A Rugged Life

My husband and I watched the movie Rugged Gold. The true story of a socialite who married an Alaskan miner. During one of the big Alaskan earthquakes, she was separated from her family and forced to survive the harsh winter, alone on an isolated island, injured and pregnant.

After the movie, I mentioned how well she handled all of her struggles.

My husband said, “You’ve done well too, after all your experiences.”

 Perhaps, thanks to my faith. But all those situations left scars not only on my flesh but also on my heart, soul, and mind - as I'm sure her did too! 

One woman once told me, “You are one of the strongest women I’ve ever met. How did you survive all that?”

My first response was, “I had no choice.”

But was that true?

Looking back, I had choices. There were different paths I could have taken and skipped a lot of heartache (maybe), but I followed God’s will instead of my own. Besides, who knows what those other choices would have led to?

God knows the answer, and because of that, He chose my life paths.

I don’t regret any of my choices that aligned with His will. However, sometimes my mind plays with different scenarios, wondering how my life might look today had I made different choices. But I always come back to the same truth. God chose my paths. How could they be wrong? Even if they were filled with challenges, heartaches, and sorrows, the paths have also been filled with great joy. Joys I would have missed out on if I had chosen differently. 

My heart and prayers go out to those struggling on their paths, doing their best to survive. Their struggles may not be like mine, or yours, or like the poor woman alone in the Alaskan wilderness, but they are still filled with challenges and heartaches.

May God be with them every step, as He has been for me. Amen.

Stormy Waters

Photo by Boba Jovanovic on Unsplash

After a few disastrous sailing adventures, I understand the Apostle’s panic during the storm when they were certain their small boat would sink, and they would drown.

We were supposed to prepare my parents’ boat for winter storage, but a pleasant breeze blew in from the north and sunshine danced on the calm water. We succumbed to the temptation for one last sail.

With time being short, we jumped in and took off without our usual pre-sail checks. That critical decision had bad repercussions.

We tacked up the lake to the island and glided up the west side, around the tip and along the east side where we stalled when the wind stopped. No problem. The small outboard motor would take us out of the shadow of the island and back into the wind or all the way back to the docks.

My dad tried to start it. No luck. He checked the fuel level. Zero.

Being experienced, although at that moment not wise sailors, we moved onto Plan B.

Sailboats are light and can be paddled back to shore if there’s no wind or motor available. My son and dad took turns paddling the boat until their competition to see who could produce the largest rooster’s tail behind the stern broke the paddle in half.

So, we moved on to Plan C. Let the boat drift to the windward side of the island.

A horrific roar emanated from the narrow channel between the island and the mainland.

I asked my son, “What’s that?”

“The wind.”

His worried expression said it all.

While we were becalmed on the east side of the island, the wind had picked up to almost gale force proportions on the west side. With no motor or paddle, we’d have to sail downwind toward the docks. For a sailboat, that is the second fastest point of sail. Even with only the tiny storm jib, the boat left a huge wake behind it. White caps rose several feet in the air, tossing the boat up and down in the peaks and troughs.

We took the storm jib down and left just the rigging, but the wind pushed the hull even faster.

As they say in sailing terms, we were coming into the dock hot. Our twenty-four-foot boat would end up being only twenty when we hit the dock. Never mind sailing into our berth. That required two ninety-degree turns into the broadside of the wind, the fastest point of sail, with only one boat’s length between. Difficult in ideal conditions, and impossible in the wild winds and waves we faced.

I prayed for a miracle.

The owner of the marina saw us coming in and realized we were in trouble. He stood on the main dock and waved us toward him, a straight shot with no turns.

We braced for impact, but somehow, he caught our bow, stopping our forward momentum, and avoiding any damage to the boat.

Once the sailboat was tied to the dock, I climbed out and knelt, tempted to kiss the wood. If I was this emotional, imagine the jumble of sensations the Apostles must have felt. Not only were they saved from certain drowning but also witnessed Jesus calming the storm and walking on water. My admiration of those brave, holy men went up another few notches.

How about you? Ever experience an adventure that turned into a life-threatening event? How did you survive?