The Relationship Boat

You and a friend are in a canoe, oars in your hands, heading out on an adventure. You’re paddling away, visiting waterfalls, canyons, and placid streams, chit chatting. After a while, you find yourself getting tired and weary. When you take a break, your boat stops moving. Confused, you turn around. Your mate hasn’t been oaring. They’re staring into space, or looking at other boats, or sleeping. Worst of all is when you turn around, and you realize you’re all alone.

I read this analogy in a relationship book, with the idea that you can’t paddle your relationships alone. Remembering broken or lost friendships over the years, my heart tightened and my eyes brimmed.

Our family took the analogy further, thinking of what types of boats each of us would be in. For example, my 9 year old would have a fun-boat, with trampolines and water slides. My 13 year old would have a mechanical boat with pulleys and gadgets.

We kept the analogy going. Some people are boat hoppers. Others try and cram too many people into their boat and start sinking. Some are afraid of getting in any boat at all and just wade around. Others are in the water because they’ve been tossed out of another boat. Some people are the ones who push the people out of their boats!

What’s my boat like?

Of course I can relate to all of the above. Being in a boat, alone, when you think someone has your back, is a desperately lonely place to be.

Yet I’m told I am never alone.

I look back, and Jesus is sitting there, the brightest smile on his face, dark hair blowing gently in the breeze. His eyes shine, and He knows my heart. He reaches out to me, and I hand him my oars. They’re full of holes and chips and aren’t much good anyway. I see that He has oars that are crisp and new and strong, and He’s more than happy to do the paddling.

For awhile, I look forward, close my eyes, and smile, facing the sun, letting the warm rays instill in a me a sense of peace. I stretch out my arms and bask in the moment. But then I hear him gesture, directing my gaze to someone in the water. She needs our help.

My hands are free, since I’m not oaring, and I can help her get up and back into her boat. Another woman has a hole in her boat. I can help her patch it. Another woman waves hello, and we stop and chat for a bit.

And as I move from place to place, where he steers, I meet many people along the way. Sometimes we hook our boats together for security, for rougher places along the stream. But then we go our different directions on the lake when the turbulence has passed.

Sometimes a boater will stay for a long time, or come in and out of our stream, and we laugh and enjoy the moments.

Overall, the passengers who come and go are never made to be riding with me forever. Only one passenger promised to come and stay and never leave. He’s the pilot, the driver, the friend who will never leave or forsake.

And that’s an analogy I can hold onto until we’re face to face.

So, what is your boat like?