I Think There’s a God

It’s an exercise in patience. The patience for God to deliver us. We wait.

The tallies carved into the ship’s hull are our record. I only see them from the embers of a fire glowing on deep within our broken home. The fire feeds off pitch and seal bones. It won’t last.

I move about this once great ship. Norwegian timber tested in the Arctic buckled under two sheets of ice the size of the horizon in the Antarctic. The spirit of adventure that blazed in the eyes of the crew has been extinguished. A vacuum has formed. There is nothing but God to fill the void.

Everything outside the hull is blinding if the clouds part. Otherwise, it is a jagged wasteland. I prefer living in the carcass of our failure, cannibalizing our home. I shouldn’t use that word. We give our ship a new purpose, in the spirit of God. The Endurance is reborn with each plank we pry away, each sail we wrap ourselves in, each crew member we deliver to our own salvation.

I wait. Mark my days on Svalbard timber. Burn a few bones. I wait.