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Oceans for Emotions: Peace, be still and save our necks

April 15, 2011 at midnight
Updated April 14, 2011 at 11:15 p.m.

Elaine Wheat

Elaine Wheat

By Elaine WheatEditor's Note: This is another column that is written during Lent to help us put God first and fishing second.

"..Master, careth Thou not that we perish? And Jesus arose and rebuked the wind and said unto the sea, 'Peace, be still. And the winds ceased and there was a great calm.'"

- Mark 4:38

No one can really appreciate a storm that quickly comes up at sea unless they have been through one. Not long ago, three of us ladies were fishing from a 14-foot boat with a 70 horsepower Johnson motor. We knew a norther was coming, but we planned to fish in front of the cold front where the fish have a reputation of feeding like at a fast-food restaurant. We were paying attention to our fishing at the Army Hole out of Port O'Connor when, suddenly, a loud roaring sound came out of nowhere, and the north winds hit, and the waves came right at us, and I thought, "Master, careth Thou not that we perish?" . or something like what scared fisherwomen say.

We turned on the motor and pushed the gear all the way forward and roared back at the wind and waves. It didn't take long before we realized that the wind and waves were winning. We had fished the Army Hole a lot of times, and we knew we had enough gas to get back, but we weren't going anywhere, just plopping up and down behind the same wave. We noticed the motor started missing a little, and then it stopped a lot.

Big men and big boats all roared past us getting back to Doc's Dock even though we were waving distress signals, and a few other signals, at them as they sped by. One of us raised our voice and pointed it to Heaven yelling, "Jesus, we could use some of that peace, be-still business!" But the wind and the waves kept blowing us backwards. Just then, after the screaming at Heaven ended, the last boat in the lake flew past us. Our fears rose along with the waves and winds.

We all looked around at a new roaring sound and that last boat out had turned around and tried to pull up next to us and was trying to throw us a rope indicating that he would pull us in. We couldn't catch the rope, and the nice man had to get into the water that had already gotten very cold and he tied it on the front of our boat. He climbed the steps into his new boat, started his duel motors, and pulled us back to the dock where the other men stood laughing as we climbed out blushing. We looked around to find the man who pulled us in, at least in order to thank him. Nobody is going to believe this, but the man was no where to be found, and no one saw him leave.

Dear Lord, until we got our little boat out and trailered, I have never really understood what "Peace, be still" can really feel like. Thank you, Master.

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