Just before Dawn

Always darkest just before dawn. We were out on the forward deck before 4 am; the moon shone but the focus was the approaching skyline of New York City. Perhaps the camera shook a bit with my shivering, but there was no way I was going back inside. I stood on deck with Don, poised for the gradual revealing of this iconic sight.

The Queen Mary 2 (CCR’s ‘Proud Mary’ going through my head – I guess that dates me!) ploughed ahead through the still waters of the Atlantic. We’d been told a pilot would come aboard but we didn’t see that transaction. But good to know that a local expert would guide us through the waters so that we would sail up the channel that is wide and deep enough for this huge vessel – and also that we would navigate safely beneath the Verrazano Bridge, which we cleared by a mere four metres or so.

Life can be dark and treacherous. Good to know that God has given us a pilot, his Holy Spirit, who comes on board to guide us through the darkness. Sometimes when things are rough we do just want to hide away, scarcely able to believe that it will ever get better. But if we can stand the shivering, it’s good to have our eyes on the horizon, watching for those first lights which herald a new dawn, a new day. 

Praying for all those affected by the Manchester bombing. Praying they will be able to hold on for the light that still burns bright and beckons us onward. Praying that out of this atrocity will come new shoots of love, blessings of peace.

God is good. Even in the darkness, he is with us, guiding us forward into the light.

Prayer

Just reflecting how insensitive my post was, in light of the tragedy of Manchester. Forgive me. The horror of a bomb being detonated amongst a crowd of young people eclipses everything else. Jesus acknowledged the reality of evil in the world, and called us to take a stand against it. No words. Prayer.

Flappers

Outside the wild waves tossed; on board one night we all dressed up in Roaring Twenties costumes and enjoyed the frivolity of boa feathers, beads and fringe and flapper dresses. 

Not to mention the odd gangster or two.

There is a time to meditate, and a time to party. I’m sure it says that in Ecclesiastes, doesn’t it?

Wild Waters

Inky black was the ocean one day, breaking into white froth as the huge ship churned through the water. Black and white: the colours of the evening’s formal ball.

But no, not just black and white. As I wrote yesterday, as the black gave way to white, or settled back again to grey-black, there was a moment of vibrant, breath-taking colour. A swirl of aquamarine, a shade not seen if the water is unfurrowed. Shades of colour revealed as the blackness is fracked.

Now the layered canopy of cloud overhead begins to break, slits of blue sky revealed beyond. All day the sky has remained grey, a thick mosaic of light and dark, but now, near dusk, the lighter shades are pulling apart, unravelling like a loose-knit afgan, and hinting at more. More colour in this world than observed at first sight.

More colour in the heights. More colour in the depths. A beauty – a delicate, pastel beauty. The sea stretches to the grey horizon, dark grey lining against lighter grey. 

The loose-knit weave of cloud continues to tear, but not disappear. It is not dissolving before my eyes, leaving behind a tropical scarf of pale blue. Instead, as it pulls apart in one place, it seems to grow denser in another. Denser, darker, reflecting back the darkness of the sea.

No fish break the surface. It appears as arid and devoid of life as a Saharan landscape. But like a Saharan landscape, not all is revealed, not all is apparent. What lies beneath? Beneath this massive conveyance ploughing through the matrix of water.

Jesus said he came to bring us fullness of life. As I stood on the balcony watching the vast ocean beyond, songs of praise giving glory to God filled my head. I am so thankful for the opportunity to glimpse a part of his creation that I hadn’t imagined seeing in my lifetime. This world is beyond amazing. It is such a gift, how can anyone doubt the love of God?

Wild Atlantic Waves

You may have to bear with me while I unpack some of the thoughts of the past fortnight, when we voyaged across the Atlantic from Southampton to New York City. I’ll start with the waves.

The crossing was mostly calm, but one of the days the seas swelled to Force 7. Because of the great stabilisers on the Queen Mary 2, we experienced very little movement on board – a great blessing. Who wants to be seasick? I stood on our balcony (yes, worth the extra cost for sure!), and watched the swell of the waves meet the wash from the huge liner. Where the moving waters collided, their darkness gave way to beautiful tropical shades of aquamarine. Why? I’ve no idea, but it provided a welcome flash of colour in an otherwise shades-of-grey seascape. 

Reflecting the turbulent seas were the swirling clouds overhead. Shades of grey there too. Everything was moving, and yet nothing was ‘alive’ in the sense of being animate. Their action made them appear alive, but they are just material mixing and re-mixing due to currents, winds, tides, whatever.

It reminded me of a comment in the book of James, that the doubter is like a wave of the sea, blown and tossed by the wind. Now I’m thinking that the doubter is spiritually inanimate, only coming to life once anchored to the rock of Christ. Riding at anchor, a believer is moved and swirled but never goes under in a churning maelstrom of events and emotions. Anxiety is like the tossing sea, inanimate itself but affecting thoughts and emotions so that what begins in one place, ends in another.

James’ comment was in the context of a person asking God for wisdom; when one asks, she needs to believe the Lord has given wisdom to her and act on it, not remaining marooned in a lagoon of self-doubt and questions. 

The only way to survive a Force 7 in life is to remain anchored to The Rock.