My husband and I were staying the winter in our RV at an RV Park on the west coast of Mexico, where the Pacific ocean was not very user-friendly unless you were a surfer or a super strong swimmer, of which I was neither. I avoided entering the water because I had had a fear of the vastness of the sea. It began when I was thirteen while visiting an aunt and uncle in California.

To keep me entertained, they took me to the beach to go swimming in the ocean. It was exciting, and since I had taken swim lessons from the age of eight, I was confident in my ability to stay afloat. Unfortunately, I knew nothing about rip currents, which had effortlessly taken me out to sea, far enough so that the people on the beach became tiny specks.

I had thought it was my expert swimming skills that made the swim so easy, but when I tried to swim back, the pull was too strong. I became exhausted and went into panic mode when I got farther away from the beach. I didn’t know what to do to save myself from getting too far out no one would know where I was. I knew I would end up giving in to exhaustion and then drown. I was terrified.

Fortunately, just before I was ready to give in to the pull of the rip, a man reached for me. The lifeguard. He had, thank God, spotted me from atop his tower, came to my rescue, and pulled me back to shore.

That experience left me with a fear of ocean swimming, compounded with nightmares for years. After being safely dumped on my beach towel, my rescuer lectured me about rip currents, which is what he’d called that stream of water that enticed people out, because of its ease to just swim along, but, in truth pulled them beyond help all too often. He told me what to do the next time I was caught in one, and to recognize that easy current as being very dangerous.

Not on your life, I said to myself about the lifeguard’s ‘next time’ statement. I’ll never go into the ocean ever again.

But many years later, I would not only go into the ocean, but I would also become the rescuer, and, I am certain, that it was because of a stone I had found on the beach on that day in Mexico.

Each morning, we took our dog for a walk along the beach with two large trash bags…one for trash we’d pick up along the way, as well as for our dog’s waste, and another for sparkly or interesting rocks that would catch my eye. The water allowed the rock’s true colors to come through, to see their potential once they were polished, because, otherwise, when dried, they were dull and not very interesting. On that morning, during my search for interesting stones that had washed up at the far end of our bay, I saw one that glowed brighter than any I had seen before.

I was excited to examine it after I’d retrieved it from the sand at the water’s edge. It was orange-red in color and a bit translucent. It felt good in my hand. I will look up this stone in my reference book later, I thought, as I put it in the pocket of my shorts. I didn’t put it in the sack with the other stones I had gathered, because I knew this stone was special. By the time we walked back to our RV for breakfast, the stone in my pocket was forgotten.

After eating, I went back out to the beach to see if there were any new deposits of shells or debris from the waves that had rolled in on the beach. I made jewelry from shells and interesting junk I’d find, and on this day, I was not disappointed. I found some really colorful shells.

The day was going to be a hot one since it had already become sweat-worthy, and Mexican families were settling in with their blankets and picnic baskets to cool off at the beach. I knew this would be a busy and noisy Saturday for our area when I heard the kids yell and laugh as they ran into the water. Even though their sounds were pleasant, I hoped the yelling would not get too annoying. Those thoughts had no sooner entered my mind when I suddenly heard loud screaming, but the screams were from fear, not fun.

I turned to look at where the screams were coming from and saw a child flailing out in the water. It looked like he had gotten caught in a rip current, and was powerless to go against it. The kids that were screaming came sloshing through the water up to the beach to get help from their parents, but the parents seemed clueless as to what to do, except scream for help themselves, while they wrung their hands and sobbed as they watched their child being pulled faster and faster out to sea.

I went on instinct and dashed into the water and began swimming. I saw one surfer way down the bay, just sitting on his board ready for a wave. He was too far away to be of much help, I realized.

I swam harder and faster than I thought myself capable, finally reaching the boy. I calmed him with words while keeping his head raised as we started to swim laterally to get away from the pull of the current, and then diagonally back toward shore. I remembered my own lifesaver’s words, those many years ago, about rip currents and how best to get out of them; I was grateful for that retained information.

Midway to the shore, my adrenalin reached its peak, and I wasn’t sure if my strength would last. I was exhausted but could do nothing other than keep going. My lungs burned, but the kid was counting on me. I was struggling. The boy, detecting my flagging energy, began to squirm. I tried to talk him down from his panic, assuring him we’d be ok, but that he needed to help by just being still. Unfortunately, those words were hard to make clear, as the waves were coming faster and harder, making talking without swallowing a mouthful of seawater difficult, and the boy didn’t speak English.

We both fought to stay afloat; my strength giving out. My arms ached and my eyes burned. We still had a long way to go, and I almost panicked myself. How could I save us both? But no sooner had those words touched my brain, when I heard, “I’m coming! Hang in there!”

I looked up and saw the lone surfer heading our way, and my body heaved a sigh of relief. We’d make it.

With the boy on the board and me hanging onto the back of the surfboard, the surfer paddled and I kicked as we glided toward shore. I was finally able to sink onto the sandy beach, while the surfer ran with the boy to get help. Friends gathered near me with praise, and my husband picked me up and helped me to the RV where I shed my wet clothes and fell into a heap onto the bed.

Later, after a long nap, I got up, got dressed, and went to seek information about the boy. He had been taken good care of, I was told, and would be okay. There was a doctor staying at the park in a bungalow, who came every season for a month on his winter vacation, and he was able to check out the kid. Lucky he was here at this time, I thought, and lucky that I was able to help. Yet the big question for me was: How could I have done what I did?

As I looked out at that ocean I started to shake. I could not imagine having even the slightest inkling of rushing out in that water to rescue someone. I would not have had the nerve. I would be concerned and would want to help, but instead of me rushing to help, I would yell and scream for someone else to go to the kid’s rescue. It would never have occurred to me that I should or could be the rescuer. How had that happened? I asked myself. Why did I not feel the fear I am feeling now? I couldn’t explain it and wondered if the nightmares would start again.

Later, when I was getting my wet clothes ready to take to the laundry service down the street, I pulled items from the pockets of my shorts and found the stone. I’d forgotten all about it. While holding the smooth, orangey-red rock in my hand, I suddenly had the feeling that it had been a call-to-duty for me to save that boy, but how?

I pulled out my book of stones and crystals to identify this one, looking up reddish-orange colors. There were several, but most were too red, too yellowish, or too opaque. Then I came to one that was nearly identical to the one in my hand, and I was sure I’d found it. Carnelian, a member of the Chalcedony family. When I read the properties associated with this stone, I was stunned. From that list of energies, the one that explained my actions that morning was this:

‘A stone of courage that instills self-confidence and banishes negative emotions such as fear.’

There were a lot more attributes, but this was the relevant one to suggest a reason for my sudden burst of courage that helped me save the boy’s life. I had studied stones and their powers from a past incident with an injury that was helped by stones, and I believed in their powers. Since I had no other explanation for my actions and sudden lack of fear, I gave this stone total credit for my unusual bravery.

Oftentimes, when a person is in a quandary, and in need of help, the universe provides that help in unique ways. Such was the case for my need to help another person. I had forgotten about the stone in my pocket when I had felt courageous enough to brave the sea and save the boy.

I wanted to tell the world of this miraculous event, and the reason behind it. Unfortunately, most people usually scoffed at the idea of crystal power, so it wasn’t a topic I brought up to just anyone. I found that the best way to illustrate the power of stones was by giving one to those in need. Each person would realize the stone or crystal powers themselves from the healing they would receive. Like I did that day in the ocean. Stones and crystals do have energy. I know, from my own experiences.

Read two of my healing stories related to this one:

How I Shed My Fear of the Ocean with a Stone

Black Widow

How I Discovered The Wonder and Magic of Crystals