It was a light wind day,
the breeze as lazy as a cat curled in a spot of sun.
“Trial Island?” coach asked.
“Yes!” shouts rang.
I, the rookie, blinked, “Trial Island?”
Four miles we sailed, each in a boat, to a lighthouse squatting on jagged rocks.
Here was wind enough to put me to the fret.
Here were heaving swells, undulating like horses in full gallop—
surf bigger than I’d ever known.
“Father,” I prayed, “help me not give way to fear.”
“Take each wave, one at a time,”
came the “still, small voice” to my eager ears.
