Once upon a time there was a ship floating aimlessly at sea. A small boat it was, but sturdy and true. The waves tossed and buffeted the vessel, splashing up its side, pooling its hull with water as if to spit in it mockingly. But the ship was strong, and whether of bravery or numbness, pressed on. For days and days it rocked on, steady, now drowning, now baking in the hot sun. With nary a soul to keep, it moved onward, perhaps, but if so not knowing where.
At last it came to an island, a small patch of earth with a lone palm. At first this seemed to be salvation—from the monotony of the blues, and the incessancy of the salty slaps. But the sandy shore did chap its hide, and the lonely tree gave but few moments of relief from the scorching heat. And besides all this, the boat’s planks were drying out and beginning to harden.
The boat drifted off again with a long, melancholy howl blowing across its gunwale.
For two long years the empty hull navigated the sea, aimlessly, patiently, persistently, ever reaching for the horizon. Or running from it. But the sea will have its bigness. The little boat had run so long that all desire was gone—either to press on or to turn back. The boat had finally come to a place where there was no memory of former purpose or plan, nor was there any hope of renewal. It was utterly lost.
6 comments:
Wow....I love the very hopefilled happy ending....LOL. Ships are made for the sea it seems...and for restless wanderlust, which we are likewise prone too. It's a good metaphor. I like this. It just kind of points out our endless disatisfaction and "ever reaching".
I know exactly about having "no memory of former purpose or plan, nor was there any hope of renewal"
I like this.
Tempting...very tempting...
here's the thing that doesn't sit right with me about this here post...It doesn't account for the ruler of the winds and waves...the creator, owner and animator of the sea. How then can one who is in the water be lost?
This story is so unlike you, Steve.
It gives an already an indignant Body more justification to look down their nose at other "boats".
The words are crafted carefully and in such a way that at the end of the story it is deemed perfectly excusable to snub and write off the boat.
A very strong "Lord, I thank You that I am not like other boats" flavor in this.
Interesting.
Reaching a point of hope lost is like living the days leading up to the dead of winter. Might not work exactly like this in Texas, but where I live, things are getting colder, everything is dying or is already dead, the daylight hours grow shorter every day. With those losses and the cold wind in my face, my hope grows very still and lifeless.
The really nice thing about hope is...it's renewable. It only takes one warm day in March to make it spring again to life. That's the way we have been created.
We need hope-less days, because it makes springtime (the hope-full days) so much more enjoyable.
Imagine the greater joy of the little ship when he's once again (or maybe for the very first time) out to sea proudly carrying a crew, a cargo, and a good Cap'n, with a strong west wind filling out his sails.
Purpose (re)discovered, hope renewed, passion (re)ignited.
Yes, hope has a way of ruining a perfect funk.
Any of us in the deepest despair are vulnerable to hope rekindling. A sudden stirring or shift in the wind is often just enough to manifest new life in the dying embers. And it is often the darkest souls that are most vulnerable.
In truth, I have seen that the blackest are the most ripe for hope's ambush. It seems that the deepest hells must be swallowed before they ignite resurrection.
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