Question: When is the shortest path between two points a zigzag?
Answer: When sailing into the wind.
Two miles off the coast of Texas we were cruising at a brisk eight knots on-board the Mayan Mystress, a 20-year-old catamaran whose better days were ahead of it. To the delight of the nine souls onboard she plowed through the waves with ease, showering us with joy at every bounce. The lighthearted captain, a 64-year-old whom we’d nickednamed Gray Beard, smartly angled the boat over the heaviest of swells and then down into the deepest troughs, smiling with glee as we crashed through waves with a large splash.
Though thrilled and quite drenched, I kept a very close watch on the three children of our crew who couldn’t contain themselves as they giggled and ran about the deck; each searching desperately for the best place to get deluged by the next rogue wave.
With the jib and the mainsail inflated, we were driven by the force of the wind alone. Everything was sunshine and smiles. We were family, together with love and laughter in the air, and just a hint of salt.
My greatest joy came not from the waves, but from the twinkle in the eyes of the children as they each sat at the helm of the 46-foot sailboat and steered it eastwards towards the open sea. Then there was the smirk my wife Marilyn gave me as I teased her that she was the first sailboat captain in her family’s history. It was a good day.
After sailing clear of Trinity Bay, the captain told Marilyn to steer due south. As she turned the wheel, I looked up the mast and the 40-foot sail as it fluttered and then filled with the shifting winds. As we began our turn, the captain shouted “Jibe-ho!” as the main boom swung across the deck from port to starboard in one smooth, orchestrated motion. Surprised, I grabbed the nearest rope as the boat leaned and creaked just a tad against the wind.
Moments later, we settled on a new course and I was amazed at how a gentle breeze, like a whisper, could be a tool to propel you forward with grace; yet it could also become an angry hurricane, leading to great destruction. My thoughts dwelt on the apostles in the upper room as described in Acts 2:2, 4: “And suddenly there came a sound from heaven, as of a rushing mighty wind, and it filled the whole house where they were sitting. And they were all filled with the Holy Spirit and began to speak with other tongues, as the Spirit gave them utterance.” As if supplied by the wind at Pentecost, they accepted the outpouring of the Holy Spirit, and as a result, they blessed the entire world. Armed with faith, they pierced the waves, no matter how high, always trusting in God to fill their sails and propel the direction of their lives forward—even against the wind. And while a wind indeed rushed over and through our sprightly catamaran, we didn’t speak in other tongues, but we did shout with joy! It was a very good day!
Way off in the distance, I could see a string of clouds along the horizon with sheets of rain beneath them. Curious, I asked about inclement weather, and our captain showed me a little electronic screen that showed our boat’s course, the wind direction, and the weather around us for a thousand miles. It was a chartplotter, and he told me that most of the time, you can plot a safe course around the storms and squalls. But not always.
So similar to life, I thought.
As the air cooled later in the day and the sun began to set, we turned eastwards to sail back, and the captain demonstrated tacking the boat—a zigzag sailing pattern and the only way to sail against the wind.
We tacked back and forth, from starboard to port while trimming the sails, filling them just enough to keep us moving forward against the westerly headwind. I witnessed how the wind and waves can work for us—or against us. We can surrender to the waves, drifting aimlessly with current events, or we can use the breeze to propel us home.
A verse came to mind: “The wind blows where it wishes, and you hear the sound of it, but cannot tell where it comes from and where it goes. So is everyone who is born of the Spirit.”
John 3:8.
Our second day the clouds moved in. Marilyn wasn’t feeling well and began running a fever, so she stayed at the hotel while I went sightseeing with the family. As the day went on, she got progressively worse and her temperature kept rising. That evening, the hotel fire alarm went off, our dogs panicked, and one of them tried desperately to jump through the window of our third-floor room. Our hotel was evacuated and we spent three hours in the parking lot with the rest of the guests and the fire department. Handling two confused and upset country dogs, a sick spouse, angry guests, a blaring alarm, and hyperactive children was enough for me. In the words of an Apollo 13 astronaut, “Houston, we have a problem!”
As the sun rose on the morning of day three, Marilyn was barely awake as we fled for home at 70 knots and accelerating—tacking through traffic with finesse on a northeasterly course towards freedom. After dueling with many natives and road warriors, where no quarter was provided for, nor given, I set the cruise control in Arkansas and breathed a sigh of relief. The squalls and chaos were now behind us.
Unfortunately, my brother-in-law and sister remained and were involved in a hit and run accident—followed by a pursuit and confrontation with the offender. Then my nephew got sick, followed by the rest of the family. Wisely, they raised their sails and also headed for home.
Fifteen hours and zero speeding tickets later, Marilyn and I arrived back home with a renewed appreciation for the boring wind-swept cornfields of southern Illinois and the peace that passes all understanding.
“So Jesus said to them again, ‘Peace to you! As the Father has sent Me, I also send you.’ And when He had said this, He breathed on them, and said to them, ‘Receive the Holy Spirit.’ John 20:21–22.
I learned one important lesson during our topsy-turvy Texan vacation:
Life is not a straight line. But it is a breeze.
