It Wasn't Me But God
DOWN THE RIVER WITHOUT A LIGHT
This
is a piece I wrote many, many years ago, immediately after the experience described within this
passage.
I tried to stay down the river tonight, but the mosquitoes ran me off. All I had for a light was a flashlight with fast-fading batteries. They faded completely. I had to come about seven or eight uninhabited miles over a low river, full of snags, sandbars, and rock piles. Surprisingly, I navigated the river blindly without hitting one log, rock, or sandbar. Feeling my way up the river in the blackness, I had to trust to luck; no, not really luck. Somewhere, something guided me. I was surprised when huge logs would go brushing by, missing the boat by only a few feet. Time and time again, I narrowly missed something I could not see.
Quite a scary thrill it is, coming up the river without a light, trusting only to faith. Then again, what is this life but a river? What is man’s knowledge but the dark? What is the extent of man’s sight but a few feet? Coming up the river of life in the dark, man must trust and put his faith in the One who is the Light.
As I neared the dock, I gratefully looked up at that
magnificent sky, full of stars, and felt the blanket-like presence of God
Almighty. Finally stopped, I did
not feel a sense of accomplishment or pride for doing what could have appeared to be an
almost impossible task. It wasn't me. What is so
impossible with God’s hand on the rudder?
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