared in panic, my eyes had dilated to no use. My heart raced, pulse pounding faster than a drumline cadence. “God, no more! I have to breathe! Help me!” I thought. My little mind raced. Suddenly, my lungs were numb. My throat didn’t hurt, my eyes closed, and I was calm. “Air” I thought, and breathed deep.
Light was everywhere. I was still calm, there was no pain, and I could feel no sadness or regret. “You are innocent,” I heard a voice say. “One such as you should not die, for your time has not come.” I felt a sense of loss as the voice left me, and I drifted in the void for eons, or seconds. Then, the voice came again. “Before, you had no purpose. I see greatness in you; you will no longer be lost, for you have been found. Here is your purpose.” Instantaneously, the voice was replaced by flame. “Oh God, this hurt is worse than before! Air!” I thought, and breathed deep yet again.
“His vitals are returning to normal! His pulse has returned! Thank God, he’s alive!” someone cried. I opened my eyes. My father was standing over me, and when he saw me a strange combination of concern and love was evident in his brown eyes.
“Doc!” he called, turning around and motioning with his right hand. The doctor hurried over.
“Doc, look at his eyes. He had hazel eyes, like me. Now his eyes are blue. Is that possible?” The doctor turned from my father to me, his eyebrows furrowed in thought.
“Well, I’ve never heard of the like before. But his is a very interesting case. It shouldn’t be possible for anyone to survive after being under for over half an hour. For a child of his age to do so is unthinkable. I didn’t want to tell you before, but it’s a miracle that he survived at all. I mean, there aren’t even any signs of brain damage! His brain was deprived of oxygen for 30 minutes, and if I’m reading this chart correctly, he didn’t lose brain function, he gained it. If I was you, I’d be sure to thank the Lord and tithe this Sunday, because I can’t imagine anything short of divine intervention saving this child.
Suddenly, I remembered. The voice and the void. “What happened” I wondered.
I felt a hand pressed lightly on my chest. My dad looked at me adoringly. “Kiddo, I know you have no idea what you’ve just gone through, but I’m so proud and so happy. I think my heart might burst. The doctor says that an experience like that would leave you as tired as if you’d just ran 20 miles, so you have to go to sleep, John. Love you,” he whispered, beautiful hazel eyes tearing. I closed my now blue eyes (what had happened?) but not my ears. I was tired, and started to drift, but not before I heard my dad whisper a solemn prayer of thanks. Before I dropped off into another void, this one much different, I relived my experience with the voice. And I saw again my glimpse of the voice’s owner, the only thing not obscured by the bright, shining light. A pair of beautiful, golden wings.