Take Cover it's gonna blow, may be the words I may need to express. Or maybe there are seasons when the boats are best left on shore to rest. This fall has been a difficult one with more physical ailments than I can count including a 5 day stint in the local hospital overlooking the southern Outer Banks. Interestingly it is ironic to me to say that the wind that sustains my life became the very thing that became difficult to come by. Breathing in the very life-force of a sailor became difficult and strained as I had caught the dreaded pneumonia. I firmly believe that some of us have to be laid up for repairs by the forces of nature in order to drive home the fact that we're not made of stainless steel. Yet, I liken this weary body to a beautifully restored wooden vessel, our maker has graciously provided internal systems to handle most invaders but without the hands of skilled craftsmen, she will still go down to her ruin.

It is this caring component that I wish to give thanks for today. While in the hospital, I had the pleasure of an attending nurse from England, whom had been a live-aboard sailor and had settled with her husband in Beaufort, NC. While her hands were busy about coaxing my small rolling veins with sticks and drips and antibiotics, securing a flow of oxygen to course through my straining lungs, her voice of calm determination quieted my soul. She and I became friends as we shared stories of our days under sail. It was a sisterhood we shared, a breath of fresh air she was in the often sterile environment of a hospital room. Her being at my bedside seemed more than a coincidence, as no family comes to visit, only concerned friends. The spirit of a sailor is realized in the hearts of other sailors whom understand the freedom of the sea and so she enlisted other sailing nurses to stop by and tell their stories.

One young nurse came by to share her family story of acquiring a fixer-upper 25' Helms from Oriental, NC, the place of many refugees awaiting rescue. Her family was from Swansboro, so they brought her down and commenced her restoration in the tiny Flying Bridge Marina, a place I knew well, having kept my 'le petite voyageur', a 23' San Juan there many seasons ago. Her telling of it, helped my mind turn to the joy of restoring beautiful swimmers and the camaraderie of crew a vessel requires to bring her back to life. I felt like that vessel, sorely neglected, battle scared and forgotten as the shifting crew of nurses swarmed my cradle~bed determined to poke and pinch every part of my hull. Having frustrated most of them with all my blown-out veins, they had to call in a critical care male nurse whom also failed on the first stick. Feeling remorse for the battle-scared bruises covering my arms, he said, let me try one more time. I turned my head and became quiet as he gently probed the needle into my forearm and found a flowing vein, in his relief, he asked, "are you alright?" and I replied, "the Lord and I presented that vein for you" and he agreed, "well it certainly wasn't me, that needle guided itself right in" and in unison we said, "AMEN".
Over the years, I can recall many times when vessels under my care and charge have presented with frustration. Seemingly impossible odds, if only we ask for that guiding assistance, the calm will overcome and the joy of accomplishment allowed to surface!
Witnessing the miracle of life in the hands of skilled craftsmen is truly a source of spirit restored, when two are gathered in his name...(there is love) amen!