The storm tossed Emmett like a marionette with broken strings. He clenched the ship’s railing with both hands as tightly as he could, but the sea spray made it difficult for his hands to stay true to task. Between swells, he quickly wiped the water from his brow and strained his eyes over the port bow, hoping for even the faintest sight of land.
“Still nothing!” he shouted to his mate, James, who was crouching beside him in fear, clutching Emmet’s leg. The younger boy had just joined the crew.
Ah, if only James had known what fate had in store when he scratched his signature on that contract line before leaving home. But, seven was the age when young men were to leave on their big adventure. Emmett was eight, so he knew more than James. He could help guide him. If they survived the storm, that is.
“Here comes another! Hold onto me, James!”
James reached higher and clung to Emmett’s back. The boys swayed left and right, up and down. James’s grasp tightened around Emmett’s neck, cutting off his air, as the boy scrambled higher up his back.
“I can’t hold on!” James cried. “I’m slipping!”
Emmett hooked his left arm to the railing and tried to readjust James’s hold with his right. Just then a colossal wave hit the side of the ship washing the boys apart. Emmett’s hooked arm held him fast. It ached as he wiped his face again and gasped for breath.
“James!” Emmett looked around the deck. “James!”
No sign of his mate. The wind and rain had displaced the sails, shredding and pulling them from their masts. He tried to lift himself onto his feet, but his boots slipped from under him and he crashed to the deck.
“James!” he shouted louder.
He would not give up. He strained his ears to hear. Then he caught a faint cry from overboard.
“Help!” James gurgled, off the port bow. “I’m here! Help!”
Emmett looked for a life preserver. More determined now, he tried again to stand. The fore staysail rigging had broken loose from the boom and its tack ropes were flapping in the wind. A rope whipped near his face, and he grabbed hold of it. He unhooked his arm from the railing and pulled himself up. He steadied himself as best he could and trained his eyes on the preserver.
It’s just a few steps away.
One step. Steady. Two steps. Steady more. Three. Pushing through a crashing wave of water and fear. Four. Steady on. Five.
“Got it!” he shouted as he grabbed the preserver from its keep.
The vessel rocked suddenly, knocking him to his back and sliding him toward the port bow where James had been flung overboard.
Slam! Emmett crashed into the bulwark.
“Help!” cried James again, sounding weaker now.
Emmett ignored his aching arm and tossed the preserver over the port side in the direction of James’s voice. He kept hold of the attached rope and pulled when James grabbed the preserver. He leaned over the railing and pulled again. The force of the sea was strong.
“Hang on, James!” he cried. “Don’t let go!”
He leaned back, rope in both hands, and put his boot against the bulwark. With all his might, he braced against his foot and pulled. He heaved as if wrestling a whale on the end of a fishing line. But the sea would have its way. Emmett felt his arms weaken. He tried another strong pull, but the force from the swelling sea pulled him over.
Splash!
He landed not too far from James and was relieved to see him buoyed up inside the lifesaving ring. Emmett was a strong swimmer.
“I’ve got you!” he assured James, grabbing hold of the preserver with one arm and treading water with the other. “Put your hands on mine. Keep your head above water, James.”
Just then, a great tentacle shot out from beneath the ship and up over its hull. The boys screamed and tried swimming faster away from the monster. But it was difficult to find direction in that dark sea on a moonless night. All seemed hopeless.
Just then, James grabbed Emmett’s arm and shouted, “Look!” James pointed away from the ship. “A light! In the sky No! There are many!”
Emmett followed James’s finger and found it—lights shining brighter than any moon, stippling the sky like a skirt of sparkling diamonds. They shone in sudden exaltation as if commanded from on high lighting up that which had been hidden in utter darkness. The secret of the sea.
“Land!” Emmett and James cried in unison.
And there it was. A beautiful haven of hope. The star-chandelier revealed the island-armchair in the corner, a refuge in rouge opposite the sofa-ship beside them, and lurking underneath it, the leviathan of dust bunnies and pipe cleaners.
There was still a great distance to swim across the vast ocean of blue carpet. But Emmett knew they could make it, if they held fast to each other and to the pillow preserver tethered with the belt from their father’s robe. One stroke at a time. Together.
When my twins were little, they loved to play “pirates” in the living room. My daughter initiated, and her always-willing brother accepted. Every single time. Occasionally, they would ask me to join. I nearly always played the role of “sea monster.” What else could I do? I’m six feet tall, the ship couldn’t hold more than two, and my daughter is always captain. Naturally.
Do you remember the couch you played on as a child? The bridge over your floor of lava. The mountain in your obstacle course. The throne from which you ordered your kingdom.
My husband and I have been married for over twenty years, and we’ve never purchased a couch. We’ve gladly accepted hand-me-down sofas and loveseats time and time again, our living room accommodating the desires of others to upgrade their own. The gift of furniture is welcome, to be sure. But there’s just something special about selecting a piece together with your best friend and beloved. To dream up the landscape of your home, to peruse all the possibilities at various shops, and to patiently wait until the perfect piece goes on sale—after all, why purchase it at full price and miss out on the fun?
For the past six months, my husband and I have dreamed up a new seating arrangement, revolving around our corner fireplace. It will be cozy. It will be efficient. It will be beautiful. But most importantly, it will be ours. Our idea. Our choice. Our purchase. Our furniture. We’ve spent date nights touring local furniture stores, waiting for the “right one” at the “right time.” But as I sit here writing, we have just learned that my husband could lose his job anytime. We might lose our furniture before we even get it.
How quickly perspectives shift. How clearly idols surface. How swiftly to knees we fall.
And the Lord, in His grace, restores our childlike faith. To see the world through a child’s eyes requires humility. That is, to enter through the Lewisian “low door.” [1] In order to fit, we must shuck fear and cast off doubt. Be willing to get low and crumple our trousers or dirty our skirts, and let our imagination loose.
Milne’s walk in the forest to the Hundred Acre Wood in Winnie-the-Pooh requires play.
Barrie’s window to Neverland in Peter Pan warrants laughter.
Lewis’s wardrobe into Narnia in The Lion, The Witch, and The Wardrobe wants faith.
Rogers’s trolley to the Neighborhood of Make-Believe in Mr. Rogers’ Neighborhood needs imagination.
Burnett’s hidden door to the garden in The Secret Garden demands curiosity.
To see the unseen, we must be like little children and let the Light in so we can let the Light out.
We open our hearts to Him. We open our homes to Him. With childlike faith amidst a cacophonous menagerie. And we play!
The secondhand couch that still rests against the wall (and currently holds our laundry) will soon be cleared to serve as a rescue boat when visitors arrive. There will be many to carry, so let’s swab the deck and fasten the lines! The rescued ottoman, which we’ve re-covered twice ourselves, will substitute as mess deck when the dining room table is full. There will be much feasting, so let’s tidy up the galley! The mismatched armchairs with contrasting upholstery will take their positions as captain and co-captain seats. There could be storms ahead, so let’s study our map and plot our course due North!
We will make it, if we hold onto each other and look for the Light. One stroke at a time. Together.
[1] Some have attributed Lewis’s concept of the “low door” to his wardrobe into Narnia requiring childlike faith; others attribute it to the many doors in the house of Christian faith in Mere Christianity.
The featured image is courtesy of Julie Jablonski and is used with her kind permission for Cultivating.
Melody Trowell is a wife, mother, published children’s book author and poet, college professor, and amateur
gardener. She holds degrees in English and Linguistics and has taught middle school, high school, and college
English since 2004. During her time as a stay-at-home mom, she built a small business doing photography and
sewing children’s clothing and goods. She and her husband live in Texas with their three children in a little home
with big bookshelves and even bigger ideas. She has been writing stories and poetry since childhood and believes
language is one of God’s most beautiful gifts. Her desire is to show others how childlike faith and wonder lift the
veil between the spiritual and physical realms to help them see the evidence of Christ and His creation. Find her
online at www.melodytrowell.com.
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