Harbored

I snapped this picture while on a mother-daughter getaway in Wisconsin's Door County last spring. I've turned to this photo many times, wondering why I'm drawn to it. What is it about it that speaks something deep to my heart? If I can't define it, is it worth pondering?

Here in the throes of another early snowstorm, the kind that spreads a layer of ice first in order to give the snow something to slide on, it's just natural that I would find blue skies and non-frozen water appealing. But it's more than that. Green leaves on the trees? Lush, but more than that. The reminder that spring in Wisconsin offers air that won't freeze your lung lining when inhaled? Maybe that's it.

No. It's the sailboat. The lone sailboat at rest.

Tethered in its slip, the boat is not currently performing the task for which it was designed. It's at rest. Harbored. Waiting.

I wonder if it is restless. Does it strain against the moorings because it is eager to get on with it, to serve, to move, to go places, to offer its owner the benefit of its gifts?

Looking at it, I'd have to say it looks content, satisfied to wait for the day the owner walks down the length of the concrete pier, hops aboard, releases her from her moorings, unfurls her sails, and with a gentle push away from the immovable pier says, "Okay, girl. Let's see where the wind takes us today."

When the Lord comes down the pier to release me from the ropes that keep me in the harbor, will He find me resting but ready? Or restless?