Just Keep Swimming

When I was 9 years old, I found God. I knew that someone was out there listening to me and aware of me. I learned to hang on—that would be my foundation for the rest of my life.

I went to Lake Powell for the first time with my best friend, Shayla when I was 9 years old. This place would come to be “my happy place” It was also one of the first times this brand-new, beautiful houseboat had been taken out on the water. We launched and made our way up the lake to a place called "Last Chance Canyon." We had a huge cove all to ourselves. It was a perfect U-shaped cove, with the houseboat beached and anchored at the base. There was a little island of sand and rock that stuck out in the middle of the cove. It was quiet and beautiful.

Shayla and I had been instructed not to go out to the main channel on the jet skis. "Stay where we can see you" was the rule. One afternoon, Shayla and I went out on the WaveRunner. We were riding around, singing songs and laughing like we always did. This time, though, the WaveRunner's engine died and wouldn't start. We knew it was flooded, so we would just wait a few minutes, pull the choke, and try again, but still nothing. We yelled and waved our hands in the air at the houseboat, but we had gone too far. No one could hear us. We were just laughing and waiting for them to notice us.

After what felt like a long time, we decided to do what we were taught to do when we needed help, so we said a prayer and tried again. We waited. Then another prayer and another. But then the storm came.

If you have never seen a Lake Powell storm, it is something that you must experience to understand nature's wrath in what is basically the Grand Canyon filled with water. Lake Powell is the most beautiful place on earth until there is a bad storm. Within seconds, the winds can pick up and rip through those canyons like tornadoes, picking up wind, water, and sand while tossing boats around like little rag dolls. Lake Powell storms are no joke. If you have seen one of those storms there, you get reminded just how powerless you truly are when it comes to Mother Nature.

This storm intensified quickly. We prayed again and yelled as the storm continued to build. Two little girls sat in the water on that jet ski with arms folded, heads bowed, crying and praying. Our yells slowly turned to panicked screaming as we continued to take turns saying prayers out loud. We were floating away quickly. We had our life jackets on, but the wind in the cove was building waves and tossing our balance off, making it hard to stay on the WaveRunner.

What was happening back at the houseboat was chaos. The force of the wind had somehow pulled the anchors, sending the brand-new houseboat toward the red rocks and a massive sandstone wall. The men's instincts kicked in, and they were immediately busy saving the houseboat from being crushed by the rocks while trying to manage all the chaos. The problem was that our mothers weren't on this trip. Just dads, kids, and teenagers. So it took a minute to realize we weren't there.

Shayla and I were being taken further and further out into the channel, the main water highway. The waves in this cove were knocking us around. Completely underestimating the power of the water and waves, and just how little our bodies were in comparison, Shayla and I looked at the little island in the middle of the cove that was about 20 yards away and decided to swim to it. We figured that was our best option since we could hardly stay on the WaveRunner anyway. We felt that we were on our own to figure this out. No one was coming.

We jumped in the water crying and holding hands, but the force of the water and waves instantly ripped us apart. We were still screaming while being tossed around by the waves, swallowing giant mouthfuls of water as our screams left our mouths, only to be quickly drowned out by the water filling them. I couldn’t see Shayla, but I could hear her. We both fought so hard to swim. I have no idea how much time had actually gone by at this point, but I vividly remember feeling intense fatigue, and it hit instantly. Like a ton of bricks all at once. I remember closing my eyes and relaxing. I remember not hearing Shayla screaming anymore either. We both became silent. I stopped fighting. I remember thinking, "This is it. This is how I die." I do remember an overwhelming sense of exhaustion, and closing my eyes. It was then I heard the sound of a boat engine. It was like a lightning bolt of energy and adrenaline kicked in as Shayla and I both started screaming and crying again, all at once. Relief, anger, fatigue, sadness, hope, gratitude, and terror came through our voices.

I guess with all the chaos back at the houseboat, they hadn't noticed at first that we were gone. My dad said that he heard the words, "Where is Jessica?" and looked out to see the jet ski so far out that it took binoculars to see that no one was on it. They immediately jumped in the ski boat and came for us.

The boat pulled up alongside Shayla as someone plucked her out of the water by her life jacket and pulled her into the boat. As they approached me, the waves pushed the boat right over my head. Shaylas dad instantly killed the engine so I wouldn’t get caught by the propeller. I was stuck underneath this ski boat, not knowing which way to swim. I was already so disoriented, so when I wasn't coming up, everyone on the boat was ordered into the water and told to kick underneath. Eventually, I felt a kick in the back of my life jacket and popped out the other side of the boat. I remember the screams coming from my little body as I was pulled safely into the boat. I remember throwing up mouthfuls of water right when I got in the boat.

The memory of that ride back to the houseboat will be seared into my memory for the rest of my life. It was like slow motion, almost as if it happened yesterday. I sat on the floor of the boat with a towel wrapped around me. My legs were tucked closely under my arms as I hugged my knees. Tears silently poured down my face as Shayla and I just cried and stared at each other. Not one person said a word the entire way back to the boat. I will never forget Shaylas face. We were in shock. We all knew this was heavy. I think it was the silence of everyone else in the boat as well that confirmed to us just how close we came to not surviving that storm. Shayla’s father later told her that night, "I thought I wasn't taking you home with me."

I am not sure why it was so incredibly clear to us the second we were safely in the boat, but it was. There was no doubt in our minds that we had witnessed a miracle. We were on our own out there and we knew it. After waiting for so long for someone to come, we lost hope. And then all of a sudden, they came out of nowhere. He heard our prayers. We were out there for so long amidst the chaos on the houseboat; it took divine intervention to save us. And we knew it. I remember my dad suggesting that we go downstairs and make sure to thank Heavenly Father for answering our prayers that day. I remember doing that with our two older sisters right when we got back. The four of us knelt down and thanked our Heavenly Father. Shayla remembers not letting her dad go that night, sitting on his lap all night just hugging him.

I remember from that second forward knowing in my little 9-year-old heart that there was something out there bigger than me. That it could hear my cries and was aware of me. There was no doubt in my mind. To this day, you cannot change that knowledge and truth that we were saved by heavenly intervention. Something relayed a thought to my father, and that is when they came.

That day became the theme for the rest of my life. That no matter how tired I am, no matter how bad things seem, that no matter how many times I had prayed to be saved, if I can just find a way to keep swimming, that if I can hold on long enough and never ever give up, then eventually someone will come for me. And I have yet to be proven wrong of that theory to this day.

There is an additional theme I carried with me as well: that when the rescue boat and crew come to save you, they will just accidentally run over you to make sure that before they save you, you really, really get the true drowning experience that will scare the sh*# out of you before you are actually pulled out of the water and saved. Talk about overkill and then bringing me back to life! ha ha

Years back I saw a Facebook post about this rat study done in the 1920s. Although the scientist didn't set out to prove any kind of theory about hope, that is what the findings ended up proving. It is commonly known as "the hope study."

The Rat Study

During a study at Harvard in the 1920s, Dr. Curt Richter placed rats in a pool of water to test how long they could tread water.

On average, they'd give up and sink after 15 minutes. After the results were clear and conclusive, they decided to change it up a little.

So in the second phase, around minute 15, when the rats would take the last breathe and go under water, due to exhaustion, the researchers would pluck them out, dry them off, let them rest for a few minutes, and then put them back in the water for a second round. In this second try, how long do you think they lasted? Remember, they had just been pushed to their limits only minutes before.

Another 15 minutes?

10 minutes?

5 minutes?

No!

60 hours!

That's not an error.

That's right! 60 hours of swimming. The conclusion drawn was that since the rats believed that they would eventually be rescued, they could push their bodies way past what they previously thought impossible. The difference between 15 minutes and 60 hours. . .was HOPE. And belief of being saved.

If hope can cause exhausted rats to swim for that long,  imagine what the human heart could do when pushed far beyond its limits.

Hang on.

Keep swimming.

In conclusion, it wasn’t until I came across this study that I was able to put into words what had happened in my little 9-year-old heart. And why that Lake Powell experience as a little girl became my anchor that I would come back to even after all these years. I had endured what the rats had: believing it was over, but then saved. From that moment on, my ability to keep swimming and fight through the fatigue and the hard has been a thousand times more than what it would have been without the experience and knowledge that if I just kept swimming, SOMEONE would come and rescue me. It was at 9 that I found God. And I went from believing to knowing. I know how incredible "sheer will" and determination are. I know how strong the human soul is and the ability to push yourself way past physical, emotional, mental, and spiritual limits when you truly believe that you are not on your own. That someone will come for you. This knowledge about the rats has come to mind hundreds of times when I am needing perspective. And the truth of what this study proves has actually helped to ground me in my suffering. So although I disagree with how this study was carried out, I am still grateful for the experiment at the same time.

As I continue to fight an unimaginable storm of loss on a scale I couldn’t have imagined my soul could endure, I am still swimming. I am still here. And I am hanging on. Somehow, the Lord is going to come and rescue me and take me safely to shore, but until his timing, I know with all my heart, he will give me the strength and power to keep swimming.

“Let Them See”

Story written in Jessica’s personal Journal- shared July 2025

This morning was a miracle. I realized something that I had been seeing in my mind over and over for 20 years, but didn’t understand.

For 20 years I have had this recurring dream that is just now making sense. The dream would come immediately after things in my life blew up or fell apart, whether that was my relationships, my health, money, my kids' health, and so on. It was after trauma or tragedy hit that some form of this dream would come.

I can see that I am sitting on my knees crying in the middle of rubble from a house that had just fallen. It was my house, the house I had built for myself. So after I grieve, I get up, clean up, and get to work building the house again. The problem was, no matter how many times I built it, it eventually came crashing down. And there I was in the middle again, becoming more devastated with every fall.

As I build this house, I’m surrounded by hundreds of others who are also “building their house.” It looks like a very organized “master-planned” community where all the houses are the same.

But my house... no matter how many times I built it, it would come crumbling to the ground. I am so confused because I know that we have all been given the same instructions, the same materials, and the same tools. And I know I am not an idiot! All I want is to get this damn house done so I can “be happy.”

I look around at all the homes going up all around me as far as the eye can see. They are at different stages of development, but they seem to go up and stay up. They are doing the same thing, with the same result: a house. And when they are finished, I no longer see the owner/builder of that home. I assume they are inside, enjoying the home they have built for themselves.

So I keep going, convinced that “this time it is going to work.” If I am just a little bit more perfect with the placement of the stones, a little more precise with the entire project (perfectionism), I would get it right. “I need to try harder,” I tell myself. "If I build it perfectly, it can’t fall down."

I would kind of forget about this construction process in my mind until my personal life would fall apart. A massive bomb would go off, and down it all came. Once again in the middle of massive amounts of rubble crying, sobbing, confused, frustrated, and angry! “What in the hell am I missing?” “What am I getting wrong?” “Help!” “Why is mine the only one coming down? I’m done with this!” And yes, I swear even in my dreams.

I could see that now the Savior was there with me, patient and calm. He would tell me to “let the tears fall, Jess... and then get up, and let’s do it again.” He would assist me with removing the rubble and clearing out the mess. Once we had a clear and solid foundation and could see all four cornerstones, we would start again.

As time went on, we would build. He was there with me, helping with each stone placed. I would look at him and say, “What am I getting wrong?” “Why won't this house stay up?” His reply was simple: “Your house is different.” I could hear the words but clearly didn’t grasp what he was telling me.

So we would build again. It would come crashing down eventually, and once I had gotten out my emotional toddler tantrum, we would do it again. But there was a point where he looked at me after the destruction this time, after 20 years of doing this, and he said, “Okay, do you want to keep doing this your way, or do you want to do this my way?” Ugh, I hate to be wrong! I was shocked because I didn’t know there was another way you could build it. I was just going off the blueprints I was given that everyone else was using, too. I was doing the exact same thing I had seen others do. I mean, I felt like it goes without saying, Lord, you are here with me; isn't that something you would have mentioned? But then the truth hit me... I never asked.

"Wait... are you kidding me? We have been doing it my way all this time? Holy crap!” I never thought to ask him. In hindsight, I could see that he was helping me, but I was the one leading.

This was four years ago when I chose a totally different plan and path and got divorced. We started to build like we had many times before, but this time, I could see that the walls of my house were clear. They were like windows, like a greenhouse. I asked the Savior, “Ummmm, ??????” His reply was, “They need to be able to see in, Jessica.” And at this point, I don’t even care who sees me. Let’s just get this done for crying out loud!

Ultimately, I trust the Lord. At this point, I just silently watched him and did what he did. I took his lead, and we built it together. The foundation was the same size as all of the surrounding homes, but at a certain point, I could see my house specifically; the levels just kept going up and then another, and another, higher than I wanted. I told him, “Yeah, we are good. Let’s slap a roof on this sucker and call it good.” Okay, I didn’t really say that. I said what I had become good at saying... "Okay, I trust you." But inside, I was terrified that my house was different. People were going to notice and stare, and that it didn’t belong here. The size, the look... the fact that there are no walls, just clear glass windows, floor to ceiling, enabling everyone to see inside. And the height... why did it have to be so damn big? It seemed a little unnecessary and very out of place. But it’s sure. It is solid, and as it kept going higher, I understood that from this foundation, we could build forever. And there was nothing that was going to bring this house down.

It wasn’t until I realized that I would tell my story to the world that I put it all together. (in July 2025) All I wanted to do was to build a simple house to live in just like everyone else.

The sweetest part of it all was at some point in my construction, I asked the Lord to come and help show me what I was doing wrong. Here is the thing: he never pointed out what I did wrong. He just showed me how to build it so that it wouldn’t come down again. He is teaching me that I can’t get it wrong. I get to build what I want. But if I ask more questions, he can build an even more beautiful and more grand structure than I can alone.

As the Savior and I sit side by side on the top of my glass house that feels to me more like a skyscraper, we sit in open air as I swing my legs back and forth off the side of the ledge as the sun is setting. A spectacular sunset. It was like a pink and red fire in the sky mixed with clouds. I can feel the wind blowing, and for the first time in a long time, I am taking it all in. Big deep breaths. I can feel how proud I am of myself.

We are finally done with construction. I hadn’t really noticed the houses around us because I was too busy working, but from this height as I look out, it hits me immediately. I look down at my blueprints that the Savior is holding in his hands, and I grab them, frantically look at them, and then at the houses, and then back at the Lord with total shock on my face. And a big smile appears on his face.. . . the sweet kind of “yeah jess!”

Those were the exact plans that I had been using for all these years, but I couldn’t even see them. I didn’t understand how to read them. I just looked around and did what I saw everyone else doing. Those plans had been specifically for me. I was interpreting the plans as I wanted them to be, not what they were. The Savior had to come and teach me how to build with the materials, tools, and plans that I had been given. He helped me build MY house not HIS house.

The truth of the master-planned community was always there. The blueprints never changed; they were just never the same to begin with. It was those whose homes remained closer to the ground that viewed the community from the same eyes that I had before. That there was one way to build your house. It was only from this view that you could see that although every single house was different, it was only the foundation size that was the same. And it was only at ground level that they appeared similar. The higher you were able to climb, the more you could see clearly the differences and the beauty in them all. There was not even one home similar in nature, style, and size and even color. The Lord smiled at me, almost laughing at my reaction to finally seeing the truth of where it was that I lived. "Okay, Jessica," he said, "they are watching. Keep your windows clean so they can see in. Let them see what we have built together. The stones they throw, will never get through. You and I, however... we have a lot of work to do. . . Let’s go gather.