Our time at the Gap was dominated by two great activities; battles with the Arnolds and adventures in the local creek and dam. I am sure others will beat me to the stories of the Arnolds - Baskerville's afternoon entertainment. This is the story of our white water rafting before the international sport had even been invented. I had a friend, Robert McMurdo, who was not supposed to be outdoors by his parent's decree, but when at the Baskervilles, he was eager to discover all the adventure that he had missed in his early life and we were eager to help him. We had discovered a large swimming hole in the Enoggera Creek. During a dry spell, the local farmer had excavated a large section of the creek and installed a pump line into its deepest part. To service and monitor this line he had put a 4 man rowing boat into the pond. The thing leaked very badly so it only had a water life of 5 min before needing to be beached and emptied. The repairs we did helped, but it was only pine boards hammered down over the holes. By sitting in the front, we could lift the back clear of the water and get extended water time. It was all fun for a time, but eventually we needed a greater challenge. The opportunity came when the rains set in and the Enoggera Reservoir overflowed. This lifted the level of the creek, turning it from a quiet meandering stream into a mini Colorado, the only difference being that there were trees everywhere in the water course. Why should these be a hindrance to a great adventure. The creek was in full flood when Sam, Rob and I set off to explore the creek. On arrival we quickly spotted the boat struggling at its tether, and the thought crossed my mind immediately "let it go and watch ride the wild water". The problem with this was it would shoot off down the creek and we would not see the drama unfold as it negotiated the creek rapids. So the obvious extension to this thought was "lets set the boat free and jump in". It will be a journey into the unknown. We were wearing shorts, tee shirts and raincoats. The boat moved off slowly as it moved across the large pond towards the start of a kilometre of boiling white water charging over stones and boulders on its way down to calmer waters at School Road. We all moved to the front to keep the back end high and prolong our floatation. As we entered the jaws of the rapids I realised I had committed us to something that would be beyond my scope of experience or control. Hey… that's when the adventure starts. The ride turned immediately from a controlled drift into a uncontrollable, bucking, twisting charge down the creek. The rapids were huge and we had no control in the nose. Water was coming in everywhere, we were sinking fast. Our redemption came every time we hit a submerged object, the boat would jolt to a stop for a moment and the momentum of the water in the boat would carry it out over the end and we would have flotation again… a self bailing process …well sort of. We had now successfully travelled 200m when we were channelled into a deep narrow chute of water. Once in it our speed increased … and then we saw it … a large tree right at the end of the chute with the water splitting each side. We hit it square in the middle with the blunt end. There was no jerk, stop or turn around, the tree just kept advancing towards us as our boat, plank by plank, turned into match-wood and disappeared into the water. And then it was our turn. The three of us were in the water, totally at the mercy of the water, boat all around us in a thousand pieces. I was just starting to work out the next plan when whack, whack, whack; the three of us were pinned on the three stranded barbed wire fence that was still in place across the creek. At least we had stopped and now we could work out a plan. We were all in raincoats which turned us into batman with his cape and the spread of the coats was pinning us so hard we could not move and the barbs were digging into our chests. We immediately began to push off the fence but every time we did the natural forces swept our feet under the fence and our heads were getting lower in the water. I think it was at this moment I started to worry about Sam. I told Rob to do all that he could to get onto the other side of the fence while I stayed with Sam. After 15 min of living every second as if it was your last, and realising that help must come shortly or else; Rob had achieved the impossible and was scratched and bleeding, but on the other side and moving back to us. Getting out of our raincoats was our salvation, this was done every so slowly with the constant force of water trying to drive us through the fence. The barbs in the arms and chest were just constant and accepted. After another painful 15 min, we were all on the other side of the fence and we made our way along the life rope (barbed wire fence) to safety. Bruised and bleeding we tidied ourselves up and set of for home with clear instructions …..what ever happens Sam, don't tell Mum.

The creek at the Gap held a certain fascination for us. We had arrived back in Brisbane as teenagers, and for the first six months, we were locked up in a bank building at Paddington. From there we moved to Greenslopes, where there was a creek flowing through the local area and we were always playing around it. Dad was not happy. He thought it was a sewer drain, and chased us out of it as often as he found us in it. He made a commitment as we prepared to move to the Gap that there was a clean creek there and we could explore it as much as we liked. We took him at his word and explored every pool and gully there was. All this was done when it was a trickle. We used to take friends down there and show them all the little pools. One day the rains came and the trickle turned to a torrent. I had just seen a video of a new sport in America called white water rafting down the Colorado. It suggested that if you were in a rubber raft, you could survive any white water you chose to travel in. Rob McMurdo had not had much adventure in his life so Sam, Rob and I grabbed a tube and headed off to the creek. The water was raging as we came to the creek, but we were excited about the adventure ahead. All we had to do was jump in and let the water take us. 1 – 2 – 3 Jump. We were away. Stick together, feet first into the rapids. I learnt my first great lesson in creek white water; keep your backside high in the hole. Bang! A big rock right on the butt at full speed. It was all to fast to worry about the other two, the water was furious and raging. I remembered the Colorado, keep in the centre streams, it was deepest and smoothest. I made it through and slowed in the smooth. Sam and Rob shot out of the white boil. We had made the first part without mishap. We drifted down a smooth part beside the Pony Club, swung around the corner, and suddenly the creek had disappeared. All I could see was the bridge up ahead. In seconds the answer came and straight over the waterfall I went at full speed. No time to think, we didn’t even know it was there. I spun around with adrenaline pumping, and watched the look of total shock as the other two crested the lip and crashed over. It was so much fun. One last obstacle, the School Road bridge. The water was half a meter from the underside. Just lie flat and let the water carry you through. Rob bumped his head on a big beam and fell off but we all came out the other side. The next half mile was very placid and we got out at Proctors and trekked back over the hill to the starting point and ... 1 – 2 – 3 Jump! A few months passed ... the rains came ... and Peter Bancroft was there with us. Lets go and ride the white water. So we all grabbed a tube and headed of over the hill. I remember that Sam was there, so was Peter, I can’t remember the others. I think David Christensen might have been one. Maybe even Howard Tatters. Brief explanations were given at the waters edge but the fun would be diminished if they were told all the facts. All got your tube ? 1 – 2 – 3 Jump! Off we went exactly as before, bum high, stay in the deep. Bang! Peter Bancroft found the submerged rocks. It is only fun when it hurts. The white water was more furious than previous and I found myself concentrating extremely hard to navigate. As I faced each raging wave, I began to question our sanity, but we were all committed and we had to deal with the issue at hand. By the time I shot out of the rapids at the Pony Club I was quite concerned so I paddled out of the main stream and slowed on the edge. Out came Sam, then another, then another. By this time I had stopped on the edge since the waterfall was just around the corner and it held certain fears. Where was Peter ? ... and then my worst fears were realised ... his empty tyre went floating by and over the water fall. I was now in a growing state of anxiety as I rushed back up the side of the creek calling his name. My mind was telling me what I did not want to admit “We had finally finished him off. He was stuck under a rock in the rapids.” I remember saying “God – let me just hear his name again” quite convinced I would never hear his voice again. And then I heard him “over here, in the tree”. There he was, wrapped around a quivering sapling, completely at the mercy of the raging waters around him. As he would later explain, he was in a state of shock coming out of the first set of rapids, fell of his tube on the last wave, hit the tree, tube one way him the other, and he made a decision not to go one inch further in the adventure, he had hold of something that could save him from what was yet to come and he was not letting go. Quick instructions to hang on, then we went up higher and down we came on his position. Let go, grab on. He was very reluctant but a rough rip of his arm and he was travelling in the tube. Another fifty yards and we had him to the bank. I think this was one moment when I simply thanked the Lord we were ALL going home. And, of course, don’t tell Mum.
See also related story by [Sam]

   
   

  I stand here as one of many in the extended circle of family who have been touched by this little boy. So on behalf of all the grand parents, great grand parents and aunts and uncles, I say "Thank you" to all who have traveled this journey with us and held us when it hurt. I present this small tribute on behalf of all of them.

As a young father I thought only in terms of "my children", but now I understand much better the notion of a baby joining the family, which is a much bigger circle that extends out across two joined families to the third and fourth generation.

They say that grand parenting is easier because you have the hugs without the dramas. This has not been our experience. I would suggest that grand parenting is a time when you do less but love more, because life's journey has taught us the joy of a little child and the potential that lies within. When Kyla, Jack and Josh were born, I so looked forward to traveling the rest of my life with them, and telling them the stories of life.


Instead, I have a short opportunity to tell the story of my little grandson, Joshua.

His total life spanned from early March 2006 to the end of July 2006; approximately 21 weeks. The last 2 months were spent in Westmead Children's Hospital, Sydney in the Intensive Care ward on breathing life support. You would not consider this was enough time for his life to count for anything and yet, I declare, that this little boy is known all over Australia.

I am reminded of the words of Francis Assi who said "Preach the gospel every where you go, and if necessary use words." Little Josh never spoke a word in his short life. In the last month he had just learnt to smile, but God gifted him with two beautiful eyes. With no other movement in his body other than a small squeeze of his hand, he would engage with anyone who sat with him. One of the most beautiful photos we have of Josh is a most un-natural one. He is strapped in to his life support with equipment all over him, but shining through it all is his intense, loving gaze with his eyes talking and connecting.

This photo captured the hearts of all who saw it. It is said that the eyes are the mirror of the soul, and without a doubt he reflected love back to everyone.

What did I observe during my time with him?

He engaged with everyone who sat with him. He accepted the circumstances of his life with little complaint. He cuddled into the arms of anyone who held him. Shona, Terry, Wendy, Ruthie and the Grandmas shared in this delight. Rachel spoke to him of her time in his situation. Grandmas soothed him to sleep. Songs of Praise played in his room and many a nurse fell in love with this little boy. I spent many a long night with him, holding his hand and just being there when he was disturbed. He did not know the difference between day and night. Each 2 hrs his comfy situation was disturbed by the need to roll him over to a new position. This caused him great distress, but with a gentle touch and a loving word, he would refocus and be at peace again. He made no demands on anyone, but beamed back love and, in his last few weeks, beautiful smiles, to those who sat with him.

His departure from this life was on the same day that my twin daughters, Ruth and Rachel were born 22 years earlier. It is now a special day in our family. It was the day that Rachel began her fight for life and it is the day that little Josh lost his fight for life.

Many have expressed their sympathies to the family in many ways but I close with an anonymous poem that came across my desk. It must have been written by someone close because it expresses all the thoughts that the team who came down to Westmead would have shared as we traveled this short journey with each other.

Joshua

A precious gift sent by God
To change things in our lives
A little baby boy called Josh
A gentle sweet delight
Lent to us for a short time
To teach us all good things
How to pray and yearn and want
To feel joy and love and pain
Within those eyes wisdom revealed
What did Joshua really know
A child so small could teach so much
To many old and young
Rest assured God was in control
He knew the time was right
And as Joshua took that last little breath
God enfolded him in his arms
No longer does he need our prayers
He's right where he belongs
He's home in heaven with his Dad
All perfect happy and loved
Good bye Joshie - we all loved you dearly.
We will see you again one day.

  We had Josh at home for one week until late one Friday night, Shona while resting Josh on her lap asked me if Josh looked ok. I was numb to any idea that my kids could have anything wrong with them. That night Shona's intuition saved Josh's life, but which began a journey of hope, trust, desperation, and dependence on our all-knowing God.

While Josh lived at home he always seemed uncomfortable when ever I held him. I was grateful when my Mum and Dad came to Canberra. Dad seeing Josh's discomfort in my grip quickly realized that I needed some training. Within minutes my dad soon had Josh fast asleep. This then made for a small problem because Josh then wouldn't sleep unless he was lying on dad's soft tummy, or listening to the beat of dad's heart in his chest or curled under the shadow of his chin. His comfort there was so peaceful and I can only hope that I see my son and dad comfort each other again in that way.

I loved when it came time to put him into the car. While Joshua lay in his crib I would pick it up and do half turns with my wrist. While doing this Josh's eyes would embrace mine with a joy of trust; his gaze would lock on me with a stare that seemed to ask for more. There was never a cry or scream but always a small tightening of his cheeks muscles. Seeing his reaction and joy for this free fall, turning feeling, I couldn't help but think that maybe he too might be a gymnast like his Granddad.

On the mornings when Shona would drop me off at Uni, I would do the kissing rounds of the car. I'd start with giving Kyla one of my supper slobbers, then race around and open Josh's door. I was always unsure whether to wake him up with a kiss or to stare and catch the moment of how beautiful my son looked in his morning rest. I often couldn't resist kissing him on the forehead and whispering, "I love you Josh."

I took Joshua to Youth one night, led praise and worship then preached with him in my arms the entire time. Many people that night asked if they could hold Josh in fear of him being a distraction to what I was doing. No one got a hold that night because, to me, there is no greater honour than teaching your son how to lead and teach people about the things of God.

When he was two weeks old I remember being told he had one week to live. Shona stood with me that day and ask me to pray with her for peace and to believe that God would bring forth a miracle.

Our first miracle was seeing the support of our family and friends as they gathered quickly around us. Our phones overflowed with encouraging text messages. One message in particular was stamped in my spirit; it was from Mark Stilliarnos and it read, "Terry - have no fear, Josh has the best medicine, the Blood of Jesus."

From this moment on, Josh marched me around Jericho. He taught me to fight although he never clenched his fists; he taught me to yell although I never heard him scream; he taught me to run although I never saw him crawl; he taught me love although I never saw him kiss. Josh you marched me around strong holds in my life and taught me to fight for the day. You showed me how to hang on to the promises of God, and when all fails to stand firm.

On my first visit to the hospital I wasn't sure of where to find Josh. While walking through the corridors of the hospital I passed two nurses who stopped me and said, "You must be Josh's father!" I quickly asked, "How do you know that?" They laughed between each other and said, "Because there's a baby up there that looks like you and his name is Joshua!" I felt privileged to be recognized in the likeness of my son. Another nurse later commented that he really was my son because his hairline was receding in the same places as mine.

Josh, your favour spread like spilt water before you. You won the heart of every doctor and nurse that served you. When Josh was first admitted to hospital I asked the nurses, "Do you get attached to patients?" They all quickly answered, "We can't afford to." As it turned out, Josh gave what they couldn't afford to give. Josh had a naive humility; when one looked into his eyes, his stare warmed your spirit. The Bible says, "The eyes are the door way to the soul." Although his body decayed before us, his eyes never lost their charge. His spirit was always full of life and wonder. His eyes would draw you in to the innocence of his world, his outlook was so young but seemed so wise. Although he never understood why he was in this environment, it never stopped his heart from saying, "Tell me who you are? Why do you love me, and why do you never leave my side?

Josh you are one of the greatest leaders I know. These last four and a half months have you have shown me that perseverance is the fight that conquers mountains, that breath in your lungs is measured by the fight in your spirit and that the spirit is to be treasured above all things.

Thank you for staring into my eyes.

See also related stories [Pip]