True Bearings

I’m not good with my hands. The talents that other men take for granted, you know—things like engine work or carpentry—those skills have eluded me throughout my life. I’m a thinking man. I understand concepts of molecular movement and comprehend all of the theories involving the flow of electrons. Sometimes I wish it were the other way around, but then again, my complaints would only then be construed as shallow.

The air conditioning repairman that occasionally visits my house will attest to my failed handiwork. Many times I’ve watched him shake his head in disbelief; incredulous at circuit changes I’ve made to my outside unit on the fly or in an emergency. Most of the times the things I do out there work, (for a little while) but they are not pretty. I’ve also had my share of snafus when it comes to simple tasks like oil changes—I sheepishly admit to a time when I removed the wrong drain plug and emptied the fluid needlessly from a perfectly functioning transmission.

I concede these shortcomings to address another—in an effort to somehow enable you, dear reader, to understand what I went through during my first assignment in the United States Coast Guard. I was in Panama City Beach, Florida back in late 1985, and I had arrived to fill the position of a crewman on a 41-foot small boat at the station. Certain jobs were reserved for new members of the unit, and somehow they involved every task I had proven to be least proficient in. I painted, washed decks, cleaned oil spills, and assisted seasoned mechanics with routine engine work. It was less than a match made in Heaven, I tell ya.

Other duties involved being a rescue swimmer, and I could do that. An early life spent mostly along the banks of the Hobolochitto had made me proficient when it came to being around water. So my handyman skills as a crewman coupled with a part time responsibility to swim was a trade-off—a ‘wash’ if you will. “Seaman Johnson is terrible with his hands, but man, the boy sure can swim!” Well, that’s how the XO put it anyway.

It was while I was filling the billet as a crewman that I discovered another thing I was not good at, not at first anyway. A crewman was also required to steer the boat when the coxswain (boat captain) was busy performing other duties. The coxswain would call me into the cabin and tell me to take the wheel, for example, and order me to keep the boat on a heading of 270 degrees. Sounds simple enough to someone who has never done it (it did to me) but there is a lot more to it than that.

Placed conspicuously in front of the helm, or steering wheel, sat the binnacle. Housed inside its glass dome was the compass; an outer ring displaying measurements in degrees. To keep a heading of 270 degrees, you turned the steering wheel (helm) and the compass moved in response. As the compass turned you could line up the boat at whatever degree matched the required course. At first, it is hard to handle, because in order to get the boat to turn and line up with the correct course, I learned that you had to go against what appeared to be normal. In other words, if I wanted to make the compass move to the right, I needed to turn the wheel left, and vice-versa. Eventually I was able to perform this task without too much forethought—I had to learn to ignore my instincts and what felt right to me and instead follow what I understood by merely watching the compass.

This worked fine until the coxswain had to navigate through a tight channel. At that point he would call out to me things like ‘starboard five degrees’ or ‘to the port seven degrees’ and I’d have to look at my hands to get it straight in my mind that port was left and starboard was right--much like a second grader counting his fingers during a simple math exercise. Behind the boat, meanwhile, our wake would usually resemble the path of a snake that had spent far too much time in the wine cellar. Once again, I found that although I enjoy navigation and can read maps better than the average person, when it came to putting that knowledge to use via my traitorous hands—I was simply no good at it, period. I did get better with time and experience, and eventually I learned to trust the compass and ignore what my mechanically-challenged hands wanted to do.

I’ve found it’s the same way when you are performing a daily walk with G_d. Sometimes the world shows you ways that seem to make more sense in life, or it feels right to go routes you shouldn’t. It’s hard to be like Josiah: “And he did that which was right in the sight of the LORD, and walked in the ways of David his father, and declined neither to the right hand, nor to the left.” My ways are not His ways, and what might appear to be a good idea or a correct choice of action on my part may not always line up with what He has planned for me. I have to let go and trust in Him—in so doing my course lines up to the true bearing that He would have me take.

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