Check Your Seams

            Many years ago I was driving down an old dirt road in Lexington County when I noticed what appeared to be the nose of an old Carolina Jon boat winking at me from underneath a tattered tarpaulin behind a dilapidated outbuilding; so I pulled to the side of the road to take a closer look.  Afraid somebody would call the cops if I lingered too long, I made the quick assessment of the boat’s nose and its’ tail, which was sticking out of the other end of the tarp, and headed on down the road. From what I saw the paint was all but gone; the transom was rotten; the bottom had some suspicious cracks in it; the seats were mildewed to within an inch of their lives; and from the evidence at hand, it appeared that a large bird had been nesting in the tree above it. Basically the thing was a lost cause. Nonetheless, being the eternal optimist, I decided then and there that if I could figure out a way to sell the idea to Mary without an excessive amount of shuckin’ and jivin’, I wanted that thing.

As many of you know, in my previous life I was a cabinet maker; and I just knew that if I were to gain that prize I could make it into something. I had dreams of restoring that neglected old boat and once again making it the fine watercraft I knew it to be.

To my surprise Mary didn’t object too much. She figured it would keep me out of the house, I suppose. So the next day I went back and knocked on the door like I owned the place, and when an elderly gentleman came to the door, I made him an offer that he could have easily refused, but didn’t. So for the sum of fifty bucks and a smile, I brought home my prize.

Well, that fifty bucks grew as I began the work, but it was worth it. I turned that fourteen foot disaster area into a thirteen foot beauty. She sported a new transom, new seats, beautifully restored woodwork, and a nice paint job. The bottom was repaired and strengthened with fiberglass. A depth finder, compass and other neat gadgets were installed and the icing on the cake was a brand new Mercury 9.9 outboard motor perched on the new transom.

I stepped back when it was finished and knew that my Grandpa Tharpe would be proud. His imagined pride soon worked its way into my chest, which puffed out a bit, and head which grew a bit; and for a while there, I was a mess.

Finally the day came when I was to take the boat, now christened the “Margaret Jane” after my Granny Tharpe, up to the river to try her out. I headed up to the Little River Landing just past the traffic circle in Saluda County. As I drove in I noticed that heads turned as she passed by, and I was fit to be tied. I was ready to bust, as my Granny would say. You would have thought that boat was the head cheerleader, the homecoming queen and valedictorian combined, I was so proud.

So I strutted in, paid my two dollars, made sure the seats were set right, the trolling motor was secure, the battery was hot and the Pepsis were cold. I backed her in, and she sure was a sight. As she came off of the trailer she sat high in the water as pretty as you please for about thirty seconds and then with the sun glinting off of her bow, she went down like a lead weight.

To my dismay I watched as she quietly settled down into the water. Time tends to slow down at times like that. Your blood turns to molasses in your veins, your feet become lead, your mind struggles to take it in, and you just stand there stunned. My stupor was short lived though for with a muffled thump, a slight grating sound, and a satisfied gurgle or two she settled to the bottom and came to rest.        

When the buzzing in my ears subsided, I noticed sounds behind me and as I turned around, I discovered I had an audience. Five or six fellow fishermen were behind me watching the travesty unfold with what appeared to be expressions of detached curiosity on their faces. When they noticed that I had noticed them, however, they being fishermen and boat lovers themselves sprang into action, and within just a few minutes my soggy masterpiece was back on the trailer.    

As the water cascaded out of the drain which I had so carefully drilled in the bottom of the transom, a fisherman by the name of Jimmy held up the drain plug and with a pleasant smile informed me that in the future it would be best to plug the drain before I launched the boat. I thanked him and muttering under my breath, headed home.

It has been about fifteen years since that incident but every now and again I run into Jimmy and his sly grin reminds me that pride does indeed come before a fall. 
 
I tell this story to make a simple point. Namely, it doesn’t matter how pretty your boat is, or how proud you are of it, if there is a hole in the bottom, and you don’t plug the hole, trouble will soon follow.
 
The same holds true for the spiritual life. So check your seams. Is your spirit leaking out and letting the world in to invade your peace and tarnish your joy? If so then shore that leaking life up with prayer and study and doing the things of God. Life is way too short to spend it sitting on the bottom looking up.
 
Love,
Pastor Tony