Billy Coffey

storyteller

In The Boat

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My kids got books for Christmas. For my daughter, chapter books. For my son, nursery rhymes.

Though my daughter is well on her way to fluency in reading, my son is still a little young. I get to read his books to him. One would perhaps think this would be an excruciating experience. After all, how many times can you read about Jack and Jill before you start to throw up a little in your mouth?

But over the years I have learned that wisdom can be found most anywhere. Taking a walk can give you wisdom. The people you’re around every day can give you wisdom. Kids are a fantastic source. And so are the things they read.

All of this reading to my son has put me in a very philosophical mood. It gets you pondering things.

Take life, for instance. You could compare this world to a beautiful stream, big and powerful enough to almost be called a river, but not quite. It winds and flows and no one knows exactly where it begins or ends, just that it does somewhere sometime. It is a grand thing, this stream. Its beauty and wonder can never truly be described, though many have tried.

We are all there on that stream. All of us. And we each have our own boat. Our boats provide us with a place to sit, a roof to give us shelter, and two big, sturdy oars that can take us wherever we wish. Some people think they have a better boat than others. They think their boat is a little roomier and more comfortable. And that’s fine. Others take great pains to decorate their boats. They paint them and varnish them and go to great lengths to make sure their boats are different from everyone else’s. It might seem that is indeed the case, but in truth all of our boats are pretty much the same, and we all have everything we need.

Lots of people don’t like the fact that their boat has oars. They say having oars means you have to try. They disagree with the notion that you have to work to get where you want to go. God should have given us sails, they say. So in their laziness they moan and complain and never use their oars. These people don’t get very far down the stream. Sure, sometimes the current moves them along a little, but mostly they just turn around and around and never really go anywhere.

Other people use their oars as hard and as often as they can. They never slow down. They think the whole point of the boat and the stream is to beat everyone else. They have to win the race, even though no one is sure if there is a race or not or, if there is, what constitutes the finish line. So they row and row and row. And many times, just when they get their speed up, they crash into some rocks or tumble down a waterfall.

The stream might be beautiful, but there is still danger around. You have to be careful. But these people are so focused on being the first and the best that they miss the pleasures of traveling down the stream. They don’t realize that using the oars too much is just as bad as not using them at all. You can’t force your oars. Better was to just go along gently. We’ll all get there eventually after all. Easy does it. Better for the soul, I think.

Other people are more in touch with the situation. They realize that they are going to have to use the oars if they want to get anywhere, so they do. Things are fine for a while, but then they begin to tire out. Using the oars is necessary, they say, but it is also a burden. They, too, forget the fun involved, the pleasures of heading farther and farther down the stream, and their hearts harden. The whole thing becomes work. And it doesn’t seem that they are moving much anyway, no matter how hard they try. The whole boat-and-stream thing is just stupid, they say. They hate the water and they hate the God who put them there. The smile they might have once had is now a frown, and when their boat passes another’s there are no pleasant greetings or warm welcomes, just anger and resentment.

That isn’t the way God wanted us to navigate the stream, either. Sure, it’s hard, but we have to enjoy ourselves. You have to have some fun along the way.

Finally, there are the folks who think there is nothing but the stream. They study the stream, analyze the currents, and theorize about how it all came to be. Their eyes are fixed on what is beneath them, but not what is around them. In all of their pontificating and study, they fail to see what is right in front of them. They travel along with nothing to look forward to. Except, of course, for reaching the end. That isn’t the way to go, either. Dreams and faith and all the other things that no one can see are the most important things when you go down the stream.

I’ve known all of this for a while, but I was never quite sure how to communicate it. Not until the other night. Not until I read:

Row, row, row your boat
Gently down the stream,
Merrily, merrily, merrily, merrily
Life is but a dream.

I’ve had a rocky ride down that stream sometimes, but I’ve always tried to keep rowing. It’s not easy, but then again, the point seems to be not to make things easier, but better. And all the sights along the way make the trip worthwhile.

I don’t fear reaching the end of the stream, either. By that time I figure my arms will be tired and I will need some rest. So when the time comes to put down my oars and get out of my boat, I may just have that wise children’s song on my tombstone.

Because life really is but a dream. And death? Death is simply when we wake up.

Tagged

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I’ve been entangled in a virtual game of tag.

Caught by Sarah Lopez over at God’s Not Finished With Us Yet. I’ve seen this around in the blogging world and figured that sooner or later I would get a turn. So, thanks to Sarah for allowing me to participate.

The rules are simple: list six random or weird facts about yourself, and then tag six others.

Writing six random or weird facts about me is pretty easy, since I am generally both random and weird. Trying to figure out which six, though, was quite a challenge. So here they are, in no particular order:

1. As a senior in high school, I was scouted by four colleges and one major league baseball team. My future was set. Then I blew my shoulder on the next-to-last game of the year, and never played again.

2. Though by all accounts a manly man, I will flee hysterically from a clown. Any clown. Would someone please explain to me why clowns aren’t the most horrifying things in the universe?

3. I will go to the store and by anything except toilet paper. You will never catch me with it. Ever.

4. I cannot go to bed at night without watching one episode of The Andy Griffith Show.

5. At seventeen, I saved a girl from suicide. She wanted to thank me in person, but I was too shy to meet her.

6. I once had over a thousand dollars worth of baseball cards. I sold them all to buy my wife’s engagement ring.

And in the spirit of keeping the ball rolling, I will invite…

Lynn Rush
Jennifer Lee
Chris Godfredsen
Sharilyn
Carol
Becki

Resolutions

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My New Year’s Resolution lasted exactly twelve hours and thirty-seven minutes. A new record. All because I didn’t bother asking for any help.

Doesn’t really matter what my resolution was. Nothing major or life-altering. I’ve learned my lesson in that regard. There is a rule for making resolutions, and that is to keep them small. Manageable. I’ve tried the big resolutions, the ones that promise to change you and change you well, but the result was always still the same. “Shoot for the moon,” the expression goes. Because even if you miss, you’ll land among the stars. While that aphorism is inspiring, it isn’t very realistic. Most times you’ll miss the moon and the stars and crash somewhere in the desert.

Trust me. I know.

Still, I like the thought of bettering oneself. Of fixing the broken things in us and changing our outlook or our place in life. And that’s what resolutions are for. It is, perhaps, the only time of the year some people take an honest look at themselves: what is wrong? What will make me a better person?

And this, the big one: what should I change?

My resolution involved change. A change of behavior and habit that, while harming no one but me and even then only slightly, proved too difficult for me to do. And that’s frustrating. If I can’t even change one small thing about me, what can I change?

In a word, nothing. Me, you, the nice folks down the road, we’re all the same. We’re fallen creatures in need of a great amount of help. And without that help, we can do nothing.

Six years ago found me at a crossroads in my life. I was sick, both within and without. Ready to find the nearest tall building so I could make a slow trip up and a fast trip down. The problem? Well, the problem was that I was thirty years old and still suffering from the same problem I was at sixteen. I was tired of ignoring it, and more tired of fighting it. Every year I would vow a change, and every day after would prove that change wouldn’t be coming.

Help finally came by the counselor at church, so sat me down on one snowy day in March and told me four things.

One was that God was the only one who could change me.

Two was that God would only change me if I asked Him.

Three was that I would only ask Him if I was truly ready to change.

And four was that I would only be truly ready when the pain of staying the same was greater than the pain of changing.

I’d waited my whole life to hear those words.

I think we all want to change something about us. But it’s hard, isn’t it? Hard because change hurts. It’s work. Tough, sweaty labor that leaves us weak and exhausted. It’s easy to give up. Easy to put things off until tomorrow or next week or next year. Because let’s face it, the pain of changing is often a lot worse than the pain of staying the same.

But we aren’t called to stay the same, are we?

We are called to become more. More than we know or dream. More than we can do on our own. So don’t be afraid to ask for a little help to change, whether that help comes from a friend, a counselor, or prayer. There isn’t anyone alive who doesn’t need an ear to whisper to, a shoulder to cry on, or a pair of arms to rest in. Everyone needs help from time to time. Even God needs two mountains to make a valley.

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