ISSUE: Spring 2008
When we reached Genoa, and the sea did not
open, and we were offered homes or exile,
there was little choice. We had survived the hot
summer, the frozen Alps. Yet another trial
in our service of God. We left the weak behind
and walked to Pisa. The coastline was bleak,
but we were sure the sea would open elsewhere
though each day, less sure. It was clear
that God had abandoned Nicholas, so now
we had no leader. We had no homes. We had
to continue—even when we saw how bad
were the ships Pisa offered. I sat on the prow
as we left port, Palestine far, but in God’s grace.
Of ourselves and our boat remains no trace.
