The other day - my birthday, actually - I was on the Visitor Experience Deck, saying goodbye to two media people, along with the usual farewell chatter ("So nice to meet you!" "I'll be back with my family next week!"). I noticed an older man - approaching elderly but not quite there yet - listening to our chatter. As they walked away, he made his way toward me and said, "Excuse me . . . I'm trying to guess where you are from by your accent, and I can't quite figure it out. Are you from somewhere in Great Britain?"
In the conversation that followed, I learned that he is an old Dutch sea captain ("People call me Captain J.T.") whose health no longer allows the adventures of ship life. He was the sort of endearing old man who seems full to the brim with a life of exciting experiences and stories. He brought with him a little scrapbook full of mementoes from when Doulos visited this port - he spoke in a meeting on board and was apparently quite taken with the old lady. He had pictures of the inside of the ship, of himself on the quayside, etc. And in the front of his scrapbook he had tucked a poem - his own work. I complimented it, and he insisted that I photocopy the pages so I could keep it.
The poem touched me somehow, because now I can relate to it in a way. I have not shared all of these experiences and challenges, but I still relate to it and it stirs something up inside of me. So now I pass it on again . . . musings from Captain J.T.
He said, “It is not enough, tell me more,”
He said, “Tell me more of the sea.”
In the conversation that followed, I learned that he is an old Dutch sea captain ("People call me Captain J.T.") whose health no longer allows the adventures of ship life. He was the sort of endearing old man who seems full to the brim with a life of exciting experiences and stories. He brought with him a little scrapbook full of mementoes from when Doulos visited this port - he spoke in a meeting on board and was apparently quite taken with the old lady. He had pictures of the inside of the ship, of himself on the quayside, etc. And in the front of his scrapbook he had tucked a poem - his own work. I complimented it, and he insisted that I photocopy the pages so I could keep it.
The poem touched me somehow, because now I can relate to it in a way. I have not shared all of these experiences and challenges, but I still relate to it and it stirs something up inside of me. So now I pass it on again . . . musings from Captain J.T.
The Sea
Jerome Thomas
He said, “Speak to me of the sea.”
And I said, “Beauty.”
The beauty of crystal waves lapping at a tropical beach.
Or a proud ship laboring in running sea;
Of a dark ghosting beneath a fire-red sky,
Or lightning flashes in the blackened heavens;
Of an albatross soaring above the emerald swell,
Of wind fraying the slate-gray sea -
The beauty of God, Himself, in the stars, the sky, and the vast ocean.
He begged, “More of the sea,”
So I replied, “Power.”
Power to crumple steel hulls and splinter wood spars,
Or blow out canvas and snap chain cable;
To flood continents and drown islands,
Or carry life to a barren atoll;
To spawn deadly storm and wild hurricane,
Or a blessed rain and fair monsoon.
The Power of the hand of God across Man's earth.
He said, “It is not enough, tell me more,”
So I answered, “Hardship.”
The hardship of a razor wind and the freezing water,
Or a dying breeze and the salty swill;
Of a glaring sun and burned skin,
Or a black sky and raw wet clothes;
Of numbed limbs and weary body,
Or sleepless nights and the monotony of a watery desert.
The hardship of all who work God's sea.
The hardship of all who work God's sea.
He said, “Tell me more of the sea.”
So I said, “Challenge.”
The challenge of a rising gale or shifting breeze,
Of a wild sea or a flat calm,
Of a torn lashing sail or an ebbing tide,
Of an iced deck or fouled anchor,
Of uncharted waters or strange shore.
The challenge of God to man, to tame his sea.
He asked, “Is there more?”
And I spoke, “Fear.”
The fear of broken masts and rent sail,
Or open seam and strained hull;
Of shallow water and dangerous shoals,
Or deep oceans and mountainous waves;
Of gales of wind and raging typhoon,
Of lifeless puffs and starving crew.
The fear that God instills in those who travel his sea.
So he asked, “And what is the sea to you?”
I answered, “My life's breath.”
The breath of adventure and excitement,
Of challenge and wandering;
Happiness and fulfillment,
Despair and pain;
Of hope and youth,
Patience and yearning.
The breath that God has breathed into my soul, that I should live with His sea.
