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.