The Day My Boat Sailed Away — And Brought Me Back
Sunday, September 4, 1994 — the day I nearly went to hell. I was several miles offshore, sailing my Hobie Cat, stoned, angry, and frustrated. The seagrass was thick on the water’s surface, constantly popping my rudder. Instead of anchoring and lowering the sails, I arrogantly tried to fix the problem on the fly. I pointed the boat into the wind, hopped overboard, and clung to the side as I wrestled to get the rudder bushing to pop back into place. I had the rudder in one hand, the tool to pop the bushing back into place so the rudder would lock down in the other; however, the moment the wind caught the sail, instead of the wind pulling forward which I was griping to prevent that, the boat lifted the rudder straight up right out of my hand, the boat took off—without me.
Within seconds, it vanished over the horizon. I was alone, floating in open water, without a life jacket.
Alone and Despairing
As I bobbed in the waves, I thought, This is the perfect ending to my mess of a life. Just two days earlier, I’d discovered my marriage was over. I was angry, heartbroken, and hopeless. Floating there, I decided I would just let myself drown. I dove to the bottom—only eight feet down—and stared up at the sunbeams dancing through the water. But when my lungs began to burn, instinct kicked in. I shot to the surface, choking on seawater and gasping for air.
I truly believed I was going to die that day. No one knew where I was. The tide pulled me farther out into the Gulf, and I had no way of swimming back. Then I thought of my four-year-old son, Johnny. The idea that he would grow up without a father broke something inside me.
Minutes from Hell
The sun beat down. Saltwater burned my chest and eyes. My legs cramped, my arms weakened, and the seagrass wrapped around me like a shroud. I had no idea how many hours had passed. Afternoon thunderstorms were forming on the horizon—the classic West Coast Florida summer weather.
Then, through stinging eyes, I saw a mast. My boat? It was heading straight toward me. For a moment I thought, Who’s sailing it?
Amazingly, the boat turned bow into the wind—just as I had positioned it before it sailed away—and slowed right next to me. In disbelief, I grabbed the hull and, with my last ounce of strength, rolled onto the trampoline. I lay there, stunned. When I could move again, I untangled the lines, set the sails, and pointed the bow toward home.
I told no one what had happened. I put the boat away, took a shower, and calmly approached my wife.
“I know what’s going on,” I said. “Your choice—counseling or divorce.”
She chose divorce. I don’t blame her. I was a selfish, pot-smoking jerk. That week, I kept asking myself, How did my life end up like this?
A Promise Remembered
By Friday night, I found myself thinking about my siblings—particularly my sister Karen. Her life was so different: faithful, stable, full of joy. She was a faithful Christian since childhood. I used to hate being around Christians, but now something had changed. A childhood memory suddenly flooded my mind: it was June 1976, the day before Karen’s wedding. She had looked me in the eye and said, “Johnny, promise me one day you’ll marry a Christian girl who loves Jesus.”
That memory stirred something deep in me. That night, I called Karen and asked, “Can I go to church with you?”
Even I was surprised by the words coming out of my mouth.
The Gospel, Understood
That Sunday, exactly one week—down to the hour—since my boat had sailed away, I was sitting in the balcony of First Baptist Church of New Port Richey. A guest preacher named Jim Prose was teaching on the parable of the prodigal son. I related to every word. When the invitation was given, I walked forward.
I was met by Norm Hall, a church counselor. I told him I thought I had lost my salvation. He patiently walked me through Romans 3:23, 6:23, 10:9, and 8:28. That day, I understood—for the first time—what the gospel meant: Jesus had died for my sins and would forgive me, fully and forever, if I trusted Him.
My sister sat nearby, wiping away tears. “I’ve been praying for you for a long time,” she said.
A few weeks later, at age 29, I was baptized. The first people to greet me afterward were Mr. and Mrs. Connie Purdue. Mr. Purdue had been my favorite high school teacher. He smiled and said, “John, we’ve been praying for you for a long time. Welcome to the family.”
Healing and Growth
I joined a support group at church called Empowered, a Christian 12-step program using the Serenity Bible. It wasn’t easy. My old pothead friends didn’t understand. I slipped up plenty. There were failures, setbacks, and even rebellion.
Even now, I still battle negative emotions and must constantly refocus on God’s truth. Sobriety hasn’t made life easier—but it has made it worth living. I’d never trade the peace I have in Christ for the temporary high I once chased.
Faith and Foundation
I dove into studying Scripture—more than just attending church. I needed to understand for myself. I took night classes at Moody Bible Institute for five years, one or two at a time. Few knew this, but deep down, I wrestled with doubt. I struggled to fully believe in the doctrine of salvation.
But over time, through careful study, I discovered the unshakable truth: God loves me, and His declaration of righteousness is final. He doesn’t change His mind.
Still Sailing
Today, I hold a counseling degree from Trinity College and a master’s degree from Liberty University Baptist Theological Seminary. But more than all that education, I know I need Him—every day. I need fellowship with other believers. I need to trust Him with those I love, especially my children. I need His Word in front of me, dwelling within me.
My life verse is Psalm 51:13, the repentance of King David:
Then I will teach transgressors your ways,
so that sinners will turn back to you.
I’m still sailing—but now, I know who’s holding the rudder.
P.S. I have never once sailed without wearing my lifejacket.