A Writer's Journey 6
The Shipwreck - written by my niece Maria Kari in March, 2014.
It had been a stormy day. But that was not unusual for me, as I had lived in a ship for most of my life...nine years and counting. This was a big journey, though. More significant than the ones I remembered. We had already tried to cross the ocean from Indonesia to Singapore once, a few weeks ago, but had to turn back because of heavy winds and typhoon storms. So this was our second try. And the winds were still strong.
I spent the day playing nurse. One after another, the crew members got seasick and eventually lay down at the back of the ship in our common room, unable to perform their duties or even stand up! It was my job to bring them water and saltine crackers. Oh, I felt so important, mom's special assistant! The waves didn't bother me; they made me feel at home.
I knew something different about this day, though. All the adults were busy. Someone said there was water coming into the ship. The pumps were running non-stop. People were talking about forming lines to carry water out by the bucket. It all seemed strange.
At bedtime, mom told me and my younger brother, Veikko, who was four then, to sleep in mom and dad's cabin. She said the seas were very rough, and much water was coming into the ship. I took it as my job to take care of Veikko, as my older brother Mika, who was eleven, was busy helping the adults. Just before I fell asleep, I thought of something important; Veikko didn't know how to swim, and if we had to leave the ship, he needed a swimming ring. I found one, blew it up, and laid it next to mom and dad's bed. The familiar sound of waves carried me into a deep sleep.
At two in the morning, mom woke us up. In a calm voice, she said, "The Captain has given orders to leave the ship. It is time to go" Mom never called Grandpa "Captain." This was serious.
I ran to my cabin across the hall and woke up Tuti, the wife of one of the crew members, who was pregnant and feeling very ill. Her husband came to get her. Mom came to my cabin. We spent a moment there, and she told me I could pick one thing to take with me. "Anything," she said, "take anything you want."
I looked around my tiny cabin and knew immediately what I would pick. I reached over to my closet and pulled out a dress. It wasn't just any dress. It was simply the most beautiful, precious dress I had ever seen in my entire life! Mamma, my grandma, had sent it to me from Finland. It had dusty rose lace and beautiful flowers all over it. It was my 'special-occasions' only dress, and I felt like a princess every time I wore it. I hugged the dress tight; I could almost smell Finland and my grandma's love on it!
But after a moment’s pause, I carefully laid the dress on my bed. "Äiti," I whispered, "I don't need to take anything with me." I remembered the stories about heaven and the white robes we would be given. Oh, how glorious they would be! We would see Jesus; I wouldn't need that dress in heaven.
Mom had to rush somewhere and told me to get to the middle of the ship where our lifeboat was. As I exited my cabin, I saw the jerry can of water, and the giant cookie container mom had left in front of the storage room. "These are for emergency. If we ever need to leave the ship, we must take these with us," she said. I tried to lift the water jug. It was so, so heavy! I couldn't even move it an inch! I felt guilty because I knew that water was essential for survival, and I wasn't able to bring the water.
I was able, however, to carry the cookie tin. It was a large metal container with a carrying handle at least 30 cm high. I tried to guess how many cookies were in it. The sugar-sprinkled ones were my favorite. Wonder if I would get to eat a few of those before I met Jesus.
I started the trek toward the lifeboat when I thought of something: It could get cold on the lifeboat, and I needed to have something to cover Veikko. I had left my batik sarong in the common room earlier that day. I had to get it. I didn't want Veikko to get cold.
The cookie tin was so heavy. The thin metal handle dug deep into my hand, and the walk to the common room felt like forever as the waves rocked the ship up and down, up and down. Fear...panic started to set in. I began to realize that this was the last time I saw the dining room...and the laundry area where I used to "swim" in the washing machine...and the landing where I had my make-belief kitchen, serving the most delicious cuisine (made of water plants, sticks, and that sticky anchor oil I used to scrape off the anchor gears. I'm unsure if that was allowed, but it made for a great ‘stew,’ so I scraped it off whenever no one was looking).
I tried to be brave, but those stubborn tears just kept coming. Finally, I passed an older crew member. I didn't know him well, as he had just joined us for this trip, but I knew he had seen his fair share of storms. He was so calm; as if there was no hurry in the world, he stood there, leaning on the railing, looking at the full moon. The moon was so bright. So still. So big. "Don't worry about anything," the seasoned sailor told me, "God is with us, and God will not let anything bad happen to us."
Something about his voice and his demeanor calmed my heart. It was going to be ok. I handed the heavy cookie tin to a passing crew member and continued to walk toward the common room. Sarong. I needed that thin piece of fabric desperately. I needed to protect my brother. Water. I felt the warm sea water on my ankles. The ship was sinking.
As I got to the lifeboat, sarong wrapped around my neck, I watched as the crew members started helping people to the lifeboat lowered next to the ship. Women and children first. We had to wait and be in sync with the rhythm of the storm. Down, to the depths of the water, the boat went, and in the next second, it rose with the next wave, up high enough for us to jump into it. I remember strong arms on the boat catching me. I took a seat. This boat was built to stand the seas, but it was only meant for 12 people, and there were 19 of us on the ship.
One by one, everyone jumped into the boat. My dad and my grandfather were the last ones on the ship. Traditionally the Captain is always the last one to leave the boat, but I watched as my dad lovingly helped his 74-year-old father - The Captain- onto the ship and followed him afterward. Honor in the middle of a storm.
Little did I know, while searching for the sarong cloth to cover my brother, my mom had gone missing. Much later, I heard how the Captain had asked about a medical kit. Mom had it, but it was in the cabin. She quickly went to get it, but as soon as she entered the cabin, the ship shifted, leaned to the right, and slammed her door shut. It was a heavy metal door; no matter how she tried to push it, it wouldn't budge.
Mom was trapped. And she wasn't alone. Veikko was in her arms. She looked at the small, round window. Perhaps she was able to get out of that window? But would she be able to hold on to Veikko? Maybe she could swim from under the ship to the other side, but what about this tiny, squirmy, non-swimming four-year-old? What could she do? Lord, please help us!
And just then, dad, who had gone looking for mom, heard her cries and, with what can only be described as a supernatural power, pushed the heavy door open and helped mom and Veikko free! So, in the end, there were 19 of us, all of us, tightly sitting on that little boat as we steered it to take us away from the ship before it sank.
The moonlight was beautiful as we watched from a distance as Ebeneser, our beloved ship, home, school, clinic, church, playground...our everything, lowered into the arms of the Indian Ocean. It was a slow, majestic, graceful goodbye. The beautiful blue cross of the Finnish flag on the back flagpole of the ship was the last thing we saw before the waves covered all.
Everything was so calm, so organized, as if we had rehearsed this a hundred times. There was no panic, no screaming...just peace. And a solid determination to survive. To live. To the very last breath.
There were tears. I watched my older brother Mika, my hero, as he wept in front of the boat. He was having the struggle of his life, and it broke my little heart to hear him scream, "Why Lord, WHY???" Mika was the one who found the leak on the ship first, and I know how tirelessly he had worked to save the ship. He cried tears that were bigger than him. He voiced the pain that I didn't have words for yet.
The waves were gigantic. Our boat, though made sea-worthy, was no match to this storm. Not with 19 people on board, anyway! We had a little inflatable orange life raft that we tugged behind us. I tried to figure out how we would all fit into that raft...until I realized that once the big wave came and buried us under it, only the ones still able to swim would try to reach the raft. The raft was a plan B—last chance.
The morning broke, revealing more and more big waves. The storm was nowhere near over. From the beginning, we only had about 3 hours of fuel for our motor, but whenever the crew wanted to check the dipstick, my mother would cry, "NO! Don't look! We'll just pray!" The engine kept on chugging and taking us toward a shore...any shore. We were in the middle of a vast ocean without land in sight.
It was hard to talk over the noise of the storm and the engine, so someone started a message chain. If anyone had anything against their brother or sister, they should make things right now. We were about to go to heaven and needed a clean conscience.
I scribbled a note to the Captain: "I am sorry I didn't always obey you." Perhaps I should've added I'm also sorry I hated the water and ketchup mixture you called 'tomato juice' you made us drink... But I wrote many other notes... It was time to examine my heart...I wanted a clean, pure heart as I was getting ready to see my Jesus! Eternity was just one big wave away...
I know it was hot. I know it was tight and uncomfortable. I am sure we were hungry and thirsty. But I can't remember any of that. Instead, I remember peace—a sense of expectation. Heaven was so close, so tangible.
"Soon and very soon, we are going to see the King" has never sounded truer...or more honest. We sang worship songs as we watched the waves, wondering each time if that was the last wave we saw. I was ready. Ready to be with Jesus. Prepared to be in heaven. There was no fear.
My little brother Veikko, who usually was hyperactive, and just a busy little boy, sat calmly in my mom's lap. He thought we were on our way to church and was a little worried that he didn't have shoes. He was wearing a brown t-shirt with a picture of an Indonesian tv-character called Si Unyil, his slogan written above it: "Untung ada says," loosely translated, "It's a good thing I'm here." I looked at my sweet baby brother, the wind playing with his blond hair, and felt such love for him. Yes, it was a good thing he was here. I prayed for God's special protection over him.
After what seemed like countless hours, mom said she thought she saw something. Then others saw it. A dot on the horizon. Really? Could it be? Dad had a mirror and tried to reflect the sun to get the boat's attention. He waved a red coat wildly... Would they see us?
Sure enough, that little fishing boat spotted us, and after 12 hours on the sea, they attached a tow rope to the boat and towed us another 9 hours to the nearest shore, with our motor still running... On a fuel that was supposed to last 3 hours! Never underestimate God's math: "Your strength will equal your days."
Finally, after 21 hours on the sea, in the middle of the night, we reached the shores of the small town of Samuda, Indonesia. It was strange to feel solid ground under our feet. The first thing we all did as we stepped onto the dock, we knelt and thanked the Lord for this miracle and rededicated our lives to Him. I knew my life would never be the same. I wanted to spend the rest of my life sharing the news of a God who loves us. A God who is capable of miracles. A God who hears prayers, even in a stormy sea.
(Written by Marja in 2014, who was nine years old when the Ebeneser sank in 1983.)
Due to health issues, my writing came to a standstill for weeks. Today I was reminded of the Gospel ship Ebeneser’s shipwreck through https://www.wrecksite.eu/wreck.aspx?107342.
I asked my niece, Marja Kari, now living in Canada, for permission to share her account of that memorable situation nearly forty years ago.
I almost wept when I read it.