I expect my husband’s family reunion to be a day full of faces with names I can’t keep straight. I expect to take up tomorrow where I left off yesterday. But, then, one of the cousins plays an audio tape of a great-uncle telling old family stories. One of the stories grips me like a bulldog that won’t let go.
“Loren! Loren!”
Even over the whining wind and crashing waves, Loren heard Peder’s desperate screams. Memories flooded over him, making the decision more wrenching.
Loren and his cousin Peder had grown up together on the coast of nineteenth-century Norway. All their adult life they fished together, just as on this voyage.
Sixteen boats from several coastal villages sailed together to the northern waters near Greenland. One night the stars disappeared behind boiling black clouds. Wind whipped. Waves crashed over the boats.
These fisherman furled the sails—they dared run only under bare poles. Loren sent his nine crewmen to the hold. He fastened the safety line around his own waist and stayed on deck to guide his craft.
For three long nights and days Loren fought to keep his fishing vessel afloat. Dark hours crawled by—hours of riding high on one wave, dropping into the trough between waves, then washing high onto another, hours of icy wind and frigid saltwater stinging his eyes. Daylight hours brought their own horror—the previous morning several boats had been missing.
Another wave struck. Loren’s boat shuddered. He knew his nine crewmen below were pumping out water that seeped in. He heard them pound caulking into cracks.
Is it worth the fight? Loren’s stomach tightened into knots. Who will tell the widows? He dared not think long about the missing vessels and their crewmen. Nine men below fight with me. And they’re depending on me.
As dawn lightened the sky and his boat rode the crest of another wave, Loren strained to see the other vessels—one, two, three . . . four. He shuddered. Eleven boats missing. He scanned the horizon. Only four. And one of those four wallowed deep in the water.
The boat ahead belonged to his cousin Peder. It rode high, in no immediate danger.
The sinking boat foundered off the port bow of Peder’s boat. The crew had already come up out of the hold onto the deck. They’d done all they could.
Then Peder’s boat turned toward the sinking vessel. Loren’s heart sank. “No, Peder! No!” he screamed. “Don’t turn!” Helpless, he watched.
A towering wave crashed broadside against Peder’s boat. It wavered an instant, then rolled like a log in water. It disappeared with its crewmen trapped in the hold.
When Peder’s boat capsized, the mast broke off. The mast, with Peder still tied to it, surged on the waves not far ahead and to port of Loren’s boat. “Loren!” Peder screamed. “Loren!”
Even over the whining wind and crashing waves Loren heard Peder’s desperate screams. Peder waved to Loren. Loren started for a rope, then realized the longest one onboard wasn’t long enough. Peder struggled on the waves almost close enough. Almost.
Every possible means of saving Peder flashed through Loren’s mind. Just as quickly, he discarded each. Only one thing would work—turning the boat to get closer.
Memories flooded Loren’s mind. Childhood, school days, fishing. Playing together, working together, celebrating together. He and Peder were like brothers.
Loren’s boat was fast overtaking Peder. Loren must make a decision . . . now. He started to turn his boat. A towering wave crashed against the stern. If I turn this boat, he told himself, it too goes down. My nine crewmen are depending on me.
“Loren!” Peder screamed again. “Loren!”
Loren, freezing cold from three days tied to the mast in bitter wind, wet from icy waves crashing over him, began to sweat. I can’t leave Peder. I can’t! Another wave hit full force. The boat shuddered. But if I don’t leave Peder, nine more fishermen go down. And they have wives and children. If I turn to save Peder, there’ll be more widows and orphans.
The wind’s roar couldn’t drown the agony in Loren’s mind. I must save Peder! . . . I can’t save him . . . I have to try . . . It’s not possible . . . I must . . . I can’t . . .
Loren knew that to save the several below he must leave the one most precious to him. Tears mingled with salt spray on weatherworn cheeks. He closed his eyes. He held the boat steady, straight ahead into the storm.
“Loren! Loren! Lo . . .” The desperate screams gradually faded.
The storyteller continues. But, for me, his voice dulls. I am living the tragedy with Peder, with Loren.
But in Peder’s screams I hear another cry from another time, a cry from a cross—”My God! My God!”
My mind carries me to the throne room of heaven. I see, as it were, God the Father break into a cold sweat. Jesus is more precious to Him than any child has ever been to any human parent. The taunts of the mocking crowd claw at His Father-heart. He gasps, torn from the pain written all over Jesus’ face. He trembles as Jesus’ cry echoes through the courts of heaven, “My God! My God! Why have you forsaken me?”
A storm rages in the Father’s mind. He longs to tear the spikes from Jesus’ hands and feet. And He can. He can snatch His Son off the cross in an instant and whisk Him off to heaven. Though He knows there’ll be a resurrection, He can hardly bear to let Jesus suffer and die. “But we cannot save the many,” He whispers, “unless sin’s price is paid.”
So, God the Father, tears streaming down His cheeks, holds back the powers of heaven when He wants most to unleash them. He stands silent when He wants to proclaim in trumpet tones the depth of the issues of sin and righteousness. The Father denies His deepest present desire because He wants to spend eternity . . . with me.
I shudder as I visualize what Calvary cost the Father. He, too, gave all—all for His love for me.
I leave the reunion still unsure of which name to connect with which face. But I’m absolutely positive of one thing—all of heaven loves me. All of heaven yearns for my fellowship.
Question:
Your reactions?
