Tempest 1

Wavelets lap the sand, the sound soothing as shells are deposited on the shore. Moored boats bob  in rhythm with the ‘whoosh, whoosh’. My mind is calmed but left wondering how such intense activity could create a calm atmosphere; this so because of the story of a young man who was, as the boats, bobbing on the shore of a lake called life – only, his up and down movement was of  tempest within.

Music fills the auditorium as the worship team goes about leading fellowship. He is a part of it all as peace claims him. His  joining this congregation is bent on purpose, purpose pegged on the hope that he will one day be able to live up to the words he can hear being spoken. The words come both in song and speech issued by people who take turns at the listern. He is absorbed in it but trouble nibbles at him. Something is amiss. Beneath the grace in character, he knows there lies a side that is rotten through and through. He has a cupboard of skeletons.

Though the breeze is strong as it bears down on me, it feels gentle. The thought of an infant nested in the arms of a muscled wrestler, gets a smile tagging at my lips as I allow the wind to cool me. The gust tears down nothing and gives the storks an air of grace as they ride it from point to point; at times to a close-by tree or on one of the capering sterns. This picture of serenity and assurance is what the young man desires of his life – the beauty and calm amidst rocking and blowing and being lifted above the ground.

A picture is beautiful when each subject is placed in its rightful place and the colours are well-chosen. It brings harmony to the eye and the mind slowly walks  its parks, admiring every detail thereof. In this picture the boats are beautiful to watch and the storks graceful in flight. Boats beautiful because they are where boats are meant to be, doing what boats are meant to do – which is to float, the birds stretch forth their wings and hint at a flap; they are lifted above the surface and taken wherever they want to go. The elements and the subjects work together.

Fourteen long years, so lasted his desiring heart. Of times the dream succeeding, of others eluding him. He now looks back and acknowledges one thing, this; that the mind is a powerful part of who we are. It takes us to places we cannot go and gives us wealth we cannot have. The mind is a mine of dreams. Woe unto you when it turns to a master. As a man in fetters, the best you can do is wiggle here and wiggle there to give your trunk a rush of blood but you are stuck.

Let me be an old sailor holding a boy on his lap and tell you this story. Our stories are important to one person, two people, or a multitude that want to listen and learn or even listen and give counsel. Let it be that as I speak to the lad so young and fresh and ruddy; all hungry for adventure, he will set out into the open sea knowing the dangers that lurk and which waters never to tread. To the weary sailor marooned off his course and probably caught in a whirlpool, a story comes: a story I hope will be a tug-boat to pull you to safe harbor. In all this, the Living Word is the lighthouse that gives forth light to guide us safely home.


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