IN THE MIDST OF THE TYPHOON

In the midst of the typhoon, I recalled Reverend Pike, recently appointed to the Methodist pastorate in Bonner's Ferry before I left home.  He had stopped me on the street just after I enlisted in the Navy, towering over me wearing glasses so thick they looked like tiny fishbowls.  However, his six-foot-plus height advantage kept me from making any smart remarks, and I attempted to hurry past with a simple, “Hi, Rev. Pike.”

But he stopped, offering a large paw to shake.  I attempted to side-step to avoid further conversation, but again he stood in my path.

“Your mother mentioned that you joined the Navy,” he said.

“Yes sir, I did.  I passed the physical—nothing more than presenting a live body and making my way clear across the examining room to the physician.  I’m fit as a fiddle, and just waiting for my call to active duty.”

Rev. Pike flashed a quick smile, then quickly turned serious again.  “Well, Paul, I wish you well as you enter the service.  I respect you for the desire to defend our country.”

His pleasant attitude disarmed me, which made the follow-up feel like a sucker punch.  “What I wish you would do, Paul, is make a decision for Christ before you go into active duty.  Ships go down, you know, and some of the boys don’t make it back home.”

“I’ll just have to take my chances!” I remarked, making good my

escape.  I wondered, on the open bridge of the Cape Esperance as 

  Typhoon Cobra blasted all around me, if I would be one of the 

boys who would make it back home