The young cadet smiles widely. Nico, our Chaplain in Durban, stands on deck of a majestic cargo ship. Next to him is a young man, his eyes wandering in the direction of the ocean, as if he is standing on deck here and now, but also as if he is at home already. There is fatigue in his shoulders, showing months of stress, waiting and longing. At the same time there is a new light - a wide smile - showing the inner conviction of someone that now lives for more than only himself. He smiles as if he knows, secretly, that the world became bigger and smaller in a single breath. He became a father only yesterday.  

He has not had the opportunity to hold his son yet, but suddenly he is aware of the enormous weight of being a father. He proudly shows the pictures on his phone. He jokes about his unbelievable wife and says it is the most beautiful little boy that had ever been born. He talks quietly about the baptism that awaits them and about a home full of faith. They will call him Joshua. The end of March lies like a life-buoy on the horizon. It marks the end of a contract and the beginning of a family. If he could only hold him for a moment before then and introduce himself - he explains with a smile but a tear in his eye. Nico and the young man pray together, in gratitude. 

On the opposite quay Chris visits ships too. At the top of the step ladder he meets a security guard that he has known for years. His body language is different. His shoulders are down, tense, his eyes are restless, his body speaks of mistrust that stays with him like a shadow. 

Chris greets quietly and merely asks, "How are you?"

The question hangs between them for a moment, like a rope that does not know whether it is fixed or not.  

Then it breaks. "My mother," he says. Then nothing. He only breathes heavily. Eventually, as if it required all the courage in the world, "She is dead". She was not ill. She was not old. She was murdered. The weight of the single word hangs heavily and dark in the air.  Chris knows that there are no easy answers or explanations in such a case. These would be like carrying water to the ocean. It is a senseless task. He only needs to be there. He only has to place his hand on a shoulder. He has to tell him that God knows about his pain, that God knows for certain. So they stand, a step between the quay and the deck. They are somewhere between the past and now. They are between pain and hope. A Chaplain and a son without his mother. They pray together urgently.  

The same day. The same harbour. Two stories, one of life and of loss. One of hope being born and one of hope that has died. At the CSO we stand exactly there - on the quay when joy is running over and when hearts are breaking. If we did not do it, no one else will do it for the men working at sea.  

Won't you consider, pray and think again about supporting us financially? We want to be on the quay rain or shine, for each man working at sea, to help them being aware, all the time, that God is Great!