Message of the Day from John Taves
A few weeks ago, my kids, grandkids, and I were treated to a family cruise to the Princess Louisa Inlet. It was a Christmas gift my wife Mary-Ann had arranged before her passing. Because of Covid, the large cruise boat was not operating, but they did have a smaller boat that could carry 12. We are 12.
When you book, you prepay with no cancellations allowed. The night before, it rained and stormed all night. It was cloudy and misty when we caught the ferry. It was foggy and threatening as we approached the boat. I was quietly depressed as I thought the day ruined. The captain assured me we would be glad of the storm. So as not to deepen the sadness of my family, I smiled with fake confidence at his words, and we set forth.
Because of all the rain, waterfalls were cascading off the mountain everywhere. Because of the fog, he floated us into private small coves to see ancient paintings on the rocks. We drifted into bays that once were the summer homes of our First Nations families. It was both misty and mystic. The rain pelted down at times, with no chance of seeing a mountain top. Two hours later, we arrived at the inlet and proceeded to our final destination, Chatterbox Falls. Because of all the rain, the falls was not chattering, it was thundering. Our captain was even overwhelmed at its power and volume. Walking to the edge of that canyon, just feet away from chaotic currents, all of us were drenched to the bone, but all of us were in wonder at this moment in time.
Upon re-boarding the boat for our return trip, the rain stopped, the fog lifted, and the mountains rose above us, cliffs that challenge summer mountain climbers, distant peaks that swallowed us in their immensity, sudden winds that made us skip over waves, and set the kids to silence.
The day had contained two very different trips, each giving us a very opposite view of the same journey.
How much like that day do we live our lives.
When our lives are closed in, we think only of the glory we are not seeing, and miss the chance for intimate thoughts, quiet reflection, wanting only what we don’t have. We see only the fog, not the glory of God’s promises.
When our lives are open, and we can see it all, we forget to notice the small details of life, that are the quiet substance of all creation. We lose sight of the intimate.
I should have trusted the captain’s promise that the trip would be worthwhile.
I should trust my God’s promises; life is worthwhile, and to be lived, storm or shine, in that promise.
For thus says the Lord God, the Holy One of Israel:
“In returning and rest you shall be saved; in quietness and confidence shall be your strength.”
Isaiah 30:15