His Saving Grace
A dawning is in my eyes. I am leaving Hawaii, then on to the West Coast, maybe Los Angeles. I saw her again – that woman. I have begun to see the Scriptures as true. And yet, I wonder sometimes.
The stars are bright every night. My sailing has been a time to find him – Almighty God, be merciful to me; show me. I believe. Now I know. My gratefulness is to you, O God, my Father. Amen.
Captain’s Log
August 21
My course is eastward though I do not know the exact heading. I have been at sea for six days now since leaving Hawaii. My meeting with Charles and the two days I spent with him have left me confused. My profession has not been without hazards and I have seen men die in many ways. But I have never seen a person face death with such a look of contentment as did Charles.
The words of my lady friend continue to bother me. They are a small, still voice in my ear that will not go away. Each time I open the Bible, I find confirmation of what she said. It is everywhere I read: Life, the Baptism of the Holy Ghost, tongues, sinlessness, perfection, no death. Especially this perfection. It is throughout the New Testament, over and over again. It changes everything I have ever believed. I now believe that a person can, indeed, be without sin and therefore, perfect. I have searched it out and found it in the Bible. There is a great truth that man has somehow overlooked. Jesus himself said, “Be ye perfect, even as your Father in heaven is perfect”. Why haven’t I heard of this before?
The Bible has become like a friend to me. In it, I find comfort and peace. All these years since Mom passed away, I have kept it simply as a memento, not knowing the truth it held.
Captain’s Log
August 30
I feel the need to hear more of what my lady friend spoke to me when we first met. Several times a day I realize that I am thinking more about her than what I am doing. I remember her green eyes and the way they twinkled when I snatched the picture taken in Manila. Her golden blond hair seemed to shine with a light of its own. I try to tell myself that this is crazy; and yet, I feel compelled to seek her out.
As I continued toward the west coast, I spied a large luxury yacht westward bound. On its stern was the name of its home, Portland. Normally, I would think nothing of it, but its name became visible to me: Johnnie J. I felt a lump in my throat; a heaviness in my heart. Why must I be reminded of my lost son once more? Somehow, I must put them behind me and let the old memories die. Once and for all.
Watching it continue westward, the name of its homeport reminded me of my lady friend’s destination. She had told me to look her up in Portland. What was the name of that church? Ah, yes, the Church of Jesus Christ of the Firstborn. Right then and there, I made a decision. I will go there.
Captain’s Log
September 5
My course is now northward along the California coast toward Portland. One hundred fifty miles out.
The weather has turned increasingly worse. There are large thunderheads on the horizon and a stiff breeze that smells of rain. Severe storm warnings are out, but I must stay on course. To try to go around it could take days, perhaps even weeks.
I have handled many a storm before. “Reason” did very well in the storm off South America and the other two, but this one is threatening. I have battened everything down, prepared my inflatable raft. I sent off, via the ship to shore radio, my position and heading. There is nothing more to do but continue onward… and pray.
It is becoming too rough for me to continue writing. I will store my log with my Bible in a waterproof pocket of the raft. I pray God will keep them and me safe.
I have not seen such a storm in a long time.
Captain’s Log
September 6
This is the saddest entry into this log. I am writing while adrift in my inflatable raft. “Reason” is lost.
The size of the swells increased steadily, cresting at twenty feet or more, crashing down on my “Reason” with all the ferocity the sea could muster. Near hurricane force winds made it extremely difficult to keep “Reason’s” bow pointed into the wind.
I felt my vessel, hit by another monstrous wave, shudder and suddenly, I lost all steering control. My rudder was gone, broken by the force of the waves. Immediately, she began to swing sideways to the oncoming waves. The next wave struck her with a crash that sounded like a cannon shot. She heeled over until her railings were under water before finally coming back. I had to hang onto the wheel with all my strength to keep from going over. For a moment, I thought she would come about and face the attacking waves head on. She did indeed, for a short minute there, begin to turn. But she was hit by yet another towering wave that broke her mast with an explosive crack and I knew she was doomed. With the weight of her mast and sail adding to the water already pushing her down, “Reason” began to heel to starboard on the verge of capsizing. I saw another monster wave coming. I had no choice but to trigger my locator beacon, untie the inflatable and abandon my stricken vessel. I immediately lost the raft: the wind and waves snatched it out of my grasp and I landed in the water supported only by my life vest. I have never felt myself so at the mercy of the sea.
It was all I could do to keep my head above water. I managed to turn back to see my vessel quickly succumb to the raging sea. One moment she was there, the next she was gone. I searched in all directions for my raft but there was no sign of it. I would have to rely on my vest to keep me afloat until I was rescued.
Within a few hours, the storm had lived out the last of its life and I began to see blue skies overhead. The seas were reduced to an occasional oversized swell. Still, I saw no sign of my raft. So weary was I that I was ready to give in to the sea. It was then that something brushed the calf of my leg.
My thoughts were of a shark out for a quick meal. But what met my eyes sent a chill down my spine. Not twenty feet from me, a barracuda of immense proportions circled, his beady eyes surveying me. Attacks on humans by these vicious creatures are rare. But those few that have survived such an attack have stated that these demons do not stop at a single bite like a shark does. Once provoked, a barracuda continues mauling its prey until there is nothing left but a tangled mass of meat.
I watched as he circled warily for several moments before turning once more toward me. I gripped my knife as he aimed his head at me, and like lightning, he hit; but he veered off at the last moment, brushing my shin as he passed. A small stream of blood spurted out. I knew he was only toying with me before he launched a real attack. It was a giant barracuda – five feet or longer. Fear gripped my throat like a tight strap. I breathed harder, my pulse racing in my head and chest.
Then I remembered.
I lifted my face upward and, at the top of my lungs, cried out, “God, if you are real, save me!” I watched, knife ready as he drew closer, his long arrow body tensed and ready to kill. His single eye was black, and looking – sideways – straight at me. I shuddered, and under my breath, pleaded, “I have need of you, God. Let me be ready to face you. But if I live, let me know it is you that has saved me.” Before I could finish, as quickly as the barracuda had appeared, he turned and swam away. For a long moment I waited, unbelieving, expecting him to come back. Instead, he continued to swim away until he was gone. I was astounded. Why had he turned? Why had he broken off his attack? It made no sense!
That’s when I recalled my cry. God had answered me. He had saved me. Then something bumped into my shoulder and a sudden fear welled up in me. I thought he had come back! I turned to find myself staring at my raft. My raft. My orange raft. Another miracle!
Captain’s Log
September 9
I have been in Portland at the Coast Guard infirmary, where I am recuperating from my time adrift.
While adrift, I had looked back on my journey and realized how God had caused me to encounter the woman in Panama and again in Manila, to talk with Jorgenson and Diego, to find Charles and hear his final words. A feeling of peace and contentment overcame me like nothing I have ever felt before. My current situation, the loss of “Reason”, all the losses in my life, became insignificant. I was aware only of a sense of well being that reached into my deep thoughts, into my very soul. Lying there in my raft, I had lifted my eyes to the heavens with tears streaming down my face, and thanked God for all he had done. I knew that I wanted all of God. I acknowledged that Jesus is my Savior; that he died for me. I asked Jesus for his life, not mine. I prayed he would give me the Baptism of the Holy Ghost, which would lead me into all truth. I fell asleep.
An hour later, the words that issued from my stuttering lips made no sense to me, like gibberish, and yet I did not care. I only knew that they were right, that I was right with God. I knew I was forgiven of all I had ever done wrong. I knew this was tongues. I knew I was receiving. He said ask, and I asked.
Only the approach of the Coast Guard helicopter brought some sense of the present. It hovered directly over me, the downdraft of its rotors nearly pinning me to the bottom of the raft. A rescue diver lowered himself and asked if I was OK. So at peace was I, that all I could do was smile and nod.
During the trip to the Coast Guard base, I told him of my journey. I wanted to be silent about the miraculous things I had experienced; would he understand? I could not help myself. I finished my story as we approached the coast. The young guardsman, who had listened so intently, then told me that he was a Christian, baptized in the Holy Ghost and following the Lord with all his heart. Upon arriving at the base, my rescuer accompanied me to the base infirmary where I was admitted overnight for observation.
Captain’s Log
September 10
When I left the clinic this morning, I found my rescuer with a car waiting for me. He continued to help me, filling out paperwork and insurance forms for the loss of “Reason”, even taking me to his apartment for dinner and offering me a bed for the night. I will not forget his kindness and hope someday to find a way to repay him. But for now, I am too tired to think of anything. And too happy to forget why I have come here.
Captain’s Log
September 12
Though I am no more a captain, no more at sea, I will continue to keep my log as I have for years. I have chronicled this journey from the first day and, it appears to be not over yet. When it is, I will close the cover and put it aside. I reluctantly bid farewell to the fine young guardsman who had helped me so, assuring him that I will stay in contact. I am rested and ready to seek a particular church and my lady friend.
After a lengthy search, I found the church just outside the city limits. In the sanctuary, I found an older man, Pastor J. Sydney Waters. As I approached him, he turned with a look of apprehension on his face. He asked if he could help me and I told him I was looking for a certain lady. I took the picture from my pocket and handed it to him. He seemed to relax as he looked at it and said, yes, he had seen her. She had arrived here from Manila a couple of months ago. She had mistaken this church for another. Unfortunately, he did not know the one she was looking for. Nor did his wife, who had now joined us. They said my friend had stayed for quite a while. She had mentioned me. Only a few days ago, she had received an e-mail from a friend who wanted to meet her at a revival in St. Louis.
My disappointment must have shown on my face. He put his hand on my shoulder and asked if there was anything else he could do to help me. He apologized for seeming a little cautious when I first approached him. He had been going through a rough time himself; he had received several threats from unknown individuals concerning his church. It seemed that not everyone in Portland agreed with his beliefs.
As he removed his hand, he noticed the small cross I was wearing; the one Charles had given me. He asked me where I had gotten it and I replied, “From an old friend on his death bed.” He asked if he could see it and, when I handed it to him, he studied it very intently for several minutes.
Looking up with tears in his eyes, he asked me if the man’s name was Charles and if he had been a sailor. When I, surprised, replied yes, he told me a remarkable story. He had been a missionary, robbed and stranded in Morocco some years back. A stranger had helped him immensely. Sydney had given him this very same cross, handed down from his own mother. I sat for several moments in amazement as he handed it back to me. I believe now that God had a specific reason for leading me to this church. Sydney is that reason. I had found a new friend.
We talked for an hour or so about Charles, and my relationship with him and with God. I told him I must leave for St. Louis as soon as possible. Sydney then graciously offered to take me to the airport. I accepted.
As he went to his office to retrieve his car keys, I went outside, bag in hand, to wait for him. No sooner had the door closed behind me when an explosion rattled the windows of the church, breaking several. Through a cloud of smoke, I ran back inside to find Sydney lying on the floor. Just beyond him, his office was a shambles. He was barely conscious as I quickly helped him outside where he collapsed on the grass. I could tell he had several broken bones and some second degree burns. Possibly a concussion. A crowd quickly gathered around as I knelt over him. Someone informed me that 911 had been called. A moment later, his wife sat down by Sydney, near me. I was glad to see she had escaped injury. She took her husband’s hand.
“Will he be okay?” she asked. I informed her that he was hurt pretty badly but thought that he would be all right. A look of relief came over her face and I knew that there was a real bond of love between the two. I longed for what they had.
I stayed with them until the emergency crews arrived and took over. At that point, his wife turned to me and told me that she would accompany him to the hospital. But that I had something I had to do. “Go, find your lady,” she said. “There is nothing more that you can do here. I will pray for you.”
I left there somewhat hesitantly, torn between staying with them and continuing on my journey. But Sydney’s wife was right. There was nothing more that I could do. I assured her that I would check back on Sydney. I will keep them in my prayers.
Captain’s Log
September 13
I spent several hours sitting in a cramped seat on a rather bumpy airplane. I searched my Bible for anything I could find to help me to know my Savior. One verse that did strike me I found in the book of Psalms: Hear me when I call, O God of my righteousness: thou has enlarged me when I was in distress; have mercy upon me and hear my prayer. If the writer of this psalm, King David, could pray to God for help, why can’t I? So, right there on that plane as it taxied toward the gate, I prayed that God would help me find my lady.
Once we had disembarked, I raced as fast as I could through the airport. My lady could be anywhere, but I know God can lead me to her, just as he had back in Manila. In the seat of a taxi, I decided to make my way to a hotel and from there, begin my search. My eyes fell on a newspaper left behind by a previous passenger. In one small corner of the page to which it was opened, there was an article about an out of town minister speaking at a revival ending today. I was skeptical, but I immediately instructed the driver to proceed to the church in question.
As it turned out, it was only about two miles. My driver waited for another cab to vacate a parking spot directly in front of the church. A dark haired man entered the cab, its rear seat already occupied by a woman. Turning to the woman, he smiled and helped her straighten her coat. They seemed so close. Probably his wife. A yearning tugged at my heart; to again have love, to belong to someone and have someone to hold in my arms once more. I wrenched my eyes from them as their cab pulled away and my own took the parking spot. I grabbed my bag and ran for the door of the church. I hoped I would catch my lady here.
Inside, there were only a few people. A person I took to be the pastor was engaged in a conversation with several others near the front. My lady was nowhere in sight. When the pastor approached me, I introduced myself and told him my reason for being here. Showing him the picture of my lady friend, I asked if he had seen her. He nodded immediately.
He did remember her. She had been here, having left only a few moments ago by cab. Instantly, I recalled the taxi that had vacated the curb just as my own was arriving. It must have been hers. I had missed her by only a few short minutes, only a heartbeat!
But then, I remembered the scene as her cab left. That man! She must be married! Why had she not mentioned it? All the desires I had felt for her company welled up before me. I had followed her, in some peculiar way, halfway around the world only to find that I was in pursuit of an untouchable dream.
For several moments, I sat there, feeling lost and in despair. I was almost unaware of the pastor moving away from me. Despite my new knowledge of this woman being married, I still longed for more of her words, to understand better her beliefs. But how could I continue to search for her? How could I keep following her? I decided that I would find a hotel and get some rest. Then I would decide on a course of action.
Captain’s Log
September 14
I confined myself to my hotel room. From the window I had a magnificent view of the St. Louis Arch. But I was not interested in sightseeing or in landmarks. I went without breakfast and lunch, spending my time reading, wondering. Praying.
Since my experiences after “Reason” went down, I am a changed man. I still feel a sense of disappointment knowing my lady friend is married, but I must let it go. I must let these thoughts of her die. I resolved to learn as much as I can about God and his Son, forgetting the woman from Panama, forgetting my losses, forgetting my former life. There is a goal in my life now, a course for me to follow. I must know God.
But where do I go from here? I could go back to Portland, to Sydney. I could go back to Nassau, to Jorgenson. But there was something more I was looking for than either of them could offer. There has to be an end of my journey: something God has planned for me. God will give me direction.
I rose to leave, intending to go out for dinner, extracting my wallet to check my cash on hand. As I did, a small slip of paper fell out. What was this? The paper that Charles had given me! I could hardly read it. How did it survive my time in the water? On it was written: The Church of Jesus Christ Forever, Oregon, Illinois.
Captain’s Log
Final Entry
I am a long way from the sea, a long way from the beginning of my journey. I began this journey in despair, my life empty, filled with a sense of hopelessness, with a dark perception of life. It is now evident to me that this entire journey was planned for me to alter the course of my life.
Once I was a man who knew nothing but the sea and his own place concerning it. I am now a man who thirsts for an understanding of God. In all my years at sea, I had kept this Bible as a memento, but I now find it to be a source of comfort and knowledge, a source of life to me.
I am a man who has traveled the seven seas, and set my foot on the shores of nearly every land. I have won in life and, more often, lost. I have experienced nearly every up and down this life can offer. I have loved the sea more than anything else. I have commanded a dozen vessels and served on twice as many more. I have been a man without equal, a master of my own making, a man of my own desires.
Yet now, I serve a master that I have never known. I love a Father and his Son who I have spent my whole life rejecting and denying. And now I find myself in a landlocked city a thousand miles from the nearest sea. I leave behind the life that was so important to me and, most of all, the years of shame, emptiness and guilt.
As I climbed aboard the aircraft in St. Louis bound for Chicago, I felt that I was undertaking my final journey. I arrived in the small town of Oregon, Illinois in the late afternoon of a Sunday. The church was a quaint little building that looked more like a Swiss chalet. This doesn’t look like a church. Not even a sign. For a moment, I hesitated. I proceeded to the door and opened it to find it filled with men, women, and children all praising God. A man arose and approached me, his hand held out in greeting. The man from St. Louis! I recognized the suit and the profile.
“I know you,” I spoke. “I saw you in St. Louis, leaving that church, stepping into a taxi with your wife.” He chuckled. “That wasn’t my wife. I am engaged. But my fiancé is in Australia. That was my friend.”
Not married?! Not his wife?! My heart leapt!
It grew quiet as I closed the door and all eyes turned toward me. In the silence, I saw my lady smiling at me from the midst of the congregation.
“My dear Captain………….what took you so long?”, she asked as she put out her slender, immaculately polished hand. Her green eyes sparkled like diamonds on the sea.
I laughed a deep, wonderful, comfortable laugh. I knew I was home.