He Will Be Captain

I wish I could say that God was my Captain.

The Navigator.

That I was first mate, steering where he directed,

And lowering the sails when he gave the command.

But I cannot say that.

I was living life at a breakneck speed.

How odd it is, writing such a phrase, as I sit here with broken bones in my own neck attempting to heal.

Do I believe that God put me in this place?

No. I do not.

He tried to get my attention, yes,

But he sent warnings, not threats.

As I told my friend this evening,

I was continuously running, chasing,

Chasing after one more hundred dollar bill.

“If I have enough in the account, I won’t have to worry… Josiah will have clothing…I’ll be able to fix the car without having to make a deal with the mechanic to accept payments…all bills paid…go to Texas to see my dad…go to California to see my mother…Maybe save up and take the kids to see the Sequoias…the Grand Canyon…Niagra Falls…….”

Part time job during the day.

Part time job at night.

Another weekend opportunity? Yes!

And I was actually talking to another friend about working midnights.

Was it because I did not have enough?

No. Our needs were met.

But it did not ::feel:: like enough.

I ran after money because I hungered for security,

But I missed my little boy,

My adult sons,

My daughter would bring the grandson to my evening restaurant job to eat so that we could at least be in the same room for two hours.

We were always looking for a window of time to snatch out of the air,

Remain connected to one another,

And all the while I ran.

Always busy.

Always working.

Always worrying, so

Always chasing.

But I called it “being responsible”.

And now?

Now I am forced to sit because of these injuries from the car accident on my way to work.

And in sitting,

I wonder, “Just how responsible ::were:: you, Alma? You hustled. You worked hard. But did you work wisely?

Did you manage your time with any kind of common sense at all?”

But I don’t wonder for long when I stand in front of my youngest son, who looks me in the eye because he is so tall now,

His voice developing that rumble in the throat that tells me the little boy is being replaced by a teen.

I do not wonder

because his last five years have been made up of a pattern of “sometimes I see mom, but most times I don’t”, so the answer is obvious.

It was not wise usage of time or talent.

The reason I was living my life in a frenzied pursuit of the dollar was because I lived in fear.

The fear of not having enough.

You know what I am talking about.

You’ve felt it.

We all have.

I just handled it poorly.

And now I am forced to be still,

Dependent on my daughter for a task as simple as washing my hair,

Or combing it,

Thinking about deep things while I sit in a straight-backed chair,

or sleeping against pillows at the proper angle,

Anything to help these bones fuse properly.

As I stated above,

Do I believe that God put me in this place?

No. I do not.

He tried to get my attention,

But he sent warnings,

Warnings unheeded, for I was (the prideful) captain of my own vessel and I would sail


And whenever I thought it necessary,

Even while he said,

“Storm ahead, Good ship Alma Jean.

A storm



Now here I am, like debris on the shore,

Broken pieces of wood waiting for Him to salvage what He wants and rebuild me,

Set me on the water so I can feel productive again.

Only this time,

I will listen for his voice.

He will be Captain, for he rebuilds the vessel.

He will be Navigator, for he created the stars in the heavens by which sailors find their way.

He will plot the course because he knows the currents.

He made the sea.

And me?

I will be First Mate, steering where he directs

And lowering the sails when he gives the command,

Because He

He is my Creator

My Instructor

My Today

My Tomorrow

My God

True Security



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