One of the great things I
remember about growing up was the town in which I lived. I knew almost everybody
who lived there, its history and its hills and forests. One of the best parts of
the area was the river about a quarter of a mile away from my house, a deep,
wide, saltwater river that welcomed me any time I went to visit it. I loved it
when it was calm and also when it was stormy.
One of the things I remember
best was a fishing trip on my family's boat in the summer of 1958. Daddy piloted
the small cabin cruiser. Mama brought fried chicken and potato salad in case we
didn't catch any fish to eat. My brother and pregnant sister-in-law came along
on the lovely, calm summer day.
An hour or two into the outing,
a rather violent storm blew up suddenly. Even though we had pulled down the
canvas curtains on the deck cover to protect us from the wind and rain, it didn't
take much imagination to mentally "see" the waves with their white
caps and troughs as we felt the rocking motion. I loved the movement, the
sounds of thunder, and the waves lapping against the sides of the boat. My
sister-in-law was probably praying hard for Jesus to come and calm the waves in
between her bouts of nausea. I trusted Jesus, but I also trusted Daddy would
pilot us safely through the storm.
Memory took me back to that
fishing trip so many years ago as I read the Eucharistic gospel for today. Being
in a small boat on raging water some distance from shore can make for some
anxiety. I'm always a bit surprised that the disciples, at least the fishermen
among them, had such fear of being swamped and facing drowning. I was probably
too naïve to even think of such a thing when I was on our boat, but I'm sure
the adults had it at the back of their minds. We didn't see Jesus walking
across the stormy water toward us. However, the disciples appeared to be very
relieved to see the master, who was able to still the winds and waves.
There are times in life
that feel very much like being in a tempest, whether I am on a boat or sitting
in my living room. I have a feeling
everybody thinks like that at one time or another. We may not see Jesus walking
on water or even coming in through the front door. Still, there are times when
I call on Jesus to calm the storm and get me safely to solid ground. I know I
still have to trim the sails and man the tiller, but I trust Jesus to provide
the compass setting and the clear skies that will enable me to get back to shore.
No matter what I ask Jesus to do for me, I'm sure he also expects me to do some
of the work myself rather than depending on him to do everything.
Years after that fishing
trip, I was on another, larger boat on a much larger body of water halfway around
the world. I was on a 50-man fishing boat full of sailors and their wives and girlfriends.
It was a beautiful day, with waves that made the boat rock like a cradle. So
many of those aboard, sailors included, were regularly feeding the fish. At the
same time, I scampered up to sit on the bow to enjoy the motion. I wasn't
seasick at all, despite being pregnant myself. I loved the ride and thanked God
for providing something so enjoyable. I knew I was being looked after.
I hope heaven has rivers,
oceans, boats, and occasional storms, just like I hope it has forests, hills, and
mountains. Fishing would be nice, but I
think I would settle to sit on the bow of a boat, leaning back against the
cabin window, enjoying the sun on my face, the rocking of a vessel beneath me,
and the feeling of peace that comes from God's grace and simple happiness.
Jesus would be there, I'm sure, storm or no storm.
God bless.
Originally published at Speaking to the Soul on Episcopal Cafè Saturday, January 31, 2021.
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