When My Boat Rides Low

Sometimes a tired feeling comes after a long day of hard labor, or of some kind of exertion. Last week I found myself at one of those moments on Wednesday night. Jen and I had offered ashes at the Starbucks, while Maggie and Nina were in the church parking lot. Then we had a noon time service, and an evening service. In the midst of this there had been lots of conversation and planning. When I finally got home, I was so wiped out that I did not even think about writing a Pastor’s Note for the Thursday email. Of course, a pre-thought out remedy might have been getting it written earlier in the week, but Monday and Tuesday were also chockfull of meetings and activities.

Sometimes a tired feeling comes from trying to manage too much anxiety and too many emotions. I don’t know if you have ever felt as though your “boat is riding low.” It’s a wonderful image given to me several years ago by a friend and teacher. When life is going smoothly, I can sit in my little boat skimming over the top of the water, riding high over all the possible obstacles sitting enough under the surface that my boat and I don’t encounter them. In fact, I may not even realize they are underneath me. Then come the days when, either because I’m tired or ill or whatnot, my boat is riding a bit low in the water. Instead of blithely floating over the obstacles, my boat and I keep bumping into them, rocking us, throwing us off course. It can be hard to recover a smooth course.

I realized that my tiredness was a bit of both. I needed rest, but I also needed to face the obstacles that were rocking my boat, and they weren’t all underneath the water. They were within me. I had neglected some very basic tenets. When I had an issue with someone else, I had been putting off going towards them to talk it through; when I learned that someone had an issue with me, I did not go straight to them to work it out. I allowed the untold stories to remain untold, so of course other stories vied to be heard. That is not healthy; it is not holy. It’s not what Jesus taught. When he heard the disciples mumbling, he asked them directly what they were talking about. He approached the Pharisees and scribes with the same directness. None of them may have liked what he said, but they were not left guessing.

So I am going to work at doing this better. If I have something to say, I will try to say it—though not without having thought it through and praying  about it because not everything I think I need to say needs to be said, at least not in the way that often comes first to mind. If you have something to say about me, then come say it to me, not to others—though first think and pray about it. Ask a question. I will ask questions. And always put your name with what you want to say. There is little that is as corrosive as anonymous words.

This is more than my Lenten discipline, but Lent is a good time to start with a renewed practice. Perhaps in time I will grow bit by bit into the fullness of the measure of the stature of Christ.

Matthew 5:23-24

“So when you are offering your gift at the altar, if you remember that your brother or sister has something against you, leave your gift there before the altar and go; first be reconciled to your brother or sister, and then come and offer your gift.”