Routine

I am a man of routine. Things generally fall into place.

Sitting in my room, I’m spinning on my swivel chair. As I switch between my two keyboards, my fingers are playing two different tones. At one instant, they’re tapping a barely audible Morse code, relaying messages onto the pale white glow of my computer screen. At another instance, they are composing a soft melody, playing for ears that long to hear them.

Despite the moon being unable to shine into the room through the blinds, the room is well lit, with a mix of colors between the different digital screens found scattered around the room. The dark grey and light blue backgrounds of the two computers blend in with the bright red characters found on the clock. The electronic panel of the keyboard contributes a pale palette that only mystifies the dreamscape of colors on the back wall of the room.

Suddenly, the lights black out. The lids to the computers are closed, the keyboard turned off, and the clock alarm set for 7 in the morning. The light coming from a charging cell phone reveals multiple post-it notes scattered across the otherwise clean desk. A scribbling noise is heard, and the moon eavesdrops on the words of a soft prayer that floats out the window with the fresh night breeze.

Some people ask me why I do it, and how I can hold up this routine.

I tell them because I’m happy.

The Sailor

The night is long, and the day is rough. It would seem that the waves have calmed down a little. The man, mature-looking but still well in his youth, pulls out his telescope and looks around; it's all clear, he can relax for the time being. It's been almost a year since he embarked on his last voyage, the smell of adventure out there entices him to come back. He feels like he found his calling, the amazing beauty of the great horizon drew him back out to sea. He is no inexperienced sailor; his last voyage had more than its fair share of hardships and storms rocking his little boat. He was skillful, and navigated the seas for almost two years, before one storm ended the journey.

* * * * *

That fateful night, he had taken his usual preparations for the night, as it didn't seem unusual in any way. As he was slowly ready to call it a night, he spots the unbelievable; the little vessel was headed into one of the worst storms that he had ever witnessed. He had heard tales of such turbulence, but it's one thing to hear about it, and another thing to survive it. With a deep breath, the sailor grips the ropes and bravely navigates ahead. Despite the sailor's best efforts, the violence of the storm was too great, and the vessel capsized. The sailor gripped onto a larger piece of his broken ship, pedaled towards the horizon, and prayed every sunrise to make it back to safety. Although he prayed long and hard, a part of him was lost forever at sea.

* * * * *

One day, after his prayer, he heard the sound of a horn, a fleet of fellow sojourners cruising nearby, and was fortunately rescued by them. As they brought him back to civilization, the sailor was welcomed into the fellowship of travelers, and there he was helped with provisions and a newer, re-built version of his old ship.

* * * * *

He will never forget the help that he got from the fellowship. He will never forget the love and grace of the Lord who answered his prayers and saved him. As he looks into the horizon this time, he only sees the beautiful sunset ahead; it's all clear, he can relax for the time being. It's been almost a year since he embarked on his last voyage, the smell of adventure out there entices him to come back. He has found his calling, and although the waves may get bumpy later, he now just looks and smiles at the setting sun.

As the sailor's boat drifts out to sea again, a soft sigh of content is heard whispered among the lull of the waves.