Beacon of Light

Let there be light. As darkness gave way to dawn and the Verrazano Bridge loomed in front, pinpoints of car lights became distinguishable. Inside each car, at least one individual headed to work, preoccupied by thoughts of the day ahead. God rode in every car, in the heart of every individual, whether or not they recognised his presence.

On the water, traffic moved in every direction. Towards port, away from port, transporting people from Staten Island to Manhattan and back again. The lights of the metropolis grew more distinct. Freedom Tower was unmistakable; the Statue of Liberty harder to find. 

My thoughts were with my ancestors. My great grandparents entered New York Harbour on a ship in 1892. No Verrazano Bridge. No Staten Island Ferry, Freedom Tower, cars or lights.

But the Statue of Liberty had been erected in 1886 and stood as a beacon of hope to my great grandparents and their four young children, under five years old. A beacon of hope, but a beacon of fear as well, as many even in those days were denied entry, usually for health reasons. Don and I stood on deck, excited and amazed at the beauty of the awakening city. My emotions ran high.

Jesus taught that we are to welcome the homeless. Who I am today hung on the decision to admit the Steenbocks to the USA on that day in 1892. May I display in all my thoughts, prayers and words, today, nothing but lavish generosity, welcome and love. There is a hurting world out there, and Jesus loves every individual.

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?