Portuguese Man o' War

Portuguese Man o’ War Like the Portuguese Man of War, I have no tail to propel me; no fins to stabilize me. I am adrift, at the mercy of wind, wave and current to carry me to food or to a sandy death on the seashore. There is little of true substance to me; I could be called "jelly." I must wait for food to, from the Hand of the great Giver, though from my self-centric position, I like to think I earned it. I have a sail on which the wind can act, grappling hooks to hold onto what is given; flotation to keep me from sinking, but none of these are under my control-they are how I was made, not how I made myself. The Wind is the Spirit blowing on the sail of my heart, guiding and directing at His will. The current is the Spirit, holding me up, guiding and directing me in His wisdom. Food is He who is the Bread of Life with Whom He brings me into contact The sandy shore is that place and time where and when He brings me to ground-to rest. I, the surrendered, live in His direction; in His bounty and in His time and timing. 6 21 09 See Wikipedia.org for article on the Portuguese man o’ war