Seamanship is the "art of living according to the rules of the sea...it means committing yourself to the problems of the voyage, from the initial planning through the final execution, with a complete acceptance of responsibility for your actions". Your seamanship is the measure by which you partake in the wisdom of the sea. John Dowd Less than two weeks have gone by since returning from my time on the Georgian Bay in Ontario, Canada. The calming and sometime eerie calls of the loons in the evenings has been replaced by the sounds of traffic and ice cream trucks passing by. Both the lapping and crashing of waves against the island rocks is now drowned out by the early morning birds that linger in the tree outside my bedroom window and the loud thunderclaps which I enjoy from inside my dry apartment. Perhaps the only sound that has not faded upon my return is the sound of laughter and peoples' voices rising and falling as they tell stories amidst a community of friends. My community. So what was in Canada? Every year, CCO XD leads a 10-day kayaking trip to the Georgian Bay called Crossings. It is aimed towards graduating seniors, focusing on what it looks like to transition well from college (or just a world of academia) to the "real" world. Three students (plus myself) participated and two of my fellow staff members led. That's right - a participant. So why, you may ask, wasn't I leading this trip? Simply this: Going out, I knew nothing about kayaking. Besides my epic day of paddling in Pittsburgh in the fall, I hadn't so much as gotten in one and paddled around a pond. Plus, I was getting the chance to reflect on my first full year on CCO staff. And, let me be the first to say, I'm not going to argue just being able to take in the experience! Let me take a step back from the explaining of why to paint, in broad strokes, a picture of our time together for you. Six women, living and learning together, waiting out thunderstorms under a tarp for a day or two at a time, paddling from island to island, cooking food in and out of the rain, developing confidence to kayak through white-capped waves, chasing off raccoons from eating our food, watching several black bears eating from a distance, and waiting for fog as thick as pea-soup to lift so we could see our destination beyond. It was in the midst of that that our discussions stemmed. The laughter and the stories. The sharing of wisdom about what lies ahead. Asking of questions - How do I find a church? What do I do? Where should I live? How do you make friends, find a community? What does it look like to live on your own? What are the hardest parts of leaving behind a defined world and trying to define new boundaries? For me, it was a space to remember what it was like to go through that transition and all the pain and confusion and good things tangled up in that. To lay my experiences on the table, like a hand of cards, and invite others to speak into them, learn from them and allow the door of healing and forgiveness to be cracked open. But mostly, it was a learning that I have a heart, brimming to overflow with all of these things I've been holding onto, that I need to allow others to speak into. So that I can begin to lay them before God. To not be picked up again. And realizing that I have a community here, in Pittsburgh, that loves me. That desires to know me. That, despite all the tangled emotions I feel after being on a trip - the coming back and struggling to explain what it is I experienced - still wants to hear the stories. Not only did I forge a community of amazing women on the trip, but I get to commit to a community beyond the trip. I get to continue those conversations and trying to figure out what I can change for this coming year...and what I need to allow God space to change. I get to partake in the wisdom of the sea beyond the sea...
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