Chapter 4

Yet, the difficulties of the sea have shaped me far more than its beauty.

At first, I hadn’t given much thought to the cost.  I had no real concept of the ocean’s immensity, the height of its waves, or the duration of time that I could spend being helplessly tossed about.  

That was until the first storm.

It was the evening of the fifth day.  The waves towering above at the height of skyscrapers.  The boat rising from each plunging valley into the next, staying upright while riding the swells.  I was mercilessly whipped and tossed about inside the boat.  

When it finally ended, I was left with nothing but cuts, bruises, and a soggy, empty boat.  All of my provisions were gone, as was the piece of fabric that had been my shelter from the rain and cold.  I curled up miserably in the bottom of the boat and slept. 

Only to wake up to the howling of another storm.

This one made the first look like child’s play.  Yet as it raged around me, I began to trust the boat’s uncanny ability to stay afloat.  As I sat gripping the sides of the boat racing through the night, some of the terror began to give way to exhilaration.   

I’d be lying to say that I’m not afraid of the storms.  Any rational human being would be.  But I have also come to appreciate their power.  And to appreciate their ability to propel a boat over an immense distance, in a shortened amount of time.

By comparison, oars are pointless.

Reflection Questions:

How have you experienced God in the ‘storms’ of your life?

What would it look like to embrace storms as an important part of life?