There are a lot of
definitions for being lost. You can be terribly lost in a strange
city if you can't find the particular place you're looking for. You
can be frightfully lost in a dessert if you step off the road without
a compass and pass the point at which you can still see that road
(people have died in similar ways). Lost also pertains to something
of value that has gone missing and might never show up, again. On
this trip, we have been in all three of those situations, and...
guess what?
We are not dead.
Even though we could
have been. Many times over.
We have also been in
situations where good intentions (even REALLY good intentions) did
not count. It has something to do with being relevant, which so many
of our reasons for even setting out on such a voyage, were definitely
not. Things like not knowing our propeller was in a state of decay
even before we left, because we never looked underwater. Of course,
we had every intention to. Just as soon as enough money came in to do
that thing. Which didn't make one bit of difference when two blades
eventually fell off in all those forceful tides and currents we kept
plowing through.
At other times, we
skimmed over dangerous reefs, bumped over rocks, and flew past places
we were sure we couldn't possibly have reached, yet... only to end up
somewhere else, instead. In short, we were lost. Really lost, when
you consider we were out of radio range, and no longer had any
electronics to double check, against. We did have a “red button,”
however. Some satellite thing that would alert emergency services
anywhere on the globe. It also kept a running account (via little
dots) as to where we had been. It was a system we held in reserve for
life-and-death situations.
So, why didn't we use
it during life-and-death situations? To tell you the truth, we didn't
even realize we were in one of those until we got ourselves out of
it. As for the dots? We always knew where we were, after we got
someplace. What was ahead of us, is what we couldn't always figure
out.
Sort of like life.
At one point, we even
thought our compass had busted (what next?), because how else could
one explain getting so confused all the time? Later, we learned there
were areas of “extreme magnetic disturbances” we had to pass
through, but we didn't know about that then. Something that didn't
make any difference, either (it was irrelevant), because our compass
was still effected as we slipped by, whether we knew about those, or
not.
Sort of like life.
Now, it has been a long
time since I posted a blog. I could tell you it is because I have no
computer, no phone, no Internet, no car, and the nearest city is
seventy miles away. But that would be irrelevant. I could tell
you—for all practical purposes—I am lost without all those
things, except that, too, would be irrelevant. I know exactly where I
am. On a remote island, in the middle of a rainforest, in a place so
expensive it will take months to save up enough money to even fly out
of here. Because—like Dorothy, in The Wizard of Oz—we can't get
back the way we came. At least, not until next summer, after some
major repairs to the Glory B. And more electronics.
I might even go so far
as to say my path DID actually converge with my fiction in Stella
Madison's plot-line, considering I have personally experienced SeaTrials, a Pushover Plot, being Lost in the Wilderness,
and having to use my very Last Resort to even get out of here.
All of which could easily be pronounced “irrelevant,” too,
because it's all in how you look at it. Almost like faith. There's
always some logical explanation for how you could have survived
something, even though it only happened after you prayed for help.
The facts are, we made
it to our destination, we are not dead (thank you, God), and my
Stella Madison Capers are finished (a miracle!). And even though I
have sworn never to get myself into these kinds of situations ever,
EVER, again, and to forget about trying to “live out” my
character's scenarios before offering them up to my readers (whose
idea was that?)...
I have heard of an
incredible place I could call home (just a rumor, really), that bears
looking into before we leave. The only way to get there is by boat,
but it isn't too far from here. And considering it might possibly be
the next piece in this puzzle of why we ever set off on such a crazy
journey in the first place, just to maybe prove (to ourselves) that
not only do our dreams actually exist “out there” somewhere, but
they have been created especially for us by a loving God... One who
might really have that wonderful plan for our life He promised to
give us, if only we will trust Him to get us there... Now, I'm
thinking, what could it hurt just to look?
We came a long way to
look, so we might as well. It's only logical.
Sort of like life.
