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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