Re-membering

This week is the definition of bittersweet for me. Last Sunday would have been my mom’s 80th birthday, and today will be the first October 30th since 1935 without my dad.

The title of this post is not a typo. The word remember means bringing back that which is broken. Imagine one of your arms being broken from your body. The act of restoring it to your shoulder is re-membering. IMG_5453

For several years in the 1990s, my parents served on the board of directors of an orphanage in Mexico. I had the privilege of visiting and ministering in this orphanage. It was an amazing experience I’ll never forget. Being with these children, with whom I could barely communicate because of the language barrier, touched my heart in a way I never knew possible. We laughed, played and even cried together. This was my first experience in such a ministry, and it never would have happened were it not for my parents.

This past Sunday, the 80th anniversary of my mom’s birth, we had a special missionary guest. His ministry?

Orphans in Haiti.

On the day that held a special place in my heart as I remembered my mom, God sent a messenger who re-animated a chamber in my heart for those with no parents or blood relatives.

Re-membering.

Today, as I think of my dad, and for the first time, being unable to see or even call him to wish him a special day and tell him I love him, I re-member his unwavering integrity and character. An imperfect man, yes, but one who wouldn’t allow himself to knowingly do the wrong thing whether people would know or not. HIs example has served as an inspiration to me throughout my adult life.

Re-membering their love and devotion to one another. Re-membering their steadfast pursuit and love of God and people. Re-membering the laughter. Re-membering the tears.

My heart was broken on March 20, 2009, and again on August 5, 2015. But as I re-member the parents God blessed me with, and think of those who have no parents, my heart is restored and filled with joy, humility, and resolve. A resolve to make a difference in lives, just as my parents did. By any means necessary. Even if it seems crazy. Even if it seems impossible. Even if it seems too late. Even if it seems too expensive.

God showed me through my parents that all He needs is a willing heart, and lives will be changed.

It must start with mine.

Thank you Mom and Dad. I miss you. But you are part of me as I re-member you. May my life be a continuation of the spiritual heritage you began. I look forward to seeing you again, but first, there is work to be done here.

Beauty In The Breakdown

I admit, I am about the least mechanical guy you’ve ever met. However, in the first 12-15 years of having a driver’s license, I learned a lot about cars.

Involuntarily.

Up until 2005, when I bought my first and only brand new car, I was happy to have a car that was less than 10 years old and under 120,000 miles. Older cars that go through multiple owners are prone to breakdown. Yeah, those were the cars I had. My cars broke down just about everywhere. Sometimes conveniently located near home and familiar people and repair shops, and sometimes in very unfamiliar places, hours from home. Sometimes in the light of a week day, other times, late on a weekend night. Sometimes in the safety of a quiet neighborhood, sometimes on the narrow shoulder of a busy California freeway. And those days were well before cell phones. Some breakdowns are less harrowing and complicated than others, but no one ever says, “wow, that was a great time for my car to crap out on me.”

When the engine light comes on, it’s literally a signal that something is not working as it should. It may be something very simple, or it may be an indicator that something serious is happening. These signals should not be ignored, or your problem and the cost to fix it may become significantly worse.

Life is very much the same. The problem is likely something deep inside, beyond what the eye can see. You may hear a strange noise, smell something that isn’t right, or notice that things aren’t operating as they should. When things are going well, it’s easy to take things for granted. You think that changing the oil every 3,000 miles and the occasional filter changes are all you need. However, there are literally tens of thousands of parts, wires, bolts, belts, brackets, plugs…the list goes on. They can go wrong without warning. Similarly in life, there are a lot of moving parts. You can do the simple day-to-day maintenance, but there are a million little things that, if not taken care of, can leave you on the side of the road.

The big difference between cars and life is that when you’re stuck on the side of the road Woman-broken-down-carin life, your Mechanic is right there waiting for you. Instead of sitting on the roadside calling a tow truck to get you to a mechanic, God is right there waiting for you to call on Him. The thing is, He is not interested in just MacGyver-ing your life just to get you back on the road.  He also isn’t interested in restoring it to the way it was. He wants to make you better than you were before.

Unless you are a mechanic, nobody brings one with them everywhere they go. And even if you are a mechanic, there are certain things you can’t do without all the tools and parts necessary. And who knows how to fix what’s wrong better than the one who built it in the first place? In life, not only can God fix anything at any time, but He is always with you.

“and be sure of this—that I am with you always, even to the end of the world.”  Matthew 28:20b

I find myself on the side of the road right now. I have been cruising along, singing a song. But God knows there are some things under the hood that need some attention. I could pop the hood and look around for fire, smoke, noises or leaks, but I wouldn’t know what to do with them if I found them. That’s God’s job. Mine is to let Him in there and do what only He can do. He’s ready to get His hands dirty. The thing is, it’s not enough to sit on the roadside fiddling with my phone while He does all the work. I’ve got to get my hands dirty, too. He wants to show me where the problems are. How to identify them. How to prevent them from becoming something catastrophic. How to get peak performance out of my life, beyond what I thought this old machine could even do.

Getting stuck on the side of the road is inevitable. Both with cars and in life. It’s not if, but when.

Maybe you’re not stuck on the side of the road right now. Here’s where it gets fun. You don’t have to be. Even if things are going well and humming along, let God in there to examine what’s under the hood. Let Him show you where things are misfiring. You may not even be able to tell that something isn’t operating as it should. You may learn about something you weren’t even aware of that exists in your life, just like I had never heard of a solenoid until my 1974 Pinto needed one. Maybe you’re missing something you should have, or maybe you have something you shouldn’t. Either way, Let God in to assess and change things as He sees fit to make you a better you. He knows just what to do because He is the one who made you!

73 “You made me; you created me.
Now give me the sense to follow your commands.
74 May all who fear you find in me a cause for joy,
for I have put my hope in your word.
75 I know, O Lord, that your regulations are fair;
you disciplined me because I needed it.
76 Now let your unfailing love comfort me,
just as you promised me, your servant.
77 Surround me with your tender mercies so I may live,
for your instructions are my delight.”  Psalm 119:73-77

My dad’s secret life

When we think of people and their secret lives, we automatically think of something scandalous. Jared from Subway and Josh Duggar are currently in the eyes of their respective storms for their secret lives. We are conditioned that secret lives are exclusively for those who are hiding their transgressions so they may protect their public reputation.

Then there are people whose secret lives conceal activities which would only magnify what people already think of them.

My dad was such a man. I was raised by a man who lived to serve and protect others. He was a former United States Marine. Some years after completing his service for our country, he became a San Francisco police officer. Following his career in law enforcement, he became an ordained minister, and with my mom, served at an orphanage in Mexico, then moved to an impoverished part of Costa Rica ministering to people in great need. I could easily list his accomplishments and achievements so you would be impressed.

My dad would be embarrassed by that.

I’m very proud of who he was. The secret life he led touched lives everywhere he went. IIMG_5451 remember when he gave our family car to a young couple who were in ministry at our church. They had a very young family, and on an associate pastor’s salary, they couldn’t afford to buy a much-needed vehicle to accommodate them. Dad recognized the need, and simply gave ours to them. No fanfare. Had there been Facebook then, you never would have seen it posted, and he would have strongly required that the family who got the car not tell the story in any other way than God provided it for them through by speaking to an anonymous servant.

To this day, I am so turned off by people who, by social media or in everyday conversation, speak of themselves and their every thought and activity. We live in a very self-promoting, self-centered generation.

While living and ministering in Costa Rica, my parents were ministering in a church. At some point in the service, the pastor inexplicably called a young, single girl forward to stand before the pulpit. It was then that he publicly spoke of how this young lady was pregnant and in sin. Apparently, this was standard operating procedure in this church. My dad, standing in the front row, moments before he would speak to the congregation, stepped forward and stood next to the young lady.

“I’m Ed, and I’m a sinner, too.”

My mom told me of this, because he never would.

Later in life, after they moved back to California due to my mom’s illness, my dad did so many other little things to bless people. On Fridays, he would go to Krispy Kreme and buy dozens of doughnuts. He would then drive around to their various doctors’ offices and deliver the treats to those who took such great care of them. He frequently gave boxes of candy to my mom’s hospital nurses.

Whether ministering to pastors and missionaries, or to hospital nurses and doctors’ assistants, Dad had a special vision and knew how to show appreciation and serve those who serve. Those who are expected to do extraordinary things, and who were easily overlooked for their service.

There are many, many things I can list here, but that would defeat the purpose of honoring the example and character of a great man. These things he did, and the many secrets he took with him as he entered God’s presence on August 5th, were not for his glory, but God’s.

What is your secret life? Is it one you want hidden so that people will not be disappointed? So that your reputation won’t be damaged? Or is it a life that is dedicated to honoring and revealing the love of God to those around us?

This week, as I had a private moment at my dad’s open casket, I quietly thanked him for his love and example. He showed me so much, yet told me so little. I share these things with you to challenge you, as I have been challenged. How willing am I to do something that would make a great Facebook or Twitter post, that would make people really like and respect me, but do it only out of obedience to God, and only for His glory, not mine? May I truly want only God and His beneficiary to know of my involvement.

May my secrets bless those who God ordains, and may they bring glory to Him, and Him alone.

Springing to life

Today is March 20th. It is the first day of Spring. It is also the sixth anniversary of my IMG_4600mom’s passing from earth’s winter, into her eternal Spring, the arms of Jesus. I didn’t realize until about a week ago that her death, and her new life, came on the first day of Spring. Maybe that’s because in California, the first day of Spring doesn’t mean much because the weather is Spring-like for a good month or two by then. But in New England, Spring means you technically survived a long, rugged winter. I say technically because it snowed today for the first time in weeks. Figures.

Life is so much like our seasons. Some years, it seems like varying degrees of Spring. Maybe you have a storm here and there. But nothing major. It goes about as quickly as it came. But then there are the long, grueling winters that really grind at your resolve to go outside and deal with all the stuff that has piled up around you.

When my mom was diagnosed with stage 4 cancer, and told she only had weeks to live, she was completely at peace. Completely. She was not afraid to die. She knew her destination. She knew that what was ahead was much greater than what she was leaving behind.

This winter has been brutal. In every sense of the word. Physically, emotionally, mentally. Even native New Englander say this winter has been one for the record books. And I survived it. It didn’t defeat me. It didn’t send me packing for the relative comfort of California. There have been times, not just during the calendar winter, but the life one, that it seemed giving up was the answer.

It can be tempting, when the going gets tough, to pack your things and move to a more comfortable “climate”. But it’s those grinding winters that make Spring more beautiful. More rewarding. Life is challenging. It can be downright brutal. But I have survived it. When the Spring comes, I will bathe in its beauty. I will breathe it in. But can I maintain that level of appreciation when the storm seems to be trying to kill me?

My mom sure did. That woman went through the storms of life that would break a lot of people. But anyone who knew her never knew when there was a storm in her life, and never knew the storms she endured earlier in life. Not because she was fake. But because she had a strength, grace, and peace that passes all understanding. And because she was more interested in how others were doing, than herself.

She has been gone for 6 years. And yet, she is still teaching and inspiring me to this day. God blessed me, and countless others, with her influence. I fall so drastically short of her example. Of her legacy. But I press onward. May this long, grueling winter make me a stronger, better man. And when that day comes, that first day of “Spring”, when I am face to face with my Lord, may I not leave this world defeated by the winters. But let them strengthen me, give me an appreciation and longing for what lies ahead. There must be nothing in this world that is more significant than pleasing my Father in Heaven. When that’s the case, there can be nothing on this earth that can break me. No matter how hard it tries.

600 Months

February 25th, 1965. The day I was born. 100 years earlier, Abraham Lincoln and the Civil War were in their final days. But this day would be my first. Because 50 sounds like such a big number for an age, I have been jokingly saying I prefer to see it as 600 months.

600 months.Screen Shot 2015-02-21 at 10.28.18 AM

For whatever reason, we measure a baby’s age in months up until they hit 24 of them. 600 months ago, the doctor turned me face down, patted my back firmly, but tenderly, and I coughed up the amniotic fluid that remained in my lungs from my development in the womb. I took my first breath. I was held by my mother for the first time.

480 months ago, I turned 10 years old. Finally, double digits. I could hold up two hands, with all fingers extended, to illustrate just how old I was. For me, this was a signifiant milestone on the road to being a man.

444 months ago, I turned 13. This is a number that, in any other context, has a negative stigma. But when it comes to the aging process, I’m a teenager! Life is going to change with the flip of the calendar! I was in 7th grade. I had my own locker and had to walk from class to class. No more sitting in one room all day, with one teacher. This was like college would be, except mom still had to drive me to school.

408 months ago, I turned 16. Look out, world! That learner’s permit would soon convert to a fully-fledged driver’s license! Possibilities were endless.

382 months and 21 days ago, on April 4, 1983, my life changed forever. This was the day that I willingly and wholeheartedly invited Jesus into my heart. It wasn’t done with any church fanfare. There was no music, no pastors or elders. I was alone in my bedroom. No emotional compulsion. It was the next step for me, and the time was now.

384 months ago, I officially became an adult! As significant a milestone as that is in the growing-up process, an ominous tone was set that I didn’t recognize at the time. Symbolically, perhaps, it was this day that I registered for selective service. The draft. In the event that our country went to war, and it would be necessary to supplement the existing personnel on active duty, I signed my name. Kind of a subtle welcome to the enormity of adulthood.

348 months ago, I was in bible college as I turned 21. Yes, while many of my peers were taking this opportunity to legally consume adult beverages until their bodies forced the contents back from whence they came, I was at the off-campus home of a fellow student, with a group of great friends, as they celebrated with me.

Up until this point, significant birthdays came about every 36 months. But when you turn 21, that gap begins to widen.

240 months ago, I exited my 20s. This was not a happy day. My mom was 29 years old when she had me. Now I’m 30. How did this happen so quickly?

204 months ago, I remember lamenting to my mother that I was now 33. This was the age when Jesus died. I saw this as some sort of sign that any hope of significance was now gone. That was when she gently, and wisely reminded me that this was also the same age when Jesus rose from the dead, and He rose to a whole new significance.

120 months ago, I turned 40. FORTY. I remember teasing my parents about being old geezers when they turned 40. Now I am that ancient. This was not a happy day, but again, I was blessed to ring it in with some great friends.

72 months ago, my mom sang Happy Birthday to me for the last time. 23 days later, she went to be with Jesus.

18 months and 17 days ago, God introduced me to the most wonderful woman. She captivated my mind and heart immediately.

12 months ago, Sarah-Jane came to visit me from Rhode Island to celebrate my birthday. What a special time we had. Introducing her to friends, family, seeing San Francisco, and sharing a sliver of my life with her. It was wonderful. It was also over 70 degrees the whole time. (What I wouldn’t give to have a 70 degree day right now.)

51 weeks and 3 days ago, I embarked on a cross country journey to New England. Leaving behind the people and memories the previous 588 months and 5 days held. But moving forward to pursue what lies ahead.

Today, I have no idea what specifically lies ahead of me. What I do know is that there will be wonderfully happy days, and there will be gut-wrenchingly difficult ones. The earthly life clocks for many will begin, and others will end. Even though there is no way to disguise my age to make it seem less than it is, I believe that by the mere fact that I am still drawing air into my lungs, there are still things to be done. Moments not to be missed. Lives to touch. Challenges to accept. Tears to cry. Joys to behold.

I’m quite certain that the months that have passed outnumber the ones I have yet to live. But whether it is one month, or hundreds, I press on knowing that life is a gift. The closest we get to immortality in this life is in inspiring and blessing others. The people who have come and gone in my 600 months live on in my heart and mind. Their influence lives on in my life because of the things they taught me. The things they gave me. I hope I have been a good steward of those thing by passing them on to others throughout my journey.

For today, the journey continues. For all of us.

Thankful

I have so much for which to be thankful. At the same time, there are a great many things, Thanksgiving-Picturesand even people, which seem determined to smother an attitude of gratefulness. Joy isn’t the absence of sorrow. Peace isn’t the absence of conflict. Gratitude isn’t the absence of struggle. These qualities, these attitudes, these behaviors are conditions of the heart despite what the circumstances may be.

Lately, I have had a hard time dealing with negativity. I’ve had it involuntarily foisted upon me every single day. Quite literally, it’s an occupational hazard. At times, it sucks the life out of me. Being with loved ones, sharing stories of our days, laughter, and reminding one another of how great God is always recharges my joy, peace and thankfulness.

May your Thanksgiving bring you love and laughter. I pray that you would celebrate with loved ones, as I will. Though I’m so far from many who I love, they are in my heart every moment. Whatever your challenges, I pray that the goodness of God, His love, His peace, His forgiveness, His tender mercies will overwhelm you today.

I pray your Thanksgiving isn’t limited to the fourth Thursday of November. But a constant, daily condition and practice.

Birthdays of heroes

Today is a special day. Not because the Giants won the World Series last night. Ok, it is a special day because of that. But far beyond that, today is my dad’s birthday. 5 days ago was the birthday of my mother. Normally, I have written about each of them, individually, on their birthdays. But this year, I feel compelled that the only fitting way to honor them is to do so collectively, the way they lived their lives.

I didn’t need a best friend in my dad as I was growing up. Many fathers and sons have that kind of relationship. I’m sure there’s nothing wrong with that. What I needed was a hero. As far back as I can remember, my dad was always bigger than life. He was a cop in San Francisco dating back to the incredibly volatile days of the late 60s, when being an authority figure was like a buck wearing a bullseye on them during a never-ending hunting season. He never shied away from what most of us would avoid. Those things actually inspired him.

What an incredible leader and example he was, and is, for me.

Just the other day, he suffered a bit of an accident and was injured. He spent the night in the hospital. He’s home and doing fine now, so we’re thankful it wasn’t what it could have been. As odd as it may seem coming from a man of my age, this served as a painful IMG_1780reminder that the man is, in fact, not bulletproof. He isn’t indestructible. Even so, he endures it all as heroes do. With humility, faith and grace. What God has done in his life over the last 30+ years is amazing. He is an inspiration to me.

The partnership he and my mom had was beautiful. She sometimes had to be both mother and father to me because Dad often worked long hours, in addition to a demanding commute. I wanted for nothing as I was growing up. Mom was there for me. Sometimes a little too there, in my opinion at the time. In retrospect, I cherish my memories.

As a young adult, I began to grow a bit bitter about always being known as “Ed and Sarah’s son”. I wanted to carve my own name into the world. I didn’t want to live in anyone’s shadow. It finally hit me as I entered my late 20s, that it was truly an honor to be Ed and Sarah’s son. I was blessed beyond comprehension to be raised by these incredible people. They were not what I deserved, and I, certainly, wasn’t what they deserved. But God put us together in His divine providence. At this stage of our lives, and with my mom currently in God’s presence, our family has never been closer. I’m 3,000 miles away, yet, we have a level of intimacy we didn’t have when we all lived within minutes of each other.

I’m so thankful for my family. We couldn’t, and wouldn’t be what we are without the shining example of Ed and Sarah Matelli. They have touched so many lives. To have them as parents is a blessing I will never take for granted.

Happy Birthday to my heroes. Thank you, Lord, for blessing Matt, Larry, John and me with the love of such amazing people.

 

That day

That day. We were all covered in the debris of the World Trade Center. We were neither 9-11AshVictimsDemocrat, nor Republican. We were neither male, nor female. We weren’t black or white, Asian or Hispanic. That day, we were defined by our unity. We were all Americans. We rallied together. We filled our churches. We had American flags waving from every highway overpass. We were outraged by the evil visited upon us that day.

Today, we have forgotten. We have returned to the pettiness which divides. Evil remains, and tries to get our attention with the public murder of innocent people. Wickedness resides within our borders. Evil will rise again.

God got our attention that day. How quickly we have gotten distracted. I pray that it doesn’t take a similar, or worse act of evil to get our attention again. May we turn from our distractions and be mindful of what is truly important. May we be civil, even loving to our fellow man, rather than so judgmental and critical.

That day began just as any other. But it turned out to be the day that changed the world. Forever. Let us learn by the events of that day. And never forget the lessons that were forced upon us.

Lord, you have my attention today. Help me stay focused. Help our leaders stay focused, not on their own interests, but those of our citizens. Our lives are in your hands. Your loving, capable hands. Protect us. There is a day that lies ahead when we will all meet our end on this earth. Cleanse us from the debris which covers us.

On that day, let us be pure in your sight.

Unlikely paths crossed

It was one year ago today that my life changed. Who could have known that what started as a purely benign thought, would be the first step of a new life? I won’t re-hash how this all happened. I wrote a series of posts back in October, starting with this one, that offer all the detail, and likely more, than you’d ever want to know about how Sarah-Jane and I met. But if you’d like to take a look again, or for the first time, please be my guest.

It was August 8, 2013. A day like any other. But it wasn’t. A simple email would prove to be the flapping of tiny wings in the so-called butterfly effect in my life. I’ve probably written thousands of emails over the years, both personal and professional. But none were as important as that first one, a year ago today.

God does some amazing things that begin with such a simple, little step. I had no idea what treasure would await on the other end of the email, sent to the other end of the continent. Who knew that one day, I would be face to face with the woman on the other end of that email? In the house, and room where it was received. Who could have known that I would get to know the heart and mind of the person who captured my intrigue with her wit and use of the English language?

God is not bound by the restraints of time and distance. Sarah and I had walked very different paths that led to that fateful encounter. Our connection makes no sense in the logical mind. But God knew, long before we existed, that this day would come. He knew the traits I needed in a partner, and He knew the tools I would need in order to be the right man for her.

This year has been a whirlwind. It has had some wonderful high points, and some gut-wrenching challenges. A healthy, strong relationship isn’t forged by the good times. It is the intense heat of fire that purifies and strengthens us. We have each had our resolves tested. There have been times when it seemed that maybe this was just going to be too difficult. There were times when logic seemed to dictate that this was just crazy thinking.

But then there’s the God factor.

Our ways are not His ways, nor His ways ours. I have tried things my way, and they never work. When we submit ourselves to His way, we are not dragged kicking and screaming into some miserable dungeon of horror and bondage. When we let Him direct our paths, we release Him  to do what He does. He makes our crooked ways straight. He takes our regrets, pains and mistakes, and recycles them into things of value, from which wisdom and character bloom.

My life was forever changed one year ago. It was one tiny step. From that step, another. photoAnd from that one, yet another. I believe I am a better man on August 8, 2014 than I was 365 days ago. I hope I am a better man on August 9 than I am today. Sarah-Jane has blessed my heart and life in ways I don’t even completely see. One day, long from now, if God allows, I will be able to look back on these days, and the ones yet to dawn, and see a beautiful testimony of His love and faithfulness to us. His mercy. His grace. His gentle leading. His loving discipline.

I had no idea that the paths that were crossed one year ago, would lead me into a new, palatial dwelling place of intimacy with God.

We have made some wonderful memories over this past year. I am excited to see what is yet to come. But all in due time. What a blessing it is to share this journey with my best friend.

Thank you, Lord, for these paths that You crossed.

Course correction

Sunday, Sarah and I took her younger son, Jeremy, to Boston for a fun day. One thing I IMG_3780really wanted to do, and was met with unanimous approval, was to take a pedal boat out on the Charles River. It was an absolutely beautiful day for it. As an enthusiastic 10 year old, Jeremy wanted to be the one who steered the boat. Sarah wasn’t 100% comfortable with it, but she felt ok with it since I was right next to him and able to help guide him.

As you can see in the picture, there is a stick just under Jeremy’s right arm. This is the instrument that steers the boat. By pushing or pulling the stick forward and backward, you steer the boat left and right. As we were pulling away from the dock and making our way out to the open water of the Charles River, I would ask Jeremy to veer to the left. He would push the stick all the way forward. At this point, we would make a hard left turn. In doing so, we overshot where we really wanted to go. So I would ask him to take us to the right to get us back on course. So, he then pull the stick completely to the back. We serpentined our way along for a couple hundred yards, which at times made our journey a little less relaxing than we had in mind.

At this time, Sarah voiced her desire to have Jeremy and I switch seats so she could enjoy the excursion without being nervous we would run into something or someone. After we did this, I showed Jeremy that while the stick does turn us to the left and right by pushing and pulling the stick, we kept a straight path by keeping the stick in the middle, and making minor adjustments by pushing or pulling the stick a couple inches one way or the other.

How true this is in our lives. However, instead of a steering stick, maybe it’s our emotions. Our fears. Our unbridled enthusiasm. Our inexperience. Our ambition. Any of these things can cause us to steer wildly in a direction that completely overshoots our intended destination. Then we try to correct our course by flipping in the complete opposite direction. We end up zig-zagging our way along in a stressful, uncontrolled odyssey.

For me, my fears tend to be my white knuckled kung fu grip on the rudder. When I fear my dreams are slipping away, I tend to careen my way along the route that is set before me.

Yes, there are times when we must completely change our direction from something that is dangerous or fruitless. However, when we can see where it is we want to go, keeping our eye on the target, it’s just a matter of slight corrections when the tide is causing us to drift off course. There can be many obstacles along the way, but having clear vision and attention, while making these minor adjustments, we can keep ourselves from catastrophe, or just unnecessary stress.

By the way, Jeremy and I eventually switched back so he could steer again. He not only got the hang of it, he was the one who brought us back to the dock, safely, calmly, and efficiently. That’s when the photo at the top was taken.