A Needle in a Thousand Haystacks

When I spoke my marriage vows 50+ years ago, I seemed to hear an inner voice pronounce, “love, honor, and crew!” Both Rol and I had sailed small boats in our teens and preteens, but our immediate future didn’t hold any promise of sail or salt water and I put the temporarily put the thought aside. But the sea had a call on our lives.

A dozen years later we bought a Penguin and then a Rhodes 19, racing them down the Potomac River in Virginia and across Currituck Sound in North Carolina. When we moved back to New Jersey, we enjoyed onboard picnics and “serious” Sunday afternoon racing on the Navasink River.

The children grew, graduated, and married. In fact, in a crescendo of wedding marches, we passed from the marriage of our eldest daughter in April 1979, to the marriage of our youngest daughter in June of the same year. A new period of life loomed ahead of us. Our daughters belonged to new households. Our eldest son was almost through college and our youngest was about to graduate from high school. We had survived parenthood and landed on our feet, right in the middle of the empty nest syndrome. The world tells us that these would be our closing years, but that was definitely not what the Lord had in mind.

Our own 25th wedding anniversary was sandwiched in between the weddings. Rather than lose our stride and risk bankruptcy, we put off celebrating until the following October..

After last grain of wedding rice disappeared from the lawn and the wedding gifts were forwarded to the proper sets of newlyweds, we arranged to celebrate with the vacation of our dreams. Ten days sailing, swimming and snorkeling in the clear blue waters of the Caribbean seemed perfect. According to the travel agent we would fly from Newark to Puerto Rico and then to Martinique. In Martinique, a stateroom was reserved for us aboard a large sailing vessel. The itinerary was indefinite. We would "wander from Martinique north, island by island to Antigua".

This would finally be a great vacation and an opportunity to gather thoughts and plans for the undetermined lifestyle looming on our horizon. We needed to see if there were still purposes and plans for us, or should we be content to find a rocking chair somewhere on the back forty? The Lord was about to guide us toward an entirely different lifestyle that would extend over the next 25 years, a lifestyle of excitement and reliance on him. The words, “love, honor, and crew” were about to take on a clearer meaning.

As our plane taxied away from the gate that October morning, the sun was shining and noisy chatter filled the plane. At the head of the runway the engines roared, the plane gained momentum, the tarmac rushed beneath us. I waited for the exhilarating feeling of lift off; but a sharp cracking sound emitted from the engine beside my left shoulder. The engine sputtered, brakes squealed, the airplane lurched from side to side and then slowed. We limped back to the boarding ramp.

We watched from the window while a solitary mechanic, with a single screwdriver in his hand, climbed a ladder to the wing, opened the engine hatch, and peered inside. In a moment, apparently content with some unobservable accomplishment, he descended, removed the ladder, and retreated. The stewardess announced that the problem had been resolved and that they were going to "run her out to see." We could disembark or ride along if we chose. No offense is meant to those stalwart grease monkeys upon whom our lives depend, but one man with a screwdriver did not inflame my confidence. Roland and I disembarked.

Soon the plane returned. “All was well.” We boarded, settled in, and for the second time, taxied to the head of the runway. Again the engines roared. As we catapulted forward I kept an eye on the port engine. Doubtless, the pilot also had his eye on it. At the same moment that I heard a loud crack and saw smoke pouring out of the engine; I also heard the pilot say, "That frosts it." Again the plane shuddered and swayed to a screeching stop just short of the runway's end.

After two warnings, we wondered if we should continue on our trip. If anything, anything at all, were wrong at home, we would end the trip on the spot. We called home; everything was “fine, just fine.” As we stared across the runway, a light rain and an oily tarmac produced a lovely rainbow. "I will set my bow in the sky," said the Lord, as an assurance of His kept promises and His good intentions toward men. We were encouraged, but still hesitant.

When we returned to the airline desk, however, they announced that we were to be transferred to a later plane at a distant airport. This change of agenda would cause us to miss our connection with the once-a-day plane from Puerto Rico to Martinique. In a word, the next morning our ship would sail without us.

Because of our ship’s indefinite itinerary, we needed to find out where and when she would make her first landfall. We hoped to join our vessel there. It was late but we located the travel agent and she promised to call the cruise company. We would call her for further instructions when we arrived in Puerto Rico.

The bus took us to Kennedy International Airport where we boarded a DC10. DC10's weren't particularly popular that year, something about their tails falling off. In addition, our co-pilot was rumored to be lost in one of the parking lots of JFK (a real confidence builder). Rol and I stared out the window as yet another rainbow formed over the wing.

Following the Lord has never been without surprises and challenges. Contrary to the popular belief that Christians lead dull regimented lives, active following has proven to be a grand adventure. In the midst of His most surprising and sometimes scary adventures, I experience a dramatically illogical reaction; a quiet peace falls over me. My mind deals with the obvious difficulties; but there is an overshadowing of God's presence that brings calm and security. Abraham, who was promised a son at 90 years of age, examined his own body, "as good as dead", and the dead womb of his wife and did not lose faith. I suspect that he may have found his composure difficult to explain.

Eventually, the co-pilot arrived, the plane lifted smoothly into the air and turned south toward Puerto Rico. We breathed a large sigh of relief. The vacation had begun; the adventure continued.

In San Juan the next morning, we conferred with our travel agent. She was frustrated and confused; the cruise ship company flatly refused to cooperate. "They didn't know," they said, "the specific plans of the ship". The vessel had sailed from Martinique that morning with freedom to wander the Caribbean. They reminded our agent that our prepaid cabin was nonrefundable. In a word, they were not going to help us find their sailing ship, nor refund our tickets. The travel agent suggested that we go on to Guadeloupe. She would continue to seek out the secret of the ship's first landfall.

Now, all logic would say, “Quit now while you can.” After two joy-filled weddings, two college educations completed and two on the front burner, our money was extremely limited. The Caribbean is an enormous puddle within which to locate a missing sailing ship. To find it would, literally, be like finding a needle in a field of haystacks.

For reasons I can not explain, that strange peace settled further down around my shoulders. We cancelled our tickets to Martinique and bought tickets on a small island-hopping plane with twin engines. As we rose in the air above San Juan, a rainbow burst across the sky.

I love the islands of the Caribbean; the water is bright blue, the air so clear. We flew low through the wisps of cloud. I saw bright blue water with white wave crests, small cays, powder perfect beaches, and pea-sized boats. We hippity-hopped from Puerto Rico to Tortola, to St Martin, and to Guadeloupe.

It was early afternoon when we disembarked at Guadeloupe into an all but empty airport. My peace of mind vanished like a will-of-wisp. Wherever this was, I sensed that this was the wrong place. Guadeloupe is not small. The butterfly-shaped island has literally thousands of coves into which even a large ship can disappear. We needed more direction.

Roland spent a good hour trying to make a telephone call back home. The operator spoke only French. Rol's French hadn't been dusted off in a long time. Finally, he managed to reach our, still-frustrated, travel agent. She had been unsuccessful in her quest. The cruise company could not, or would not, divulge the whereabouts of the ship. We were on our own.

While Roland engaged in his phone frustrations, I wandered aimlessly around the airport. There, in the window of a local travel agency, was an advertisement for a trip to Iles De Saintes. The poster pictured a rainbow hovering above the small offshore islands. I was not out searching for signs from God; but there was that rainbow again there was that quickening inner feeling and rising confidence. Our human efforts had been thwarted. But, for no logical reason, it seemed right to both of us to buy tickets on the local plane from Guadalupe to Iles De Saintes.

Iles De Saintes is a small island off the southern coast of Guadeloupe. The airport, on Terre D'en Haut, is framed by two volcanic tips with bananas growing in between and has an airstrip approximately the same length of our hometown football field. There is a sign on a tool shed proclaiming this as the, "International Aeroport de Iles De Saintes". It was quite a contrast to JFK where we had launched this adventure.

The mini "aeroport", sans taxi stand, is quite a distance to the nearest lodging, especially when you measure up and down the volcanic peaks. But Jacque, one of our fellow passengers, owned a small Terra D'en Haut hotel. Jacque had gone to Guadeloupe for his supplies and generously offered us a ride in his Volkswagen bus and lodging.

Jacque's bus lacked side doors, an open-air VW bus in the truest sense. Clamping our suitcases between our knees, we clutched at whatever we could grab, as the little bus climbed, skidded, slid, and ground gears over what must be among the world's narrowest and most precipitous roads. Surprisingly, we arrived safely at Jacque's small hotel. The room was plain, but clean. We were glad to be there. I felt like we had reached the rim of the world.

Eventually, we showered and ventured forth. Terre D'en Haut is a quaint vacation spot. The narrow roads are shared by a few cars, many walkers, animals, and cafes. Here and there, beautiful tile designs are set right into the street surface. Bougainvillea blooms everywhere, the sea sparkles, and the sun shines.

As early evening fell over the Caribbean waters, the winds calmed, the sun became less intense, and the whole atmosphere took on a mellow overtone. We strolled up the street, ascended the hill, and paused to listen outside the Catholic Church as the congregation sang the French mass in unison. The peacefulness hovered lightly like a cloud protecting our minds.

On the way back to the hotel, I spotted a heavyset woman in a white sundress, sitting with her lean male companion in an outdoor restaurant. On impulse, I spoke to her in English. "I wonder if you could help me out; I need to locate a ship and I don't speak French." Once the lady got over the shock of my arrival, she listened to our problem. I naively asked her if there was a local maritime control agency where we might check on ships in the area. Her gentleman friend quickly got involved in the conversation through translation. "What you are looking for, Madam", he said, "is a small ship, on a very large sea." He was sympathetic, but not hopeful. "There is no maritime control." "How do you come to be on Iles De Saintes?" When I explained that we felt that God had led us there, his response was abrupt, loud, and sarcastic, "God?…Madam, There is no God." He threw his tanned face back and laughed out loud. The whole cafe listened; the gauntlet had been thrown; the challenge made. Impulsively, I snapped, "We will see who laughs last. God has sent us here to find our ship."

I did not sleep well that night. All the bravado of my response and the confidence of the day before disappeared as soon as my head hit the pillow. I padded up and down on the cool tiles in the dark room, while Roland snored away. What were we doing here?' Why did we nonchalantly make those decisions on planes and places? What about the folks who had overheard my challenge? Would those people be damaged in their relationship with God because of my naivete?' My night was full of doubt and self-criticism.

Morning came slowly. The sun rose out of the sea and the roosters crowed. I ventured out onto the small balcony and there, rising out of the mist over the western tip of the island, was another beautiful rainbow.

If I told you that my confidence returned, I would be lying. I was like a person on a fast train who wonders if the station whizzing past had been his; I was dubious, but committed to ride it out.

When Roland wakes up, everything seems better to me. Roland has been my husband for many happy years, my friend for many more. He doesn't get flustered. Not only that, but Rol is capable of making logical decisions under pressure. His presence alone calms me. Eventually he stirred, got hungry, and decided the obvious, "Let's get breakfast."

The small hotel had fed us tasty, fresh fish the night before; fish so fresh that they had been cleaned on dock right beside us. This morning there was a welcome breakfast of warm croissants and coffee; but I had no idea what we would do when breakfast was finished. I also had no idea what I was to do with my life when this trip was over. I pondered these things while Rol sipped his coffee.

In the middle of our meal the phone rang and the waiter-clerk announced that there was a call for Msgr. Santomenna. No one in the whole world could have known that we were on Terra D'en Haut; but the call was for us. It was the lady, who I had questioned the night before. She and her gentleman had gone to the beach for a swim. Our lost ship was swinging on an anchor off the beach.

We ran for our baggage, Jacque got the bus, and we took off over the mountain roads for the beach at Boisjole, on the west end of the island. Our lady friend waited there by the side of the road. She had not only found the ship, she was exerting a strong grip on the second officer’s arm. It turned out that the officers of the ship had resold our accommodations and didn’t want to be found.

I’ve often wondered what the affect of our adventure on Jacque and his patrons; I don't know what happened to the Lady, who quickly disappeared amid our "Thank you so much" and "Merci" "Merci". I have no idea if her gentleman friend ever got the point of God's challenge; he stayed away from our gathering.

For Roland and I there was a clear message that day. If God can find a small ship in the middle of a big ocean and put us together through a series of rainbows and a cast of characters unmatched by fiction, then He would guide us as our lives changed. There is no needle too small or haystack too remote or unimportant for his guiding hand.

That trip made another important point. The Lord's plans for our lives were not over when our nest emptied. Shortly after our return home, the Lord added another "child" to our family, an eighteen year old whose home had failed him. Instead of our lives shrinking as we slid past fifty, they grew and expanded. On our fortieth wedding anniversary, Rol took a video of me at the helm of our own 40 ft, 14 ton sailboat, Glory B, on our way home from a thousand mile jaunt down the Caribbean archipelago. Biblically, aging folks like us were just hitting their stride in their walk with God.