Adrift uncertain, on a sea of sadness . . .

03 Feb

A small boat drifts on the massive swells of a broad expanse of ocean, without direction, moving aimlessly among groups of land masses, each island offering vistas of white beaches, grassy slopes and forested areas, each a mirrored image of the others, with nothing to distinguish between one island’s attractions and the attractions offered by any of the others.

The vessel is fitted with a small motor, adequate to move the boat and its occupant from water to land, but the engine is silent, the motor tilted up—nothing on any island appeals to the drifter, nothing that would cause him to lower the motor and aim for land.

Each island beckons equally, and although the lone occupant of that small vessel has no preference for any particular island, he longs to land on one or another, just to quell the aimless roaming and find some footing more substantial than that furnished by the unpredictable forces of wind and waves.

The previous three paragraphs are meant to introduce the author of this blog, the king of Texas, a king that embarked on a lonely voyage following the death of his wife late in November of last year. That king is now drifting aimlessly toward the end of the third month of his voyage into a void, a place that is completely foreign to him. For the past 58 years he was anchored firmly, albeit in many different locations, by the love he received and the love he gave to the young woman he married in 1952.

That anchor held firm through fair weather and foul, through gales and ice storms and tsunamis caused by volcanic upheavals generated and fostered by long separations. In one instance over the years the anchor broke loose from its bottom moorings but the chain held fast, and the anchor eventually found its former firm grip and returned the marriage vessel to a normal keel, and for that I thank the anchor, God and all the angels in heaven.

On Thursday, the eighteenth of November 2010 at precisely 9:15 in the evening my anchor—my wife—broke free from life’s anchor chain and returned to her Maker. Her earthly body is at peace—she lies in her casket in Section 71, Plot 47 in San Antonio’s Fort Sam Houston National Cemetery, and her soul is free in heaven. Her faith in God and her love for me are voiced on her headstone:

Cry not for me—I wait for thee

Some viewers may find this posting, these thoughts and the thoughts that follow sacrilegious and perhaps doubt my sincerity, but if they could see the tears streaming down my cheeks as I write this, they perhaps might feel differently. Should anyone have doubts concerning my sincerity, I will state positively, unequivocally and irrevocably that on the night my wife died I found God—I felt God’s presence and I believe that I witnessed some of God’s handiwork, and I am now in search of Jesus to complete the Trinity of the Father, the Son and the Holy Ghost. You can click here for the story of my finding God by witnessing His power.

As an aside to this post, I believe that I found Jesus yesterday on February 2, 2011 at 9:00 AM as I was driving on Loop 410 West in San Antonio, Texas. That belief will be the subject of a future posting—please stay tuned.

That’s my story and I’m sticking to it.


Posted by on February 3, 2011 in death, drivers, driving, freeways, funeral, Military


Tags: , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , ,

2 responses to “Adrift uncertain, on a sea of sadness . . .

  1. Alyce

    February 9, 2011 at 1:02 am

    I appreciate the way you worded that, Mike, and I know I drifted aimlessly for awhile after my Mom’s death. I really thought I was handling things pretty good until several of my friends told me to get some help or counseling, that I wasn’t handling it, that I was different. At first I thought, no way, they are wrong, but eventually realized they weren’t. It was very hard for me to admit that and to go to group counseling—a friend went with me the first time. I sat there and listened to others and knew in my heart that I was angry, and hurt. I normally would not have said much in those meetings, but I found myself talking and talking and letting out all of those things I felt, the anger and the hurt. It took me a couple of months of going, but afterward I was thankful that friends encouraged me to do so. I know I personally need to let go of things like that and let God take care of them. God helped me in so many times, and sometimes I just figured He was too busy to hear what I felt or had to say, but I was wrong in that and I realize it. When we lose someone we love from this earth, sometimes the pain is unbearable, and we think we can’t go on, but Mom always told me that God won’t give us more than we can bear. We turn to him for help, but we also have to help ourselves. Some of those lessons have been hard for me to learn, and each day is a learning process, learning to have that kind of faith like my Mom had, no worries, nothing, just letting it go and letting God have it. I pray God guides you, Mike, through all you do now. Take care, love ya, Alyce

    • thekingoftexas

      February 9, 2011 at 7:36 am

      Hi, Alyce,

      Thanks for visiting and thanks for the comment. You are one of those remarkable people that wear their heart on their sleeve, and are unashamedly and unselfconsciously willing to share their feelings, expressed openly with the dual purpose of understanding and controlling their own emotions and helping others understand and control theirs.

      Thanks for your input and your advice, and as for your closing statement of Take care, love ya—right back at ya!



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