Sunrise on the Sea of Cortez. Praise music piped to the cockpit, in Spanish, of course, but, oh, so very, very full of the magnificence of God. By sunrise, we’d been at sea for four hours.
Ecclesiastes chapter 3 speaks of time in large and small terms. At sea, it feels as if one has only the large and the long…the stretches of silence (the music off and the audiobook finished or not yet begun) broken only by the sound of the engine that must propel us toward land when the wind fails…the vastness of water as the land we left disappears and the one we approach remains merely a promise.
Being at sea forces contemplation. I don’t know how one can remain an unbeliever in the midst of all that majesty. Prayer wells: how can it not?
And now we’re tied to land, this time in a marina. I’ve pictures of it all on the sailing blog.
Time becomes less contemplative, busier, because the world swirls with activity even in the sweltering heat. And now I’m working on a manuscript that a friend of mine recently read for me. I haven’t met Nicole Petrino-Salter face to face, but I value her, not merely for her talents, but also for her integrity and for the friendship she offers. And so for me this is, “A time to keep and a time to throw away. A time to tear apart and a time to sew together.” (Ecc 3:6b-7a) I’m searching for that passion, Nicole. Tearing apart and sewing together. Keeping and tossing.
I'll check out the pics! So glad you've arrived!
I, too, though it's so much hotter here. We're holed up in the air conditioned boat, working on our individual projects, when not running errands. Venturing forth feels risky, though folk live in this climate year round. Winter is when the town comes alive.