Many years ago, when I was a young reporter on the Daily Colonist in Victoria, British Columbia, I went for a maiden cruise on a small sailing boat I had just bought. Because I was a very spiritual person, or thought I was, I had named my boat “Vision.”

The little sloop was 21 feet long, and had a cabin and a valiant but unreliable 4hp inboard engine. Being so spiritual, and also a poet, I tended to look down on material things. Not boats, mind you. I loved boats with a passion. But I looked down on engines, certainly, and being quite ignorant about anything mechanical, it was always a moot point whether the engine would come through for me in a pinch or not.

The first day of my sail proved to be quite intense. It was my own fault, but late in the afternoon, because of poor planning and zero knowledge of navigation, I found myself trying to negotiate a narrow pass between two islands just as the tide was turning against me. A strong wind blew up, just to add to the fun, and I felt a twinge of trepidation as I looked at the chaos of choppy water and swirling eddies to which I had committed myself.

I was concerned whether my little engine would keep going, and I was concerned whether it had enough power to get me through the pass. I kept looking anxiously at a fixed point on shore to see if I was making any progress. Often it seemed to me I was standing still – if not going backwards.

But eventually I did get through the pass, and as evening was falling, through no foresight on my part, I reached the safety of a beautiful little cove.

There was no other boat in sight as I left the open sea behind and ghosted across the velvet surface of the cove. It was like being in a cathedral. There was but a whisper of a breeze, and as I looked around me at the tree-lined shores and at the stars I felt enveloped in a cocoon of peace unlike anything I had ever known.

It was an experience that seared into me like a burning flame and I knew in every fiber of my soul that my quest for a deeper meaning and purpose in life was not foolish.

I knew I must keep going no matter what others thought, or what the world said. And I knew, most glorious of all, that I really could trust the truth. I would be provided for. No matter what happened, the hand of peace I had touched in an unknown cove in British Columbia would be with me always.

Touching the hand of God one quiet night is a post from: The Happy Seeker - Living with grace at any age