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| Article Time Stamp: 21 March 2001, 14:50:28 GMT+7 | |
The old man walks down a Florida beach. The sun sets like an orange ball on
the horizon. The waves slap the sand. The smell of saltwater stings the air.
The beach is vacant. No sun to entice the sunbathers. Not enough light for
the fishermen. So, aside from a few joggers and strollers, the gentleman is
alone.
He carries a bucket in his bony hand. A bucket of shrimp. It's not for him.
It's not for the fish. It's for the sea gulls. He walks to an isolated pier
cast in gold by the setting sun. He steps out to the end of the pier. The
time has come for the weekly ritual. He stands and waits.
Soon the sky becomes a mass of dancing dots. The evening silence gives
way to the screeching of birds. They fill the sky and then cover the
moorings.
They are on a pilgrimage to meet the old man. For a half hour or so, the
bushy-browed, shoulder-bent gentleman will stand on the pier, surrounded by
the birds of the sea, until his bucket is empty.
But even after the food is gone, his feathered friends still linger.
They linger as if they're attracted to more than just food. They perch on
his hat.
They walk on the pier. And they all share a moment together. The old man on
the pier couldn't go a week without saying "thank you."
His name was Eddie Rickenbacker. If you were alive in October 1942, you
probably remember the day that he was reported missing at sea. He had been
sent on a mission to deliver a message to Gen. Douglas MacArthur.
With a handpicked crew in a B-17 known as the "Flying Fortress," he set off
across the South Pacific. Somewhere the crew became lost, the fuel ran out,
and the plane went down.
All eight crew members escaped into the life rafts. They battled the
weather, the water, the sharks, and the sun. But most of all, they battled
the hunger.
After eight days, their rations were gone. They ran out of options. It would
take a miracle for them to survive.
And a miracle occurred. After an afternoon devotional service, the men said
a prayer and tried to rest. As Rickenbacker was dozing with his hat over his
eyes, something landed on his head. He would later say that he knew it was a
sea gull.
He didn't know how he knew; he just knew. That gull meant food...if he would
catch it. And he did.
The flesh was eaten. The intestines were used as fish bait. And the crew
survived. What was the sea gull doing hundreds of miles away from land? Only
God knows.
But whatever reason, Rickenbacker was thankful. As a result, every
Friday evening this old captain walked to the pier, his bucket full of
shrimp and his heart full of thanks.
We'd be too wise to do the same. We've much in common with Rickenbacker.
We,too, were saved by a Sacrificial Visitor. We, too, were rescued by One
who journeyed far from only God knows where. And we, like the captain, have
every reason to look into the sky...and worship