The Sinful Odyssey of a Sailor
(S.O.S.)
Today, I traveled across the way, to my grandmother’s house for Thanksgiving. The family was gathered and flocked towards the door, which, to my misconception, was purposed to lead the guests to the basement and was not primarily in accordance with my entrance. I was merely blocking the path.
On more than one occasion, my caveman appearance gave some the impression that I was Jesus. This had caused me to flush with color which was carefully shrouded in fur. Being referred to in such a manner is very humbling, yet feels rather misplaced given that the assumption is based off of superficial representation. If there were any comparison given, I pray that it would be in deed for I feel that words are powerful yet acting upon them instills resounding lessons.
The hustle found in the kitchen was only comparable to the commotion of the living quarters. Much of the family had filled any remaining elbow room, and even more seemed to appear from the crevices of furniture where once it thought only lint to dwell. I resumed the uncushioned stool to which I had been accustomed, conveniently spaced in the corner of the largest room. The seat, though uncomfortable, offered the greatest vantage for the festivities about to be held.
With food and family a plenty, a prayer was echoed in the mist of good health. Guests were ushered through the excessively-existent line and my Papaw and I readily trailed the end. The air carried the sweetened aroma of mashed potatoes, two varieties of stuffing, and pumpkin pie, suffering knife slashes across the crust, patiently waiting to be devoured.
It was during this conga of jeer that I disembodied. A feeling of sickness churned within my gut. Thoughts piled in my mind of those who were enjoying less, who did not have the smell of cheer to awaken their spirits, or even this splintering barstool to perch upon. My friend in Detroit whom had taken it upon himself to bring joy to all those without, regardless whether he was himself well off; given so little, he found every reason to be thankful. He made it a point to acknowledge all that passed, giving them a sense of presence and worth. His sense of humor, allowed for the dreariest of predicaments to be viewed with a lighter heart than this cold burdensome world would permit. Sam was his name by birth, but he was known as Popeye and his impersonation gave strength to his character of genuine love.
I was able to touch base with this light much after the earth’s had set. He told of the feast he had delighted in and of the vast amount of leftovers still waiting to be enjoyed. Tonight, he shall be residing in a plaza; tomorrow, who knows.
I am selfish. This was recognized as the preconceived unrest in my tummy. A friend, during the Thanksgiving feast held at a local church, had mentioned the intent of visiting the needy during the holiday, on the very hour of celebration. His spirit yearned to be by their side, basking in the fellowship rather than the heat of the methodically kindled fire. I desire to be fueled by this passion. To give of yourself when it is expected has it’s allotted respect, but to give when the moment is least perceived requires a true sense of humility attributed to those seeking a greater good. If we are to thirst for God, I cannot imagine a greater calling than to serve others.
Isaiah 41:17 states "The poor and needy search for water, but there is none; their tongues are parched with thirst. But I the Lord will answer them; I, the God of Isreal, will not forsake them." I find this verse to be reassuring. On a day so frigid by season and spurred by thankful prayers, there are those without even the most basic necessities. During the time when my group of companions may not be able to visit them and they are left to wander in the stilled night air, they are not alone.
Another verse that rang out when confronted by my present idle state reflected text from Mark 14:7 "The poor you will always have with you, and you can help them any time you want. But you will not always have me." I had avoided spending time with my family throughout the duration of my college thus far due to the discord plaguingly thriving within the permieters of 'home.' I could not bring myself to make the journey towards a land filled with hatred and selfish sin (I figure repeating a word, which would normally cause some to seemingly stutter, could only resoundingly imply the severity of the matter given the circumstances [i.e. selfish sin]). Instead, I filled as much time as was allotted in the presence of those much less fortunate.
"Rising above the waves is half the enjoyment of the cruise,” offered a breeze by which to sail through these troubled waters, and its utterance provided some sense of calm. The author is anonymous, but the message is clear. I needed to journey back, if not for the enjoyment, then for the sheer intention of the journey.
Thanksgiving is a time derived around the family and if I were to live in avoidance of mine, how could I hope to be offer counsel to others amidst theirs. I may not be able to mend the bridges that were burned with such scorching hostility, nor save those who were residing on them that have since been cast into the blackened depths, but I may be able to offer a ladder.
I have not been able to regain myself in entirety since the incident, nor do I claim to be immune to its ill-intent; but some strength inside is demanding that I give aide to those that have fallen, given that I was redeemed from the bowels of Hades and the stygian powers oppressing my shattered being.
My mother was a thought unto herself. Since the recent divorce, she has found another and has hence been dismissed from our family. In a sense, and for lack of a better word, shunned. Feeling their jubilation and hearing their merry banter brought a sense of dread to loom over my shoulder. She suffers each day, knowing the relationship once connecting her to her offspring lie in tatters, its glowing embers gasping at her feet. It’s suffocating to watch her squirm, under the sorrow released through tears of grief and disbelief. How she wishes to travel back, but fears the descent.
This day has been of pure reflection and has seemed more theatrical than anything else. I have sat, in a seat, for the majority of this production, merely to watch the story unfold. Plot thickening around every turn, drama springing from uncharted wells. Though the scenery changes and night currently befalls the cast, here I sit, now by guidance of lamp and ambience of monitor beams to pen the events as they transpired, completely unscripted until I shed light upon their retelling. (I have also begun to marvel the concept of the comma and of its seemingly endless uses).
While any reasonable conclusion of love, and thankfulness can be gathered from such a Holiday predestined to inspire reminiscence, I hope to sketch another picture and possibly give one another vessel by which to sail this grand ocean swirling with whirlpools dashing weakened ships upon the rocks, infested with sharks (not all of which misconceptually being of the Jaws variety), spawning mermaids (and mermen-ladies may plunge into true love just as mystically), basing the most beautiful rainbows ever beheld by mortal eye, and hosting horrific storms sure to shred any sail and leave the occupants stranded or worse, capsized.
No matter our standings, whether we have capsized or are still merrily sailing, I believe that we are ever given the opportunity to help our fellow sailor. Whether they be found in the soaking city streets, behind the tarnished dumpster, idly resting upon the stairwell of the nearest abandon chapel, or within the dwelling once referred to as ‘home.’
As it is written:
James 2
Favoritism Forbidden
1My brothers, as believers in our glorious Lord Jesus Christ, don't show favoritism. 2Suppose a man comes into your meeting wearing a gold ring and fine clothes, and a poor man in shabby clothes also comes in. 3If you show special attention to the man wearing fine clothes and say, "Here's a good seat for you," but say to the poor man, "You stand there" or "Sit on the floor by my feet," 4have you not discriminated among yourselves and become judges with evil thoughts? 5Listen, my dear brothers: Has not God chosen those who are poor in the eyes of the world to be rich in faith and to inherit the kingdom he promised those who love him? 6But you have insulted the poor. Is it not the rich who are exploiting you? Are they not the ones who are dragging you into court? 7Are they not the ones who are slandering the noble name of him to whom you belong?
8If you really keep the royal law found in Scripture, "Love your neighbor as yourself,"[a] you are doing right.
G.E.A.T.E.E.
[Give everything always to everyone everywhere]
Thank you lord for my friends, my family and my life.
May I always find reason to thank you even when I am too shallow, or deny you the right to sail my ship. You may calm the storms, but my pathetic faith will draw me down, sinking me into this sea of disbelief.
Please help me stand before the torrential squall as it seeks to crush my desire and shred all hope.
I trust you lord. Please calm these waves so threatening;
Without and within,
May your will be done.
Happy Thanksgiving to all, may the Lord give wind to your sails, carrying you safely to shore once more.
~Deus fortuno
Ps. I can imagine the guidance Jonah must have heeded by patiently dwelling within the beast. May the Lord, swallow me if a lesson ever needs to be taught. (Feel free to reflect the text of Jonah for further reference. I'm sure that the Lord will host a more compelling message than any feable attempt of instruction I may bequeath).
Until then, I shall listen and pray.
