Ripples of Faith
Feeling somewhat dismayed, I stood at the edge of the lake and tried to see the other side. I could not. The huge cumulus clouds were reflected in the water; off in the distance the two appeared to become one on the horizon.
I failed to imagine how I was going to get to the other side, yet I knew there was a way. The rowboat anchored on the shore was too big to maneuver by myself. It required one person to work each of its two oars.
Two seagulls flew overhead and I noticed that I felt a twinge of jealousy because I could not do the same. I became preoccupied with the thought of what it would take for me to fly as the seagulls do and neglected to notice the man who walked up behind me until he spoke.
"Good afternoon."
I flinched visibly at the unexpected greeting. Quickly, I tried to determine who he was and what he wanted.
"Good afternoon," I replied unconvincingly. Was he after something or was he just being friendly? I couldn't tell. At any rate, I needed to get across the lake and perhaps he could help.
"Do you know who this boat belongs to?" I asked, suspecting him to be the owner.
"Why of course. It's mine."
"I need to get across the lake and thought that perhaps you could assist me. I realize that it's a long way but I would be willing to compensate you for your efforts."
He looked at me and said, "It takes the better part of a day to get across, providing that you can keep up with the rowing."
I felt slightly intimidated by what he was suggesting. Did it look that obvious that I didn't do this sort of thing every day? I dismissed the thought and replied, "Don't worry about that, I'll keep up. Well, how about it? Will you help me across?"
Without any further hesitation he said, "Sure."
"How much is it going to cost me?" I asked, wanting to get the price settled at the beginning.
"How much do you have?" he countered.
I reached to the back of my pants, unbuttoned the pocket and pulled out my wallet. I quickly added it up and said, "Sixty-three dollars."
"That will do just fine," he replied, sounding satisfied with the fee levied.
I hesitated because I wasn't sure if there would be any need for money once I reached the other side. The man caught my hesitation and with a slight twinkle in his eye said, "Your money won't be of much use to you here. Nothing to buy on this side of the lake except a ride across."
He had a point. I had to make a choice based on the present circumstance and not worry about the "what ifs."
"Okay, you've got a deal," I said, reaching out to shake his hand. We shook on it and when I bent over to pick up my bag I noticed that his hand remained extended. The man expected to be paid in advance. This bothered me. First, he charges me all the money that I have, then he expects to be paid even before we get started. How can I be sure that he will come through and deliver? Maybe his boat has a small hole in it and by the time we get to the middle of the lake it will be Gurglesville.
The man spoke up and said, "It's better if you pay in advance, you'll find the rowing to be more meaningful."
I laughed. Had he not pointed that out, I wouldn't have looked at it that way. His truthful sense of humor lightened my seriousness, so without further concern, I paid him.
We got in the boat and were off. The first few ripples in the water fanned out and seemed to be notifying the entire lake that our journey had begun. It reminded me of the old cowboy movies where the wagon train, full of inexperienced pioneers and one experienced scout, would enter Indian Territory and behind the scenes the Indians would be calling to one another, telling of the uninvited guests. Was I the inexperienced pioneer, the man the scout, and the vast depths of the lake the forbidden Indian Territory? Perhaps my imagination was getting the better part of my sensibilities.
"Please," the man said, "if we're ever going to make it to the other side you must concentrate on rowing. We've gone off course because you didn't keep up your side. Please pay attention."
"Okay," I said meekly, feeling embarrassed at having been caught in my wanderings. Nut wait a minute. I am the one who paid for this trip. Who is he to tell me to pay attention? I paid money, I don't have to pay attention!
I started to row all the harder to show him that I could keep up. I felt my strength as the oar pushed against the water and it soothed my feelings of insecurity. I thought about the power swelling in my body and how I would become even stronger by exercising. The prospect of rowing across the lake became an opportunity to gain physical strength. The thought of getting something out of the trip greatly excited me. I proceeded to row even harder.
"Wait a minute," the man said. "Now you're doing just the opposite. We've gone off course again but this time because you're trying too hard! We must be unified in our intent in order to make it across the lake by nightfall. If one of us rows too hard or too easy we'll just end up going around in circles and never get anywhere."
He was definitely making a sound observation. The man was right. We need to work together as one unit, like clockwork. Otherwise, my egotistical strength, if taken to its extreme, would turn the lake into a whirlpool and we would get sucked in by my self-centeredness, disappearing like the pioneers who were unable to relate to the Indians.
"All right," I said, "I'm sorry. I will pay more attention." I then committed myself to working with him rather than against him.
For the first time since we started I noticed how incredibly well the man rowed. Not because he was exceedingly strong, but because he rowed with a consistency that transcended the mundane act of rowing and brought forth a majestic quality in his movements. There was something so beautiful about this man's simplicity! I felt proud to be sitting beside him, rowing together.
At that moment the two seagulls flew overhead in what had become an intensely blue sky. All twinges of jealousy were gone and as I watched the seagulls soar on the breezes above, I was soaring too.
After quite sometime of rowing, the other side of the lake was still not in sight. I questioned the man about this and he assured me that we were doing fine. The lake seemed incredibly huge! Neither shore was visible and as far as I knew, we were in the middle of the Atlantic. It occurred to me that I really didn't have a choice about being where I was: in the rowboat. There really wasn't a choice about rowing to the other side. It was too late to go back. I began to resent the lake for being so big. The rowing seemed to get harder and just as I noticed that, the wind heartily kicked up. Would my body endure this ordeal, or would I fail in Darwin's School of Natural Selection? Certainly, I had my doubts. The man next to me kept rowing faithfully, undaunted by any concern.
I watched the water curl around the tip of the oar and then realized that I still had a choice about working with an oar. I saw that I could choose exactly what I already had and that would be the ultimate test of my ability to choose.
An awesome burden lifted from me. All my life I had wanted to be different than who I was. The compelling urge to change myself always motivated me into some form of action with the implicit intent of improvement because I was not enough. No wonder I never got anywhere; I had both oars out of the water. In fact, I wasn't in the boat to begin with. I was still on the shore doing pushups, stuck in the endless cycle of preparation.
Needless to say, my apprehension about reaching the other side vanished along with my need to get across. I relaxed into the rowing and considered the water to be a medium, and the trip across the lake an expression of love. Like the sculptor who embraces a piece of clay, knowing how it enable him to express himself, I embraced the water and understood that its resistance to the oar actually enabled me to profoundly express Self.
"Look," the man said enthusiastically, "there's land."
Sure enough, the shore was clearly in sight.
"That's great," I replied, sharing in his enthusiasm.
The remainder of the journey flew by. Before I knew it we were stepping out of the boat, onto land. I looked back to where we had come from and noticed that the wake had disappeared into the calm of the lake, leaving no visible trace of our journey. To the people who now look upon the lake, it probably appears as it always has. Yet I understood how deceptive the eyes can be; just because the lake appears to be the same doesn't mean that it wasn't affected by the act of traversing it; just because I've reached the other side doesn't mean that I necessarily got anywhere by changing my position in the universe.
I smiled, said a silent goodbye to the lake, and turned to the man who had shown me so much.
"Thank you," I said, feeling a deep sense of appreciation for him. "I hope to see you again sometime."
"Maybe," he replied. "You got to where you were going and that is enough. Your trip is complete and I fulfilled my purpose. Some people take several trips to finally make it across and some never get in the boat. It's all a matter of faith, you know."
I understood exactly what he meant and I also knew that he understood the test I had gone through. We said our goodbyes and parted, without separating.
John Ostlund index