Christians profess that faith in God is the centerpiece of their religion and their way of life. They consistently assert that their faith sustains them. They quote verses from the Bible that say, “My God shall supply all your need,” or “Ask and you will receive.” People who do not call themselves Christian pointedly observe that Christians are deceived by their spouses, die of cancer and go bankrupt just like everybody else, and they ask, “If God really gives you what you need, why does he let these things happen?” This story is a partial answer to that question. I believe that God is good, and I believe that God supplies what I need. The Bible points out, and I have learned from experience, that what I need is not always the same as what I want. Sometimes, getting what I want would actually prevent me from getting what I need.
In the autumn of 2001, my husband and I set sail for a 2-week vacation on Chesapeake Bay. Three days from the end of our vacation, we anchored in a remote part of the Bay off the Chester River. It was a tranquil backwater where loons cried at dusk. It didn’t stay that way, and what we learned as a consequence is the rest of the story.
Because we watch the weather carefully when sailing, we knew that a storm was coming. When we anchored, we carefully planned the set of the anchor to accommodate the prediction we had heard on the weather radio: approximately 30-knot winds from the east with gusts to 35 knots. As always, after setting the anchor, we rested in the cockpit of the boat for twenty or thirty minutes, watching it drift against the anchor, making sure that the anchor was holding. Feeling confident that things were under control, I went below to make dinner. The meal was almost ready when my husband called me up on deck. He pointed to the east, where I saw an awesome sight.
High in the sky, a cloud front was approaching. Its leading edge was so smooth it almost looked slippery. Behind the front was a dense blackness. The wind in our cove was picking up speed. My husband walked forward and examined the way the boat was pulling against the anchor. “I think we had better get ready to adjust if the anchor doesn’t hold,” Larry said. He started the engine, and I stowed our dinner until later. I had no idea then how much later it would be.
When I returned to the cockpit, I saw that the fierce wind against our twenty tons of boat was dragging the anchor through the bottom of the cove. The line was so tight that the power windlass was unable to pull the anchor up so we could reset it. We had to get some slack in the line. Only at full power could the engine push against the wind with enough force to release the line. Larry took up the anchor and directed me to a new location. I backed the boat to set the anchor, and prayed for it to hold, but all too soon we turned before the wind and began plowing the bottom of the bay again. On the third try, the windlass stopped working altogether, and from then on Larry had to pull the anchor up by hand, not a trivial task since the anchor weighed more than 50 pounds. We exhausted ourselves shouting against the wind, running back and forth to check our position and searching for yet another place where we might try to anchor. After three hours there was a lull in the storm. We set the anchor once more, and watched. The boat held its bow into the wind, and the GPS plotted no movement on our electronic chart. Warily hopeful, we went below and ate our now-lukewarm dinner. Before we finished we heard the wind roaring as frightfully as ever. We threw dirty dishes into the sink, donned our foul-weather gear and went back on deck.
Throughout our brief meal, I had prayed fervently for some peace and rest, but I saw immediately that we weren’t at peace yet. The wind was even fiercer than before the lull. The anchor rode was creating a tiny wake as the anchor dragged across the bottom. Larry grew exhausted pulling up the anchor by hand, and I grew fatigued trying to steer the boat against a fury I could not previously have imagined. I cut my finger on one of the instrument housings adjacent to the gearshift lever, and as I continued to adjust speed and direction I cut my finger again and again. I wanted to cry, but there was no time for that. At one point we simply motored around in circles, trying to catch our breath and figure out what to do next. Looking around, we realized that there were no more alternatives in this cove. We absolutely had to go somewhere else. But how? It was midnight. We felt almost helpless in the face of the fury around us. Controlling the boat, even under full power, was difficult. The channel out of this cove was very narrow, with extremely shallow water on either side. In the dark, it would be impossible to navigate by sight through that channel. A long eight hours before, in daylight, we had decided to test the concept of navigating entirely by GPS and chart. In daylight, I had talked Larry through the very channel we desperately needed to traverse in the dark. In daylight, the process had worked well. In daylight, it had even seemed like fun. In deep darkness, amid roaring gales, the whole idea seemed risky and dangerous.
Our destination was the leeward side of a small nearby island. This island was located at a fork in the river that led on the west to our cove and on the east to another long channel. The tiny island had a notch in its center where we believed we would be protected from the storm. We made our plan. Larry sat in the cockpit at the ship’s wheel. I stood in the companionway where I could see the electronic chart and shout directions into the cockpit. “Steer straight ahead for now.” “Turn about 5 degrees to starboard.” “Quick, five degrees more. Now hold it there!” “Don’t let it drift to port. Too shallow!” “Now sharp to port and keep turning!” All I could see was the chart display, and all Larry could see was deep shadows. Eventually we came around the end of the island where we discovered that another boat was already anchored in the one safe spot.
Again we motored around in circles talking over the situation. We tried anchoring at one end of the island, but there the bottom was too soft for the anchor to dig in against the wind swirling around the tip. We explored up the channel briefly, but found no refuge anywhere. We examined the other end of the island. By tucking in very close to the bank, we were able to anchor in a spot that was perilously near to the other boat, but offered some protection. This location had the saving grace that even if we dragged, there was a very long distance in the direction the wind was blowing before we would hit anything too shallow. We took turns napping and watching until dawn. We did drag, but we did not reach the shallows. We rested little.
With dawn, there were few clouds in the sky, but the wind continued. I will never forget that roar. We don’t have a wind gauge on our boat, so we rely on the Beaufort scale, a tool mariners have used for centuries to estimate wind speed. According to that scale, the winds were blowing consistently at 45-50 knots. This speed was significantly more than we had planned for. We spread out our paper chart of Chesapeake Bay on the salon table and looked for a hiding place.
We wanted a location with landforms that would protect us from the wind and a mud bottom where the anchor could dig in. We found numerous places that looked sufficiently protected, but according to the chart, the bottom was sand, or grass, or soft -- no chance for an anchor to find purchase against the tempest. A tiny cove on the Corsica River, really just a bend with a notch, was charted as a mud bottom. It was very far away, but there seemed to be no possible choice any closer. We set out, wishing for a moment of quiet, hoping that our search would be successful, knowing that we were out of ideas, praying not to run aground and be beaten to pieces by the gale. The route took us into the broad channel of the Chester River where the waves were chaotic in the powerful gusts. Using the Beaufort scale we again confirmed a wind speed in the neighborhood of 50 knots, a speed that would be respectable for a tropical storm. The ordinarily simple task of steering the boat was exhausting. The waves seemed to be moving in three directions at once. There was no bowing of head or closing of eyes, but I kept praying that we would find a safe place to rest.
When we reached the mouth of the Corsica we were again faced with very challenging navigation. The channel at the entrance narrowed to a width of only a few feet at the first marker. Beyond that point, it widened, but the wind’s dominant direction pushed us persistently toward the shoals. With great care, we rounded the curve of the riverbank, where we saw another boat comfortably settled in the very spot we thought we wanted.
After we gulped down our disappointment, we began exploring. The area of open water was small, but we felt that we had to make this place work. With protecting land and trees on three sides, the force of the wind was noticeably diminished in this location. The chart indicated a good mud bottom where the anchor could bite in. We committed ourselves to find a place. We dropped the anchor twice, but each time it chewed through the bottom and slipped. Then, we circled a narrow strip of water between the other boat and a bed of rushes. There seemed to be room to drift on the anchor, and the water was just barely deep enough. We set the anchor carefully, watching for any sign of slippage. After many tense minutes, we went below to look at our chart. We watched the electronic chart tensely for the appearance of the thin line that would indicate dragging. We went back on deck to check the anchor and watch for any hint that we were drifting into shallow water. The wind whipped around the boat, the anchor line stretched to its limit, and there were fearful groanings in the rigging. But the boat held its nose into the wind, and the image of the boat on the chart stayed in one place. The anchor was holding.
We rested and ate and prayed and watched and waited to see what would happen. We constantly monitored the chart display, and Larry made many more trips above to look at the anchor line and the rigging. We eventually divided the time into watches and took turns sleeping. It was a long night. By 4AM the wind had dropped sufficiently that we felt that we could both sleep safely. The next day we just rested.
Throughout this ordeal, I remember praying, “Please, God, don’t send any more wind.” I prayed, “Please let the anchor hold this time.” “Please let this wind die down.” “I am so afraid, so please make it go away.” “Please Lord, no more wind.” During the night watches I was reading Psalms and singing hymns to try to comfort myself. “When I am afraid, I will trust in you.” “Though I walk through the valley of death, I will fear no evil.” “Amazing grace, how sweet the sound.” “On Christ the solid rock I stand, all other ground is sinking sand.” Then I prayed again, “Lord, please make this wind go away.” I wanted to be rescued. I wanted the problem to go away so I could relax and enjoy myself. I wanted God to make my life easier. I was afraid, and I didn’t know how things were going to turn out. I wanted God to fix my problem.
I learned that when God is with us, He doesn’t necessarily make things easy for us. He doesn’t make the problem go away. He doesn’t pluck up the roadblock or do away with the enemy. However, He is with us. He gives us the wit and courage to face the problem. He gives us the strength to do what needs to be done. He comforts us in our fears and reminds us that morning is coming. He empowers us to learn and grow and become something different than we were before. He walks with us through the storm and protects us from what we don’t know, but he keeps urging us to use what we do know just as a parent urges a child through his math homework. He doesn’t do it for us, but he gives us what it takes to do it for ourselves. When it is over, we can’t say to ourselves, “Well, I didn’t need God after all.” What we can say is “Thank you, Lord, for being with me. I am so glad to know that you really are there when things get bad. Thank you for all that I have learned about you and about myself.”
When I think back on my life, I realize that God has often worked this way. I have heard people talk about experiences when God dropped answers and solutions into their laps, and I don’t question that he did it. I just know that in my life that hasn’t happened very often. To anyone who would say, “If God loves you, why didn’t he answer your prayer and give you a restful night in the cove?” I would answer, “God met my need. I survived, the boat did not run aground, and we now know things about weather, sailing, God and ourselves that we could not have learned any other way.” God is not a captive genie who is obligated to give us our wishes. God is our creator who loves us and walks with us through life’s challenges. In our challenge on the Chesapeake, we learned that receiving what we needed was a far greater blessing than getting what we wanted.
© 2005 Katherine Harms
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