By Elizabeth Prata
I was reading Acts 27 and the seafaring language was a wonderful reminder of days when I lived on a sailboat. Some days were lazy, drifting along in puffs of wind on a glassy sea. Other days were tempestuous, the sea raging and the boat beating into waves that seemed to grow ever higher. There was one rough overnight passage we made along the coast of New Jersey. When daylight came we saw that the dinghy we’d trailed behind our yacht was missing. The rope had snapped.
It was a disconcerting feeling to be separated from what would need to be our lifeboat if it ever came to that.
the-end-time.org 