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The sloop angled northward toward British Columbia, its gossamer sails billowing white with the same stark brightness of the distant Cascade Mountains. To the south, a clot of powerboats, ferries, and sailboats carried summer cruisers and tourists toward the Seattle waterfront. I relaxed on my friend’s porch, Bible in my lap, eyes scanning the promises of God and wondering when He would heal my family’s tiny plot of land. Though we clipped coupons, spent frugally, and sold off assets, our budget remained in a drought. Was it pride that had led us to this place? My sin? Though I prayed daily for provision, perhaps God had whispered from afar and I’d missed his calling.
When I looked up from my Bible, I found the small sloop stuck near the same channel marker. Though its sails bulged and rails dipped toward the water, the vessel hovered on the water moving neither north or south. The sailboat struggled to move forward, its shiny blue hull caught in the tidal current sweeping in from the Pacific.
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