Fellowship; A Short Story

Normally, I don’t do a ton of editing and revision for blog posts. It probably shows, but I’d rather share a quick post with you when I can than insist on perfection and not post at all. I just can't give months of forethought to each one. This story is a little different. It grew in my mind for a while and I tried to get it on paper here and there. It took place in a couple different worlds before it came home to this Venetian-style setting. If it were going to be published, it would still need a little ironing. But I did get a couple more sets of eyes on it, so hopefully its enjoyable.

This is how the idea grew: Nic and I have been honored to have many valuable friends and discipleship relationships. I’ve always wished I could gather all of those people we love so much and start a colony or something. I just wish I could keep all of my favorite people! But that’s not the way it works. God has prepared work for all of us and sometimes that leads us different places. A recent conversation with one of my faves reminded me how God’s desire for his church is multiplication. This requires growing our immediate group of brothers and sisters until finally, we must divide. It’s a beautiful thing, even when it’s hard to do. It means God’s Kingdom is growing.

Enjoy this little short. It welcomes you into the picture in my mind whenever we hug our friend Jonathan goodbye, send Mark & Kerry off across another ocean, or discuss planting a church that may someday require a healthy division of our home fellowship.

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The clumsy slosh of my oars alerted me that I had been daydreaming. My stream of thoughts stalled as I focused, and my oars slid more gracefully into the water and dug through the slow-moving canal water. They rose with the slightest sound, which was only muffled by the lapping of water against my boat's hull. I've heard other Springers say that rowing will become second nature, but that day hadn't come for me yet. My arms continued to trace the squashed ellipse they made as they pulled the oars through the water. I nodded at the boaters I passed.

Part of me missed the ease of life when I was like them, anchored here and there or drifting outward as I pleased. It was tempting to stop and just enjoy life for a while, maybe anchor near a theatre and stay long enough to try every nearby restaurant & pub. I knew I couldn't have enjoyed it, though. There is a time for everything, and I was in a season of inculcation. So until my oars dipped without thought and my natural heading was the city center, my task was simply to rewrite my normal.

My mind hopped to and fro, first to rowing and then to the Drifters I passed. Most of them only used oars to skip from area to area, searching for the next fun place to hitch. Large saltwater kayaks with a birth to live on, the modern version of gondolas, lined the wide canals. Mixed among them were barges and the occasional narrowboat. On a barge, a group of people laid passed out from last night's revels. Go ahead, I thought. The sooner you find the empty end of that life, the better. I remembered the unforgettable feeling of that moment when I realized I would never arrive at happiness that way. I felt horrified and panicked at the thought that the disconnection I felt could go on forever- disconnection from people, from purpose, and any true happiness. Only in that darkest place could I have recognized the light offered by the man who taught me to turn around and row up-current. Under any other circumstances, I would have laughed at his tale of the pure Spring at the center of the city and the life he said I could attain there. Utter hopelessness can be a powerful lens to look through.

A narrow barge with a family on it and a woman on a sailing kayak passed me with ease. We all had the same heading. They had obviously been rowing toward the Spring longer than I had. Finally, I approached a quay near a busy market to stop for lunch. I tied my rowing boat to the strapping stump and grabbed my pack from the berth. When I emerged, another rowing boat, albeit much nicer than mine, had pulled abreast. A middle-aged man was mooring it using a knot I didn't recognize.

"It looks like we're headed to the same place."

I raised my eyebrow, another Springer. "I'm surprised to see someone like you this far out." I eyed his graying hair and expensive boat. He had to have been at this a while. I expected him to be closer to the city center, where all of the water flowed from the pure underground fountain.

The man chuckled. "The canals we’re meant to travel are not always the canals that take the shortest route. But, you'll see before long."

I threw my sweater on and donned my backpack to stall while I thought about how to respond. I wasn't sure if his patronizing attitude was rude or amiable. Still unsure, I resorted to stretching out a hand, "I'm Marco."

"Tony. Nice to meet you. What do you say I buy you lunch? Where to?"

"Um, I'm not familiar with this area. Know anywhere good?"

"Why don't we stroll? Unless you're starving?"

"I've got a few blocks in me before I faint," I joked. 

We stepped toward the market with smiles and began to weave through the crowd. I usually would have just grabbed a few supplies at the market and eaten at the quay. I was hesitant to stay away from the canal too long. I hadn't been a person of incredible resolve in the past, and I desperately wanted to keep heading in the right direction. Something about Tony was steady, and I didn't doubt we'd be rowing our boats up current without trouble.

We emerged from the throng in front of an ancient stone building that towered upward several stories. On either side, several smaller buildings had arisen in recent decades. Their construction was standard and solid, but the modern wood and metal finishes looked shoddy compared to the pillars and stonework they framed. I looked down the sidewalk at the intermittent mingling of new and old. Tony led us to the left, which equated to down-canal. I had focused on getting closer to the city center for so many months that it felt almost wrong walking in the opposite direction. Tony must have sensed the uncertainty of my feet because he glanced over with a smile. 

"I think I rowed past a cafe' on my way. I thought it might be worth trying." He volunteered.

"Sure." I tried to sound casual. And soup really did sound perfect.

After a couple of blocks, Tony dodged into a slim door in a narrow old stone building and held it open for me to follow. We grabbed one of several empty tables in the tiny windowed front area. The only other two people sat at a table that they owned by all appearances. They never budged the entire time we were there. We stayed long enough to enjoy soup, a sandwich, and a slice of pie that Tony insisted on sharing. The thought of allowing him to do all of that should have been appalling. I would never have taken handouts from a stranger before, even when I was at the end of my rope. But in that cafe', it felt oddly appropriate. After the pie was gone, we lingered long enough to learn the short version of how we'd each gotten there.

As I suspected, Tony had been a Springer for over two decades. He had a childhood friend who came from a family of Springers. Their family and his lived entirely different lives, traveling in opposite directions, but Tony said their paths always seemed to intertwine. It wasn't until he was grown that his friend explained that all of the city's water came from a Spring at the center of town. The water was perfect and plentiful at the city center, and so was everything else. Of course, Tony had heard stories about it his whole life, but he finally decided to ask his friend the question that had burned at the back of his mind every time the Spring tales were told. He asked his friend if the stories were true, then why had no one seen this fountain of paradise before?

The fiery light that kept me rowing hard each day flashed across the otherwise unwavering look in Tony's eyes when he told me about the man's answer. Whatever his friend had said opened Tony's eyes. At last, he had seen that there was a different way to live than drifting where the current would take him, from painfully exciting experience to empty pleasure, avoiding the mundane waterways that seemed to bore people to death. He caught glimpses of that perfection and abundance in the lives of people rowing by. He had hardly noticed them before. A spell lifted and a new layer of the city was revealed. He wanted to be part of it. Tony's first saltwater rowing boat had come from that same friend who sold it to him to get an upgrade.

My turn around had been more of a struggle, and Tony listened without condemnation as I timidly gave him the bullet point version. Although I was brief and only alluded to the dirty details of my former life, Tony seemed as wrapped up in my story as was in his own. After I finished, we nodded to the regulars in the corner and headed to our boats. I don't think there was a question in either of our minds about whether we would continue together or not, but Tony asked anyways.

"Mind if I row along for a bit? It's nice to find a guy without a barge full of littles or who huffs and puffs on a narrowboat trying to beat his own bow-waves to the Spring."

"Of course," I stated as if it was only natural. I didn't realize how unlikely it was that rowing my speed would be enjoyable for Tony, experiences as he was. He fiddled around so I could launch first, then he followed and let me set the pace. Occasionally he would pull abreast and talk about this or that. I was a little ashamed of my sluggish and often clumsy rowing, but Tony's company was a massive boost for my spirits. 

We rowed and chatted and rowed until the sun had well set and the lights on the streets made a dotted line that disappeared far in the distance. Eventually, we came to a neighborhood that looked familiar. Well, I should say that it felt familiar. Of course, the places like the one I came from all look different. But past their shady canal streets, they're all the same. Pick your poison, and I could find your man within the hour.

Tony fell back and let me concentrate on the rhythm of my oars slicing the water. I pulled hard and fast with focus and it took me a while to realize that Tony had matched the beat of his rowing to mine. Finally, as we passed the last darkened sidewalk and transitioned to brightly lit pubs and other businesses, he spoke up.

"Have you ever gone back?" He asked. "I don't mean to the same place, but to the old things?"

My heart seemed to grow heavier by the second as I formed the word. "Twice."

"You know, whole books have been written about this. But we're complicated creatures, and this isn't as black and white as the thinkers make it out to be. You picked up your oars again, which tells me you know your bearing. You've turned up current and I know you'll always find that heading."

I managed to maintain a relatively graceful rhythm while I kept thinking about his words.

Tony and I traveled together for weeks. In fact, by the time a couple of months had gone by, it seemed only natural: we stopped for meals and then always continued straight towards the middle of the city. Then, one day we came to a canal named after some kind of bird.

"Let's head down this way. I have friends staying around here for a bit."

I eased up but didn't turn my boat. "I guess, I just…."

Tony smiled, "Trust me."

And, of course, I did. Nobody had helped me more than Tony besides the man who first told me about the Source and explained how to get to travel up-current.

It turned out that Tony's friends made their way in-city gradually, stopping along the way to make friends with the locals. Inevitably they would meet people who were ready to stop drifting away from the true goodness the city had to offer.

We stayed with them for a week. At the end of which, our new friends were ready to start off again as well. It was amazing how much I felt like I had been with them all along. How had their story felt like part of my own? It would have made sense to me if some of them looked at Tony and me as if we were some kind of interlopers, stealing precious moments and wisdom from the older Springers, their older Springers. But if they did, I never noticed.

We set off in a meandering line that seemed a little raucous for a group of people rowing up-current. We passed through the first bridge hole like a loudly colored thread through the eye of a needle. Pairs and groups mingled and swapped to allow for visiting while we traveled. Once in a while, two or three people would turn left or right on small side canals. They wanted to see if so-and-so wanted to come along yet. The days passed so quickly with so much company!

One day, we stopped at a small market and restaurant full of imported goods from far out-city, apparently serving the small but tight-knit community who had moved in-city for the business. The core group we had stopped to visit decided to stay on there for a while and see if they could find any in-roads into the social circles there. I said a few goodbyes and went to get settled in my boat. Two of the core group, a married couple, were hugging the others and left, teary-eyed toward their kayaks as well.

I stared. My mind knew what that meant, but my heart took a few moments to catch up. Why would they leave their people? Did something go wrong? Suddenly I looked at Tony. I had never given thought to how long we would travel the same route. We'd fallen into such a pattern that I took his presence for granted. I felt a little panicked and angry already as I realized that very likely Tony and I would part ways, possibly soon.

"Ready?" Tony's voice startled me.

Instead of answering rudely because of the startling realization I had just made, I just silently backed away from the dock and headed in-city. Then, after a few blocks of Tony rowing silently beside me, I ventured to ask.

"Why did they leave?"

Without needing any further context for my question, Tony softly answered. "It was time. The reasons are always different. I bet they wouldn't mind if you asked." He tilted his head backward. The pair had come along behind us. We rowed in silence through the busy canal and finally came to an emptier neighborhood. The lack of boats made the canal feel three times wider, and we rowed four abreast. I gathered my courage. "Why didn't you stay back there?"

"It was just time," answered the woman who was closer to me. I didn't think that was a very helpful answer the first time I heard it. Twice was aggravating, but she continued, "The younger Springers will be plenty of help. At some point, us all being together becomes selfish. We love them, but there is more work to be done elsewhere." 

Tony steered the conversation in another direction while my mind turned her answer over. We kept on, sometimes taking a left or a right down by-ways and alley-like canals. Finally, after three days, the couple parted ways with Tony and me. Once it was just the two of us again, I noticed that my rowing was smoother and faster. I rarely smacked the water like an idiot and could carry on a conversation either aloud or inside my head without forgetting what I was doing. I wouldn't have called rowing second nature, but less arduous, to be sure.

It was several weeks later when I found myself continuously falling behind Tony. I needed to stop more for food, and often when I did, I just stared at the menus and wondered what to eat. It was like my body knew I required nourishment, but my mind couldn't decide what it needed. Finally, while mooring at a stop, Tony told me to stay put and that he knew exactly what to get. When he returned, the first thing I noticed was an extra rope over his shoulder. Delicious?

He came to the strapping stump to which both our boats were tied and loosened his boat a little so our bows no longer knocked together. When a question arose on my face, he handed me large take-out containers and a thermos and then continued fiddling with the rope. "Hot broth, cold milk.

I screwed up my face and went to store them in the cooler in my aft hold. When I sat back down, Tony had our boats breasted up and had retrieved the second set of oars that had hung on his bulwarks. They were significantly longer. "Into the berth, friend."

"Uh, no thanks," I said incredulously.

"If you're not drinking what I brought back for you, then you should be resting."

"I really think I'm fine, man."

Tony growled a little and then acquiesced, "Okay." He laid the extra oars down along the hull of his boat and picked up one of his normal ones. He nodded at me to pick up one of mine. We each rowed with one oar, still breasted up. As the day wore on, so did I. I refused to admit it though, and rowed with all my might. We spoke little, which should have been a glaring alarm for me that something was wrong. But I poured all of my mental and physical strength into rowing, two hands on one oar, and I still grew more sluggish by the hour.

Darkness fell. Even though I couldn't see straight, I kept telling myself I'd be back to normal in the morning. When I finally lay down in my berth, the relief my body felt morphed quickly into gratefulness for Tony. Who knows where I would have ended up without his knowing friendship. That realization was the last thing I remembered before drifting off.

I can foggily recall two things from the days that followed: the motion of my boat that meant I wasn't tied up and Tony slipping a spoonful of milk or broth to me here and there. Finally, I was coherent enough to feed myself a little on the third day. I was still much too weak to move. I also found that Tony was rowing both our boats, breasted up, up-current a little more each day. It was difficult work, and he still stopped a couple of times each day to moor our boats and care for me. It seemed like ages before I sat up, and it must have seemed even longer to Tony before I rose and took up even half of my normal workload. It was yet longer before we untied our boats and rowed for myself. There was never a time afterward when an unseen mooring did not connect our hearts. It wasn't long before I needed to rely heavily on that unseen cord.

We wound through town back and forth, to and fro but always gradually toward the core of the city. There were times that I felt a shadow of longing for a leisurely float to whatever empty enjoyment the canal brought me to. But always, thoughts of the Source of the water, the good, and the lifeblood of our city drew my heart onward. Tony was there to remind me of the glorious place we were headed. And by then, I was able to remind him sometimes as well. So we pressed on, pull after pull, always going toward the promise of true rest, beauty, and abundant, life-giving water.

One day, Tony and I sat with a few other Springers in front of a cafe right on the canal. We laughed and chatted and shared our stories. It's incredible how quickly I could enjoy the company of someone if we only had that one thing in common. The sun was falling less intense, and we headed to our separate boats. Tony and I were waving at the others when he turned to me but didn't say anything right away. That's when I knew. I looked down at my feet, trying to keep my eyes from filling. I wasn't surprised; I knew our futures didn't look the same for much longer. My eyes were still rebelling, so I looked up as he spoke, only to find that Tony's eyes were equally wet.

"I think I'll take some time to get to know some of these people. I like the feel of this place, and something tells me I can be helpful."

I nodded, knowing that it wasn't the right place for me to do the same. We spoke little but said much. I gave Tony a long hug and shook his hand. Tony stayed long enough to watch me shove off and head up the canal. I knew life would go on. I knew that everything would be fine. It just felt like I left a part of my heart on the quay back there. I didn't pay a ton of attention to where I was going. I just wanted to row for a while. In fact, I rowed all evening and most of the night before I tied up somewhere and slept for a few hours.

I woke up around lunchtime, so I strolled along the old stone buildings lining the canal way, looking for a place to eat. I ordered a sandwich and soup to-go and smiled when the woman asked me if I wanted pie. "Not today," and I mustered a polite smile. Not without Tony.

I took my lunch to the spot where my boat was moored and sat cross-legged against the strapping stump. I ate and watched the people on vessels floating downstream and tied over at the shops across the water. A barge caught my eye, making its way up the current toward me. A young man hopped on the quay, and a woman on the bow tossed him a rope. He tied the barge up with a clove-hitch and went to aid her in carrying off a pack and an infant.

"If I may, do you find that knot hard to untie sometimes?" I tried to ask politely.

"Well, yes. But it's the only way I know how to make the thing stay."

"Here," I showed him first in the air and then on the mooring pin the way to tie a boatman's hitch. "I see you're headed up-current too. I'm Marco." I offered my hand. "I know a place here to get a slice of pie. Why don't we all grab a slice on me?"

Canal Days.