Misadventures in Sailing
Over twenty years ago, I attended a church campout that was providential indeed. I had only counted on the opportunity to kayak during that particular weekend, but one of the ministers and another parishioner brought mono-hull sailboats. Not fancy at all, these one-man vessels provided the perfect opportunity to learn to sail.
On that first day, my ticket took me underwater. Our gracious teacher gathered several of us around his mono-hull sailboat. Waist deep in the water near the lakeshore, we listened as Jim spoke eloquently of lines, tacks, and sheets. I was confused. So, I volunteered to go first. Time was wasting.
Gradually, I released the line through my fist and turned the rudder back and forth trying to catch a little wind. At long last, the boat turned to just the right angle, the wind blew, and I forgot to let out more line. Flop. Make that a double flop. One for me and one for the sailboat.
After another similar attempt and subsequent dip in the lake, I got the feel. Several mini-excursions devoid of any wipeouts bolstered my confidence. So, after a lunch of burnt hotdogs with the other novices, I embarked on my maiden voyage, my first one-man journey of exploration across Hord’s Lake. Sure enough, I was brilliant! The mono-hull and I cut through the water with impressive speed. We were one, the sailboat and I! We maintained an impeccable tack to the far side of the lake. With surprising ease, I cut the rudder, pulled and released the line, and gained an equally remarkable tack back towards our camp area. I had already taken someone else’s time on the water, and I was hurrying to get back.
Having grown up in Tennessee, West Texas continually strikes me as a bizarre part of the world, not interested in the rules of civilization. West Texas has dust storms, 100 day stretches of no precipitation, and unruly wind. Hord’s Lake already bore the low water marks of a year in which the area would only see 13 inches of rain. And now, as I sailed across the middle of this water hole, the wind did some herky-jerky move that I had not anticipated. Okay, it could have been my lack of sailing experience and expertise. But the wind is such an easy culprit.
Regardless, as I skipped across the water with full speed and immense pride, I suddenly slammed to a wet halt. Struggling to make my way around the underside of the boat to flip it back over, I made a very unfortunate observation. The underside was not pointed toward me as it should be, but rather towards the sun. The mainsheet and mast were not floating nicely on the water either. No, as I discovered after half an hour of tugging and watching Jim tug, the mast found firm lodging in the mud at the bottom of the lake. I had “turtled” the sailboat. Jim had not taught us about “turtling” because it seldom happened. But it happened to me.
After much yanking, tugging, and near-drowning strife, we dislodged the mast and flipped the exhausted boat right side up. The drenched sail caught a little wind. With deflated pride the sailboat and I hobbled back to the shore. The whole incident was humorous, but also humiliating. Yet hope is resilient, for in several months I would once more have the opportunity to sail, nevermore to “turtle.”
Over the course of twenty seven years in nonprofit and church work, I have witnessed many lives that “turtled.” Turned upside down and stuck. It is embarrassing to “turtle” your life. Pride takes a significant blow, specifically because getting your life turned right side up again requires help.
I have listened as people wrestle with bitter marriages, addictions, and financial despair. I have also watched from the shore as struggling souls refuse help by waving it off even when they can’t tread water much longer. The truth is, everyone needs help sometimes to sail again.
Resiliently, hope always rises. A second chance, a new day, a fresh beginning. Hope.
Worth Repeating
Hope always rises.
-Many resilient people
