My only experiences on the water were when our family was given a boat. Don't be overly impressed. It had at one time been at the bottom of the sea. But the owners managed to dredge her back to the surface, and our family took up the project of resurrecting Skol. The name was a nod to our Swedish heritage, as well as the three members of the crew... Soni, Karl and Lori. My sister recovered the cushions with waterproof fabric, my brother and father sanded and scraped, and I was part of the painting team. As a young teenager I had no concept of cost, but recall that my parents described owning a boat as being a hole in the ocean that you throw money into. 

 

One evening when my father took his boss, that would be the bishop, out for a a sunset ride on the Long Island Sound. Things went awry. The waves got choppy, and the boat capsized. The two men quite nearly died of hypothermia before they were rescued. Another time the gearshift rebelled and would only be engaged at either full throttle or idling. There were rude comments hurled at us as we sped into the marina, but it is hard to explain your circumstances at fifteen knots over the sound of churning water. 

 

My most recent quilts have been a pattern called Storm at Sea. There are three kinds of blocks, all composed of straight lines, which in concert with each other give the illusion of motion. Quilters are partial to straight lines. But movement is a magical element in a design, and to be able to achieve it is a small victory. 

 

There is a string of Christmas cards that chronicle our lives over the past forty years. Each one kindles for me the memory of what we were dealing with at the time. Several are renditions of the current baby. Others are pictures drawn by our children. Mercy graciously provided five of them before she left home. There are a bunch with clever photographs, as our older kids became proficient with a camera. I cherish each card, and how it reflects the struggles and joys of our family.

 

One year when John's job was in jeopardy the quote was "Comfort ye my people," because I so desperately needed it myself. Another time the message was tinged with sadness, because of the struggles of one of our children. Another year I sewed fabric hearts, in an effort to acclimate to the prospect of being the mother of twins. 

 

Looking across the rope of messages, I sense that each step was manageable. A straight line from one point to another. Yet seen in connection with each other, there is marvelous motion. God brought us from our naive beginnings, through two failed congregations, across job uncertainties, and nine children, to where we are now. 

 

There are still tempests. But I can see the shoreline, and there is a Light showing the way.