The first time I heard the saying, “Pray to God and row to shore,” I didn’t have time to ponder its meaning because I was too busy rowing a boat. A fellow rower in the boat spotted shore off into the distance (or the wooden dock in our case), and hollered the phrase from his seat in the bow. I found out later it’s an old Russian proverb for sailors. It didn’t seem theologically profound at the time, just an old expression or saying to urge us on. It did, however, remind me of the popular Bible verse in James where he explains how faith without works is dead. Later, I would personally learn an essential element to add to the sailor’s proverb.
A few years ago, when I turned sixty, I decided it was time to check “row a boat” off my bucket list. Not the canoe kind-of-boat Lewis and Clark paddled down the Columbia River in with Sacagawea, but an 8-Seater Harvard sweep kind-of-boat with a port and starboard side. I never attended college, but if I had I would have joined the rowing team. I daydreamed rowing in a boat with my team as it swept across the water with the spray and the wind in my hair to the rhythm of Enja’s, “Sail Away.”
To my delight, I discovered the city of Omaha boasted a rowing team. The ORA welcomed membership for all ages and skill levels, whether a beginner, recreational or on Creighton University’s rowing team. It was spring and the start of rowing season. I signed up and outfitted myself in Eddie Bauer clothes, Ray-Ban sunglasses, and a PBA free water bottle from Whole Foods. I couldn’t wait to experience the thrill of rowing a boat in sync with other rowers. I was all in.
After a week’s training, we finally launched a real boat into the real water. I learned on our first day that once the boat is in full sweep, we’re not allowed to stop rowing unless it’s an emergency. Our instructor, when I stopped rowing to scratch my nose and almost catapulted everyone out of the boat, took advantage of this great example of “what not to do” as an opportunity to lecture his point. Muscled up handsome instructor in flip-flops with mega horn: “But if in the rare occasion you have a real emergency, remember to call out ‘Way-nuf,’ the command for all rowers to stop rowing.” E-nuf said. I was beginning to understand why sailors were a praying bunch.
In Beginners and Recreational teams, we paddle away from the dock and then sweep around the lake at five-minute intervals and head back to the dock. Did I mention we row backwards? We rowed to a dock we couldn’t see because we sit with our backs to the bow which is technically the front of the boat. This is when I learned to appreciate the coxswain. He or she sat at the stern of the boat facing the travel route and directed our strokes. Wow. I never noticed the scenery moving in the opposite direction when watching the Olympic rowing games on T.V., or newsreels of Prince Harry rowing down the Thames.
After a full month of rowing under my belt, and reading all the books on rowing, I decided I didn’t want to row with beginners anymore. I needed to live the dream. To feel the spray; to see the shores of Tripoli. I decided to skip the next level, which is recreational, and join the competitive team. This is the Masters which consisted of the Creighton team and adults who have rowed for years. Try not to get ahead of me.
It only took my first row to find out what kind of trouble I was in. Even though the muscled up 20-year old “hammers” in front and behind me were carrying the load, I found out they row in thirty-minute intervals without stopping! No matter I rowed in sync, and my form stellar; after ten minutes, I wanted to throw up. I also remembered I turned sixty and could have a heart attack; my only comfort in that was at least I would have catapulted everyone out of the boat under the rules. Mercifully, the coxswain yelled, “easy,” and we were allowed a five-minute break to drink water and scratch our noses.
Then the coxswain ordered us to turn around and head back to the dock, rowing another thirty-minute interval without stopping. Isn’t there a tug boat or a barge for those of us who want to bail? What about a helicopter and Navy Seal to rescue me? The coxswain told us to position “at the catch,” which means prepare to row. I got into position and I prepared to pray. “Sit ready,” the coxswain barked, and then the dreaded: “Ready all, row.”
With my eyes set on the coxswain, I listened to his every command. I couldn’t see the way, but trusted as he steered us toward the dock and away from rocks that lined the shores of Carter Lake. He could see the way; he controlled the rudder. I gained confidence with each stroke. I felt stronger and more confident with this second interval because he brought us safely through the first one. I felt the spray, the wind and the sun—the journey. Rowing backwards began to feel natural. The more my muscles relaxed the more power went into my stroke. I didn’t even feel like throwing up. But hearing the coxswain’s command to ease to a stop couldn’t have come sooner, and I welcomed the swaying of the boat as it slowed and eased in the water. With our chests heaving we paddled to the dock, the coxswain guiding us in till the team and boat were secured.
After boat maintenance and performing our perfunctory jumping jacks, I got in my car and drove home—exhilarated! I did it. I couldn’t wait till next week. Proud that I had made it to the dock without drama, and thankful I had a second chance to return to the Recreational team where I belonged, alive. It seems I learned a lot about rowing; but I learned more about my relationship to God.
I rowed two more years with the ORA and loved every minute of it. I even experienced a few Enja moments even if it was for only five minutes. And that essential element I learned, missing in the proverb uttered by Russian sailors years ago? It’s just this—I need to allow God’s hand on the rudder. Whether I’m in a boat or living my life, I need to pray, and I need to row—but mostly, I need to trust him to guide and to steer me while I’m blindly rowing backwards full speed ahead to the shore.