Vignette: Sapientia
A special thank you goes out once again to my darling danglingdingle , for being there. And much, much more.
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“When faith and hope fail, as they do sometimes, we must try charity, which is love in action. We must speculate no more on our duty, but simply do it. When we have done it, however blindly, perhaps Heaven will show us why.”
~Dinah Maria Mulock
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Faith
He first learned crumbs about Faith while trying not to squirm on the hard pew of the church, folding his hands to keep them from picking the wood of the one before him, thus avoiding the slap and the glare from his mother.
Most of the sermon was lost on the young boy, as they are wont to do, when restless minds are wandering after getting bored with attempting to crane their necks discreetly enough so as not to be caught in trying to amuse themselves with studying their surroundings.
Will’s meandering mind pictured the path to the busy docks where the ship bearing his father surely was, right now, while he was here, unable to run and greet him. It must’ve been so, since when Will finally got there, the ship, so said the fishermen, had always already sailed. Then they told him to pray to God.
So it was that Will sat still and listened as the preacher praised the good Lord and spoke of trust, and faith, how landing his soul into the merciful hands of God would make his innermost wishes truly be answered, and, believing, Will bowed his head and prayed that his father would wait for him one day. Today.
But when each today turned into months turned into years, and the fishermen grew tired of assuaging the boy with lies and told him truths instead, and the only news of his father, after all this time, came in the shape of a gold coin bearing a skull, the mocking grin of which laughed at Will’s faith, the boys trust in God began to crumble.
Will believed, with his whole heart, that the Almighty would grant his wish if only he could prove his worth in front of Him, so said the priest who came to his mother’s house, and with no one to turn to, Will returned to God.
Apologizing, making promises, taking oaths, blame, responsibility far too much for a child to bear, Will prayed once more, with the despair of a boy who only wanted his mother to live.
Yet, neither faith, nor prayer saved his mother, as his heart-wrenching pleads for her recovery went unheard, unheeded… Unworthy. The peace promised by the clergyman was nowhere to be found in the rapidly advancing decay of both Will’s mother, and his trust in God.
After living Hell, came the day for Will to bury his faith with his mother.
He tossed a handful of sand on top of his boyhood as it laid there in his mother’s coffin, and left it there, in the wind-swept graveyard behind a moldering church, walking away with the echo of the dirt rattling against cheap wood.
Hope
Hope set sail with young Will Turner on a cloudy winter’s day. As he stood on the deck of the schooner, thin jacket wrapped around thinner shoulders, watching the brown hazy shore of England shrink into the distance, hope was all he had left to hold on to. That, and a chunk of Aztec gold hidden beneath his thread-worn shirt.
Inquiries at the docks had yielded scant information, but one brown skinned sailor had spoken of a Bill Turner, and a ship with black sails, and mentioned the West Indies as his port of call. Spending his meager savings, Will had booked passage on the first ship sailing for the distant colonies, heart filled with hope of finding his long-lost father once again.
But as the weeks passed, the monotony of the sea settled into his soul, and the tiny flicker of hope began to waver with every blank look and shake of the head to his singular question. Hope was raised only to be dashed with the sighting of the black flag and grinning skull atop the mast of the swiftly approaching ship.
And then, hope sprang anew in the form of a young girl and a new beginning.
Hope springs eternal from a young man’s heart and so it was for Will, those early days, when a mere glimpse of a well turned ankle could set his heart soaring for a week. Then came the fateful day when all hope once more seemed lost, when heroes wore not Navy brass but pirate brands and braids and beads, where brilliance crossed paths with madness, and from this unlikely font, hope sprang forth once again.
Only to be crushed under the knowledge of his father’s fortunes… and his fate.
They say that when Pandora set the plagues upon the world, the only one not freed was Hope itself. Is Hope a blessing or a curse? Does Man’s Hope build or destroy? Trials and tribulations can test a man’s endurance and destroy man’s faith, but if hope remains, then all is not lost.
So it was, as Will was bent over the cursed treasure, and braced himself to spill his blood, that hope flickered, and faded and then flared up in one hope filled word, “Jack!”
Charity
Kindness is not something learned in books but at a mother’s knee; true charity for others comes from deep within, given freely without counting the cost.
Charity can also come as a façade, a patina for guilt for those who have too much, bestowed on their lesser brethren as assurance of greater rewards yet to come. These charitable almsgivers never gives the shirt off their back, unless a better one awaits them at home.
Then there are those who give to their fellow men, not for gain, but because that’s the least that they deserve, giving despite whatever consequences await, simply because they are good men.
And so Will Turner stood and took the lessons he’d learned, the love his mother had bestowed on him, his faith in the father he never knew, and renewed his hope in one last act of charity.
There he found faith waiting for him.
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“When faith and hope fail, as they do sometimes, we must try charity, which is love in action. We must speculate no more on our duty, but simply do it. When we have done it, however blindly, perhaps Heaven will show us why.”
~Dinah Maria Mulock
****
Faith
He first learned crumbs about Faith while trying not to squirm on the hard pew of the church, folding his hands to keep them from picking the wood of the one before him, thus avoiding the slap and the glare from his mother.
Most of the sermon was lost on the young boy, as they are wont to do, when restless minds are wandering after getting bored with attempting to crane their necks discreetly enough so as not to be caught in trying to amuse themselves with studying their surroundings.
Will’s meandering mind pictured the path to the busy docks where the ship bearing his father surely was, right now, while he was here, unable to run and greet him. It must’ve been so, since when Will finally got there, the ship, so said the fishermen, had always already sailed. Then they told him to pray to God.
So it was that Will sat still and listened as the preacher praised the good Lord and spoke of trust, and faith, how landing his soul into the merciful hands of God would make his innermost wishes truly be answered, and, believing, Will bowed his head and prayed that his father would wait for him one day. Today.
But when each today turned into months turned into years, and the fishermen grew tired of assuaging the boy with lies and told him truths instead, and the only news of his father, after all this time, came in the shape of a gold coin bearing a skull, the mocking grin of which laughed at Will’s faith, the boys trust in God began to crumble.
Will believed, with his whole heart, that the Almighty would grant his wish if only he could prove his worth in front of Him, so said the priest who came to his mother’s house, and with no one to turn to, Will returned to God.
Apologizing, making promises, taking oaths, blame, responsibility far too much for a child to bear, Will prayed once more, with the despair of a boy who only wanted his mother to live.
Yet, neither faith, nor prayer saved his mother, as his heart-wrenching pleads for her recovery went unheard, unheeded… Unworthy. The peace promised by the clergyman was nowhere to be found in the rapidly advancing decay of both Will’s mother, and his trust in God.
After living Hell, came the day for Will to bury his faith with his mother.
He tossed a handful of sand on top of his boyhood as it laid there in his mother’s coffin, and left it there, in the wind-swept graveyard behind a moldering church, walking away with the echo of the dirt rattling against cheap wood.
Hope
Hope set sail with young Will Turner on a cloudy winter’s day. As he stood on the deck of the schooner, thin jacket wrapped around thinner shoulders, watching the brown hazy shore of England shrink into the distance, hope was all he had left to hold on to. That, and a chunk of Aztec gold hidden beneath his thread-worn shirt.
Inquiries at the docks had yielded scant information, but one brown skinned sailor had spoken of a Bill Turner, and a ship with black sails, and mentioned the West Indies as his port of call. Spending his meager savings, Will had booked passage on the first ship sailing for the distant colonies, heart filled with hope of finding his long-lost father once again.
But as the weeks passed, the monotony of the sea settled into his soul, and the tiny flicker of hope began to waver with every blank look and shake of the head to his singular question. Hope was raised only to be dashed with the sighting of the black flag and grinning skull atop the mast of the swiftly approaching ship.
And then, hope sprang anew in the form of a young girl and a new beginning.
Hope springs eternal from a young man’s heart and so it was for Will, those early days, when a mere glimpse of a well turned ankle could set his heart soaring for a week. Then came the fateful day when all hope once more seemed lost, when heroes wore not Navy brass but pirate brands and braids and beads, where brilliance crossed paths with madness, and from this unlikely font, hope sprang forth once again.
Only to be crushed under the knowledge of his father’s fortunes… and his fate.
They say that when Pandora set the plagues upon the world, the only one not freed was Hope itself. Is Hope a blessing or a curse? Does Man’s Hope build or destroy? Trials and tribulations can test a man’s endurance and destroy man’s faith, but if hope remains, then all is not lost.
So it was, as Will was bent over the cursed treasure, and braced himself to spill his blood, that hope flickered, and faded and then flared up in one hope filled word, “Jack!”
Charity
Kindness is not something learned in books but at a mother’s knee; true charity for others comes from deep within, given freely without counting the cost.
Charity can also come as a façade, a patina for guilt for those who have too much, bestowed on their lesser brethren as assurance of greater rewards yet to come. These charitable almsgivers never gives the shirt off their back, unless a better one awaits them at home.
Then there are those who give to their fellow men, not for gain, but because that’s the least that they deserve, giving despite whatever consequences await, simply because they are good men.
And so Will Turner stood and took the lessons he’d learned, the love his mother had bestowed on him, his faith in the father he never knew, and renewed his hope in one last act of charity.
There he found faith waiting for him.
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