Message in a Bottle

 

The act of flinging a corked bottle containing a message into the jostling sea is a profoundly sacred act. Akin to prayer, this gesture of hope is similar the modern Jews’ practice of pressing carefully scribed requests into the Wailing Wall. With the anticipation that accompanies a seed pushed into loamy soil, one question lingers: Will someone answer?

When I was nine, my family and I were invited to spend Labor Day picnicking aboard our neighbor’s speedboat. While reading one of my girlhood novels, I’d been charmed by the idea of sending a note in a bottle. Filled with childlike optimism, I seized the opportunity to try it myself.

So I carefully wrapped a friendly note in plastic saran wrap. Then I slipped my message into an empty bottle of 7-Up. After squeezing a cork into the opening, I crumpled a wad of aluminum foil over the top. Finally, I wrapped the whole assembly with countless yards of cellophane tape. I tucked my emerald green treasure into our family’s canvas tote bag―alongside our tuna sandwiches, potato chips, and sunscreen.

All afternoon, eight of us bounced across the gray-blue waters of Vancouver’s English Bay. Periodically, our skipper cut the engine so we could drift alongside the massive cargo ships anchored just outside the inner harbor. We pulled in close enough that I could read the ship’s names painted high up on their hulls. I saw strange words like Svesk, Sebezh, and Meishusan Maru. I knew these foreign vessels had traveled many miles across the Pacific to reach their Canadian destination.

Finally, the moment to launch my bottle arrived. As the daylight dimmed, our skipper gave me a confirming nod. Excitedly, I cast my precious cargo into the sea.

I waited very patiently. With girlish optimism, I hoped my bottle would reach the shores of Japan. Aware that the blown-glass floats we collected at the beach had escaped from Japanese fishing nets, I assumed that my bottle might take some time to float in the opposite direction. A year-long journey seemed quite reasonable.

Nevertheless, I eagerly anticipated the mail delivery each day. I listened for the mailman to stomp up our front steps, and then I watched excitedly as the letters poured through the slot in our big front door. Scrambling ahead of my mother, I hastily gathered up the untidy pile of envelopes which fell like scattered playing cards across the floor. That September, I received a warm letter from my grandmother, and a postcard from my best friend in Disneyland, but nothing else arrived addressed to me.  

One sunny day after school in October, I noticed a mysterious unopened envelope lying on our hall table. Childlike handwriting spelled out my name and street address in blue ballpoint pen. I tore open the envelope and unfolded a short note. Carefully penned on student filler paper were the following words. “Dear Sandy,” it said. “My name is Andrea. I’m ten years old, and I live in West Vancouver on Gleneagles Drive. Have you ever heard of my street?” Pausing, I thought for a moment, and then I realized that no, I really hadn’t. “My father discovered your bottle and brought it home to me. Would you like to be my pen pal?”

Would I? Needless to say, I was thrilled! Although I’d been expecting a light blue airmail envelope with a cancelled Nippon stamp, I knew I had received an extraordinary letter. In fact, I felt quite relieved that I didn’t have to translate long lines of lovely foreign calligraphy. Instead, lying in my hands was a beautiful collection of perfectly readable English words! Even better, was the wonderful fact that a girl named Andrea wanted to correspond with me. And what’s more, she wanted be my friend.

Isn’t that the way it is with our Savior? Doesn’t Jesus answer our prayers when, in faith, we cast them in his direction? Indeed, Jesus delights to answer our prayers. “Ask and it will be given you; seek and you shall find; knock and it shall be opened to you” (Matt. 7:7 NIV). Although several years passed before I gave my life to Christ, this experience was formative in shaping my belief that my prayers would be answered. Someone―a real person―had heard me and answered my request.

I also know that Jesus wants to be my friend. Friends confide in each other and they share their plans with one another. “I no longer call you servants, because a servant doesn’t know his master’s business. Instead I have called you friends, for everything that I learned from my Father, I have made known to you” (John 15:15 NIV). Every day I trust that God intends my good, even when I don’t understand the big picture.  

I admit that Andrea and I remained pen pals for a very short season. I believe we exchanged a total of three letters each. In her last letter, Andrea invited me to visit her house on Gleneagles Drive. However, I was too shy to follow through. Sadly, soon after, our correspondence lapsed.

Within the year, my mother helped me find another pen pal through a correspondence club. A lively exchange blossomed with a young boy in Malaysia. It was such a privilege to become acquainted with someone overseas. Now as an adult, I happily correspond by e-mail and through weblogs with people all over the world. I am so blessed to enjoy such a wide circle of friends!

Nevertheless, I’ll never forget my girlhood experience of sending off a message in a bottle―and actually receiving a friendly reply from someone right in my own backyard. Would you?

Photo courtesy of Aero Works (Flickr)