Faith Means Remembering I Am Okay
Deep underwater, I knew I was going to die.
We were white-water rafting in high waters on a corporate trip to Costa Rica. Helmet and life vest on, our fearless guide steered through the steep rapids. Within seconds, I was thrown from the raft and pulled deep beneath the surface.
I curled into a fetal position. Everything was dark and silent. I was alone. Terror surged through me.
This is it, I thought. I am going to die.
I felt as I had at eleven years old, going through chemotherapy and being so sick. I saw myself again as a tiny, skinny, frail girl with no hair lying in a hospital bed, alone and scared
And then — a radiant white light surrounded me. A voice spoke:
“Living or dying is fine.”
Peace poured through my body, just as it had when I was that child. I let go. I surrendered, and in yielding, felt held.
Then, someone grabbed my life vest and pulled me into a boat. I was alive, in shock. But something had changed.
The presence that held me in that river was the same presence that held me as a child enduring treatments and solitude and fear.
We are not alone.
Have you ever felt it?
When something beyond your visible eyes held you?
Maybe when having a sudden insight, watching the sun set on a still lake, hearing birdcall in the morning light, passing a stranger whose smile touched your heart.
Sitting beside my elderly mother, I feel it now— a quiet depth and peace that moves through her and settles into me.
This presence reveals itself when I become still. When I step out of the busy mind and fully arrive in the moment — breathing in, breathing out. I drop into the knowing that this moment is enough.
The energy I have come to call God is here.
To embody “I am okay” is surrender.
Not giving up.
Not approving of sufferering.
Not spiritual bypassing.
It is yielding to something greater than the small self.
It is stopping the argument with physical reality.
It is trusting that something deeper is holding you.
We are souls in a body for a short time. We are not as fragile as we think. We are eternal.
This is the faith I witnessed in hospital rooms, with patients in crisis — when control dissolves and only presence remains.
It is waking each day and praying:
Use me. Shape me. Teach me.
Let me hear and feel your guidance today.
The next time something difficult arises: Notice the resistance.
Next, take a few slow breaths. Say quietly or aloud – “Be with me.” Notice what is present in the moment and breathe. Say, “In this moment, I am okay.”
Because in this moment—you are held.
None of us are alone. Ever.
