My husband, Jack, and I took four of our kids out in our boat, Maranatha, to Bostwick Bay, Alaska, for some fishing. Before setting off, we stopped at the dock by the cannery for gas. We hadn’t traveled 200 feet from the dock when a monstrous explosion rocked our boat.
Floorboards ripped through the canvas deck canopy, and the 75-pound plywood engine cover shot between my son Tim and me, barely missing us. Once I regained my feet, I frantically scanned the boat. Was the rest of the family okay? Amazingly, everyone escaped without a scratch.
A fire raged in the bilge, but we couldn’t get to the fire extinguisher. Desperately Jack reached through the wall of flames and grabbed the extinguisher from its spot on the gunwale. With one long sweep, the blazing fire was out. Everything had happened so quickly! I rushed over to Jack and was relieved to find him untouched by the fire—relieved, and a bit bewildered too.
Things were clearer when we heard our friend Gordon’s story later: “I was at the cannery when an explosion rattled the windows,” he said. “I had the most compelling urge to pray. I fell to my knees on the spot!” When we couldn’t pray for ourselves, a friend had done the job for us.
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