The Roll of the Sea

When I lived in Scotland my flat was on the harbor, looking out to the North Sea. Every day I watched the fishing boats leave the protective stone walls that encircled the harbor. It fascinated me. At night, the lights on the boats would twinkle on the dark water.

One of the fishermen once explained the boat lights to me. Every light meant something. Just by looking at the lights of a boat you should be able to tell which way it is heading, if its nets are down, what it is fishing for, and even how long it is. You needed to know how to read the lights so you could steer your own vessel to safety. When you got to the harbor, you knew that if you matched up certain lights, you could plot a straight course and not miss the harbor entrance or run into rocks or one of the stone walls. It was vital to know not only how to pilot your boat when things were bright and clear but also what to do when it was pitch black and there wasn’t a familiar landmark in sight.

The Bible is my light, my key, my chart, for plotting a straight path. And I can’t know which way to go unless I open it and read it for myself. Relying on someone else to tell me the way is like trying to steer my boat with some guy next to me yelling directions in my ear. I’m bound to get in trouble.

Boats like this are everywhere - people shipwrecked, marooned on a dangerous reef. Those who ignored the signs and are now sitting in a leaky boat, unaware they need rescuing even as the water pours in. I’ve done it myself – shoved the chart to the side, ignored the lights or refused to read them, and then wondered why I ended up so far away from my destination.

But usually it isn’t such a conscious decision to plot my own course; it’s a casual drift, day by day, that takes me from my goal. The past couple years have been a difficult time of transition and half-hearted searching. There’s been a lot of mediocrity. I didn’t realize it, but it is there.

It’s time to get my lights lined up and head home.

"Small craft in a harbour that's still and serene,
Give no indication what their ways have been;
They rock at their moorings all nestled in dreams,
Away from the roll of the sea.

Their stern lines are groaning a lullaby air,
A ghost in the cuddy, a gull on the spar;
But never they whisper of journeys afar,
Away from the roll of the sea.

Oh, had they the tongues for to speak,
What tales of adventure they'd weave;
But now they are anchored to sleep,
And slumber alee.

Come fair winds to wake them tomorrow, we pray,
Come harvest a-plenty to them ev'ry day;
Till guided by harbour lights they're home to stay,
Away from the roll of the sea."