CREEEAAKK.
The ship’s hull was aged, strong, and rugged. Dark woods
clamped tightly together sealed off the constant grasping of the black waters
and secured many hanging bunks beneath the salty deck. The captain’s quarters
rested firmly on the stern, dragging splintered oak and dreams of a smooth
rudder in the water beneath. A rudder that stayed fast, and brought the sailors
back to joyous, angry, and mournful people.
As for officer Charles, however, the sea was everything. The
islands were a wasteland where dreams crashed upon the harsh rocks of reality
and refused to be moved. Where ice and superiority was carried on the winds of
love, and where the waves of hope and good life, simply rose and fell.
The first mate, Charles’ best friend, seemed exceptionally
quiet in the bunk below. The whole crew must have felt the change in weather,
for there was no snoring, or turning over in sleep, or song or whisper in the
ship’s lonesome hull. The careful moaning of the wind seemed, when loudest, at
a loss for emotion.
Charles opened his eyes. The cots were empty, the guns
strewn about on the floorboards, just as they had been when they left. The
choice had been made. Regardless of what the others would say, he and the
captain had agreed.
The picture was losing strength, but still carried the sound
of creaking oars, and the touch of salt-filled tears on Charles’ face as the
portrait of Lily-Anne smiled simply at him. The lifeboats could carry many, but
with the loss of one ship and a few crewmen, at least one man had to stay
behind.
Sailless, crewless, mapless, the ship was abandoned. Captain
Jones had given permission to Charles to use anything and everything to his own
desire, but to Charles the cabin above was, and would always be, for the
captain. Three barrels of salted herring, four casks of clean water, one cot.
This was enough.
Many tearful days of longing had passed Charles by. Every
day he opened his eyes, climbed the crows nest, and searched for land. At
first, a necessity, an escape from the fear of nothingness down below, but now
Charles climbed it patiently, knowing that whatever happened would be for the
best. The God he had heard about was now becoming real to him.
He stood, the crisp wind in his face, the sun slowly
thrusting forth, piercing the humid breath of the morning. His dark, wavy hair
fluttered as a flag, and the ship was rocked by the water alone.
Many good men spoke of peace. They mentioned a calming one
could only know in the storms. They had spent lifetimes trying to harness it,
or use it for gain, or to push themselves out as bold and courageous.
But peace is sometimes only known for itself in itself.
Charles leaned back. There was nothing frightening about this place, this
situation. He lifted his water stained book to the sunlight and began to sing
in the open. He sang of the future, he sang of his hopes, he sang short, raspy
melodies with no rhymes among them. But the words, the words lifted darkness
over the horizon and burned it in the sun. They drove arrows through the water
and opened up a way to home. They reflected the light of the voice of God, and
returned to Charles, peace.
This was peace. This was life. If the sea itself threw mountains
of snow and water on him, his heart would never change. If the sun ceased to
rise and lie down, if every splinter of wood turned to ash and the sea rise up
to meet him, Charles had decided his own fate. He knew beyond farce or
fairytale that he was chosen, and that he would answer the call bestowed upon
him, regardless of the means to obtain it. If his future had perished in the
depths of the sea like the captain’s map, eternity would soon be upon him, and
he would be caught into glory like the son of a royal dove. If his dreams had
been turned to splinters like the rudder of a great ship, Charles knew he could
only be guided by providence, and that if so, he was in good hands. If he grew
old, and never saw another human being, he would be content.
He leaned over and closed his eyes. “To know the Man who
sees my sin and loves me, is sufficient for all my trials and hardship in this
short and vanishing life. For what is life, without peace? And what is peace,
without hope? And how can we have hope, but through love?”
