Karen Judd Smith, “My life was given a chance for greater potential, meaning and hope”

For me, perhaps the word that best describes Ocean Church and the Ocean Challenge experience is "irony." If I were a Zen enthusiast, I might describe it as "the sound of one hand clapping." That is, the ocean in its kindness and severity, its beauty and its harsh, brute strength, its mystery, its giving of life and taking away of life, gives plenty of opportunity for our "well-ordered," compartmentalizing human habits to be evaporated into intense momentary reality for which there is no "box." The ocean is a place where I learned and where I met God again and again . . .

How could I share my ten years from 1983 to 1993? I started as a new seminary graduate -- everyone’s favorite! Female -- enough said there. I lived and breathed fish, boats, saltwater, engines, seafood, chum, fish farming, ocean potentials and disasters, Alaska, the Keys, Gloucester. I was my older western brothers’ "lovely little sister" in the national office "telling them what to do." My older Japanese brothers loved having their un- Japanese sister persistently around with something to say! I always had a quiet chuckle when they were faced with the reality that I could haul the anchor in less time than it took two of them and handle seas that turned their stomachs. No great shakes. It just leveled the field. Without a word.

I could tell you one of the first impressions my new husband got of his delicate wife, as she pulled the small shark out of the water, and with a knife 18" long, cut off the spines, slit the belly, emptied the entrails into the water, removed the head, and put the still "swimming" body of the dogfish, washed, into the cooler for later use.

I could tell Father-stories, commercial fishermen-stories, stories of nights at sea being rocked by the waves as we told newly spun sea-stories to the sound of a flute and the lapping of waves on the side of the boat. I could tell stories of lives and deaths, of hot sun that scorches the scalps and minds of those who dared sit there all day, and of cold that chills to the bone marrow as wind lashed, of cables catching trawlers to unmovable bottom structures.

But most of all, I can tell stories of love that grew out of pain so deep in the souls of my brothers and sisters because we were given a harbor to protect us from the storm. My life was given a chance for greater potential, meaning and hope -- a gift of relating to God anew through one man that I still barely know, and who occasionally I feel I can call "my father."

From 40 Years in America, pp. 255-56.

Gerhard Peemoeller, “Ocean Church was an experience that everyone will remember who did it”

When I was asked to do security at East Garden and then became Father’s bodyguard, it was my mission to escort Father, and go with him many times to the water. It was my mission as security to go with him on the boat.

So ever since 1974 I have been going to sea with Father. 1974, 1975, 1976 and 1977. When I left East Garden in 1978 he told me to go tuna fishing but he didn’t come.

We did tuna fishing without Father, and in 1979 we did it again. It became my tradition. When Father was tuna fishing, Gerhard had to be there. So I spent three months in Gloucester every summer. Then in 1980, I went tuna fishing again at Father’s request.

Father came to America December 18, 1971. He left everything behind in Korea. In 1974 Father bought the New Hope, a 48-foot Pace Maker for deep-sea fishing. Then he bought The Flying Phoenix for river fishing, which is a 24-foot Well Craft speedboat. It can go as fast as a car can go. He went on the Hudson River with it.

The problems of the world and America, and the problems of the Messiah were solved at sea. He went out for 18 hours or more at a time, then went home to sleep for a couple of hours and then, he’d say, lets go back out again. That’s how he got spiritual victory. He would go out and pray. That’s why the New Hope is such a precious boat. He really saved America on that boat. He solved the problems on the water.

Father goes to sea because it is the purest place in creation. There’s nothing fallen around him, just the driver, and a crewman or two. It’s a pure atmosphere. Jesus went to the desert to pray where no one else was. When Father is at sea he doesn’t talk much. He can come closest to God there. He meditates and does some fishing. He sits on top of the boat and meditates.

Father wanted to have 3000 members then. Father wanted 3,000 to join in New York, and 3000 in LA. We did not deliver the number. The goal was never reached.

Later on Father was asking the church membership to get 30,000 members. Father never gave up on the 30,000-member idea. He wondered how we could reach it. He thought maybe we could use some sort of method to attract more people. He wanted to design a beautiful boat that could attract people. He hoped for a floodgate, and he thought it might be Ocean Church.

The idea was that since the land church couldn’t bring the 30,000, maybe Ocean Church could. He wanted to build 300 boats to bring people. He built many boats. The most important point was to get five people per boat. Father said the boats would witness to the people. But people didn’t really want to run after the boat and want to be on it. It wasn’t like that. It wasn’t easy to bring five people just because we had the boats. We did everything else that he asked us to do except bringing the five people per boat.

Later he said that we failed. We said, "We thought we did everything." He said, "You didn’t bring the people." We couldn’t really attract the people that the land church couldn’t bring. Father scolded us and said we betrayed his hope. We sat there so sadly; we couldn’t do what he hoped. We brought some members but sometimes when things were changed around, the spirit was lost.

Still, our program got bigger and bigger and bigger. All the fishermen knew us from Maine to Long Island. Everyone knew us along the whole coast. In 1984 and 1985 we still fished during the tuna season. We had a great season in 1985. Father went to prison in 1984. Towards the end of the season in 1985 he was able to come and fish with us and he caught one tuna. I was on the New Hope then, the head of the fleet. I taught them fishing in Father’s tradition. Mr. Sugiyama came and asked me to teach all of Father’s tradition, like a 200-year-old tradition.

So I prayed all night long about what to teach them. I made lectures, many kinds of lectures. I taught the content of Father’s content. When Father came from Danbury to go fishing, he said to Mr. Sugiyama that it looked like Ocean Church was inheriting Father’s tradition. So that was the best season. We caught more tuna than any other season, even when Father was spearheading everything himself.

we made Ocean Challenge. Through endurance they could have a great experience. Not just enduring the elements but also catching a tuna fish. By going out and fishing all day they could have a great experience winning over the odds. At first we had just our church members come to participate, very few outside people. Sometimes another group came, but the money involved was too much. Most people were not so eager to do it. It wasn’t such an attraction to outside people. Outward Bound has less of an experience than Ocean Challenge in my opinion. Fight the waves and the elements, from morning to night, and into the night. A typical day of Ocean Challenge, we left the dock at 4 am which was Father’s tradition. The first day everyone is really hot. Everyone wants to go out at 4 o’clock.

But after two or three days with no end in sight, people are not so hot to go out again. Members usually thought they needed morning service, and then breakfast, and then leave at 4 o’clock. It was maybe a 1 or 1 1/2 hour-ride to the spot. Then you find the anchor spot, bait the hook, set the lines and start the work of fishing with a prayer. Then chumming, cut the fish and throw the fish in and fight the sharks. Then you cut up the fish and they make the line dull. Then if you get lucky someone gets a strike. On a normal day nothing happens. Sometimes at 6 p.m. we head back. We go out and come back in a V formation. It looks really incredible, 100 boats in formation.

Sometimes if you’re not used to the elements, motion sickness comes, and then you see your breakfast and you’re fighting with yourself. After someone throws up they want to go to sleep. You can see the outline of the boats and people completely flattened out. Father doesn’t like that; he doesn’t like people giving in to seasickness. He wants people to fight against it. It’s hard to be seasick and have no rest. Then the sun is so bright, and the reflection is so intense. Even with sunscreen the sunburn is really bad. Sometimes you get scrapes or cuts and get fish juice in it and bacteria gets in it and you get fish poison where your hand swells up and you can’t move it. It’s numb. The fish poison, intense sun with no shade in sight -- the boat itself, there’s so much spray, so unless you have rubber clothes and rubber boots you get soaking wet. If you’re not prepared, you get completely wet, and fighting the dogfish, and then rain, and you get completely soaked. Your skin becomes like prunes.

Wrinkles. You have to deal with all that. Then the tide is changing so you constantly have to adjust the lines and check if the bait is there, and fight the seagulls and chase the sharks away. You get rid of sharks by cutting one up and throwing it among them and hope it scares them away. But sometimes they’re so thick they just eat their own guts. They eat anything, their own meat, anything.

You just keep working. If there’s nothing on the hook, you won’t catch a tuna fish. If another boat comes close to you, you have to deal with that.

You have to deal with the insanities and difficulties of the other fishermen. You can hear so easily. They can hear you sneeze. Sometimes there are two or three people on a boat. One year Father asked me to go out alone. I had to do everything myself. He didn’t give me a mate. Then he gave me a broken-down boat. It took me four weeks to fix it. But he said, Gerhard will catch the most fish.

And of course, on the boat, the bathroom is a bucket. And that is another experience. For brothers it’s not as difficult, when it’s just brothers. It is not as easy with sisters on the boat too. One time I had terrible diarrhea. It was awful. I had to dump everything overboardWe had at that time a visiting baby whale that followed the boat and swam around it constantly. When I had to dump the bucket into the water, the whale saw it and aimed for it and began to jump through it -- his head was halfway through -- then the whale smelled it and he stopped and backed up the way he came. He didn’t continue, he went backwards!

After working all day, your fingers are prunes, you’re soaking wet or sunburned, you can’t live and can’t die...for some people they thought it was a miracle to have solid ground under their feet again. Then you need to get chum, bait, ice, fuel and food for the next day. You need to fix your fishing equipment, and wash the boat down. Then you can have dinner, and then it is about 8:00 or 8:30 pm. Sometimes we would have an inspirational talk or I would speak, or there would be testimonies.

One time I got angry at people. People took it so easily. It was the best year fishing, and no one knew how hard the foundation had come, what people had gone through until then. I was so angry and I scolded them.

Ocean Challenge lasted 70 days. People got so tired after a while. It was hard to challenge them and inspire them to do better. Some people tried to escape the pressure and avoided going out. Once one sister got tired of going out; it was boring, enduring the work and the difficulty. So one day, she didn’t go out. And that day her captain caught a tuna. So she missed the one day of getting the tuna.

I had to push myself all the time too. I never get up easily. During tuna season, to get up every morning to leave the dock at 4 am was really hard. On my boat I didn’t let anyone sleep and I didn’t sleep myself, but sometimes people slept on the boats. They weren’t supposed to, though. Sometimes I got cramps in my legs. That can be a sign of overwork. I had that every morning, fighting with the cramps.

In the evening people liked to enjoy each other. They would get excited late at night, but no one was excited in the morning. There was activity there until midnight sometimes. When there was really bad weather, it was so welcome because it meant we weren’t going out. Everyone went back to sleep until 10:00 o’clock. People had breakfast, wrote letters, went to town, just enjoyed themselves. It was a wonderful relief not to go out.

When there was really bad weather, it was so welcome because it meant we weren’t going out. We were so grateful for a rough day. Sometimes we went to other ports too, not only Gloucester. We would go to a restaurant and mingle with the townspeople. Ocean Church was an experience that everyone will remember who did it.

From 40 years in America, pp. 256-61.

Kieran O’Neill, “Go now and fish for men”

On our first day’s fishing we caught a small shark. What was unusual was that the fish was not caught on a hook, but on one of our sinkers, a circular weight. I felt that this was a sign from heaven that we would succeed. The next day, we caught our giant tuna. It was a miracle that, with our simple equipment, we should catch it and beat others with very sophisticated fishing tackle.

You couldn’t imagine the confusion as we played that fish. The sea was rough, the surrounding waters were laced with boats, and it raced around in a desperate effort to escape, crossing lines and tangling them. It took all our effort to play it as it lunged frantically about. Finally we hauled it aboard. It was a tuna, ten feet long and weighing more than one thousand pounds. It was the heaviest and the longest fish caught in the tournament and won us a prize of $23,000.

After the tournament, Father talked with me. He told me to go now and fish for men.

From 40 Years in America, p. 254.

Susan Bouachri, “How I could be better than Debbie”

Father gave a speech in 1983 in which he talked about a recent trip to Kodiak, Alaska, and how he had finally found the true American couple, a man named Red and his wife Debbie. Father, Mother, Hueng Jin Nim and some brothers and sisters had been guests of this couple on a secluded island named Shuyak, northernmost of the group of islands around Kodiak. Red had impressed Father with his fishing skills and generosity.

Father described Debbie as "tiny and skinny." He said, "this particular American woman had guts. She had a vision, and she had a universal mind. She had confidence and conviction, so that even if she went bear hunting, she could knock down the bear!" Wow, imagine Father calling someone the true American couple!! Wouldn’t you want to meet them? So begins my story....

In January of 1984, all Ocean Church members had been called to New York for a 40-day workshop. Everyone was told to bring all they owned, because it wasn’t certain where any of us would end up after the workshop finished.

As our workshop drew to a close in late February, there was much excitement and speculation about where we would all be headed next. There were Ocean Church centers in some nice towns like San Diego, Miami and Gloucester but of course Alaska was the destination everyone had in mind. I think most of us had been bit by the Alaska bug right along with Father.

Finally the big day came! One by one, names were called off as brothers and sisters were told where they would be headed to put into practice the lessons and spirit of the last forty days we’d spent together. The excitement level in the room jumped a few notches. Mr. Kamiyama spoke of the potential of the rich waters there, some of the best fishing grounds in the world.... Then he announced who would be going. The first was David Loew who would be returning as the OC leader in Kodiak. Also his brother Tom, who had come down to NY with him to check out OC during our workshop and who then decided to join OC. A French brother, Jean- Francois Franquelin, was also chosen. Then Mr. Kamiyama turned to me, "Susan, Father has chosen you to go to Alaska." I couldn’t believe what I was hearing!

"You have an important mission there. Father said you have to become better than Debbie." Of course I knew who he was talking about, but I couldn’t imagine what he was talking about. Me, better than Debbie? How could I do that? I had about two months’ experience of sitting around on a Good Go in the hot Gloucester sun waiting for a tuna to bite; what did I know about running boats, catching fish and surviving in Alaska? Did Father pick the right sister?

We arrived in Kodiak in March. It was too cold to use the open-style Good Gos. As for all the witnessing, street preaching and fundraising we’d just been practicing in New York...well, I soon came to understand that in Kodiak we didn’t fundraise and didn’t witness. Our business maintained a delicate relationship with the town and community and no one wanted to jeopardize it. It seemed there was nothing to do! At the time, our fish company and fishing fleet were still new and developing. We occasionally had fish in the plant and during those times, I would don rain gear and gloves along with other employees as we washed and sorted fish. Pretty boring really, definitely not the fulfillment of my Alaska dream. In desperation, I and the two other OC brothers new to Kodiak decided we’d get a head start on the season by prepping the boats early. However, when we tried waxing and polishing the fiberglass, the wax would freeze before we could get it off. Pretty miserable, we three grew grumpier and more unhappy each day.

Finally rescue arrived. David told us that a trip had been arranged and we were invited. Red and Debbie had invited some people, including some members from our company, ISA, to come up to their cabin for some early season halibut fishing. At last, here was my chance to meet the famous Debbie, the woman whom Father himself said had "the kind of woman’s spirit that impelled the westward-bound Americans toward their new horizon." I was scared, breathless almost, like a long-time fan finally given the chance to meet her idol, as we began the trip out of Kodiak on a sunny afternoon.

There were about a dozen of us altogether. The captain took us on a slow, spectacular route weaving in and out of the myriad islands and bays that make up the group around Kodiak. Tall thick pines grew right to the water’s edge. After steaming overnight, we finally arrived at Red and Debbie’s. They loved the freedom the wilderness offered and settled on Shuyak Island, 50 miles north of Kodiak.

Only one other family lived nearby, and they were reachable only by boat. Red and Debbie had carved their homestead right out of the wilderness. They had brought in supplies and building materials via their fishing boat from Kodiak. Their log cabin was filled with furniture Red had cut and built himself from the surrounding trees on the island. The walls were decorated with his traps, rifles and skins of some of the fox and otter he trapped and tanned. They had a plastic greenhouse where they grew their own vegetables during the short but sun-intense summer.

Guest quarters were located in a conveniently abandoned 70' fishing boat hauled up on shore near their cabin. That’s where we slept. With little need for outside company, the island itself provided all their staples, meat in the form of deer, fish from the sea. As Debbie showed me and Chiyo around, she announced proudly in the small dining room, "This is where Rev. Moon and his wife sat," as she explained about Father and Mother’s visit. Red had taken Father out to one of his favorite halibut spots, the same place he’d be taking us the next day.

Our trip out the next morning didn’t prove quite as fruitful as Father’s. Within a couple hours we got rained on, hailed on and snowed on. We tried several areas, but as it continued to get colder, with no "slabs" showing up on the fish finder, Red decided to call it a day. We headed home to some delicious hot stew and lots of good company.

I remember being shocked when I first met Debbie. She was so small! Petite to the point of delicate, yet she could drive a boat, gut a fish, fix a broken pump, do whatever was needed! She was very pretty in a natural way, no makeup or stylish haircut necessary. How could I be like her? I was big and clumsy and unsure what I was doing on a boat at all. She could cook up a big meal with her own homegrown vegetables and preserved meat without batting an eyelash.... I’d been eating at McDonald’s for the previous three years.... I felt jealous of this romantic, ideal home they had created for themselves. Father, how could I possibly be like her? I grew depressed as the weekend went along.

On our last night together, God gave me an answer to my questions. All of us were lounging around the living room, watching one-year-old Vinnie, a real cutie, who had been the center of attention several times. Red was playing with him, when Vinnie’s dad said, "So hey Red, when are you and Debbie going to have some children of your own?" Debbie’s immediate response was, "Red, don’t you listen to Tony; he’s talking dirty again!"

She explained that they didn’t want children because of the miserable state of the world and it being no place to raise a child. It hit me like a bolt of lightening. That was it! That’s how I could be better than Debbie! Here this incredible couple had created a virtual heaven for themselves, the picture of American ingenuity and the pioneer spirit -- living off the land, recycling and conscientiously using materials in a way that would give something back to the earth, simple and free with no worries about fashion, education or any of the other stuff people back in the "real world" of the lower 48 get bogged down in.

Here they had it all except for, I now realized, someone to pass it on to and to share it with. I knew better; Father had taught me that all I had or was given in this life, my experience, my dreams, my hopes (heck, even my breasts and hips!) were all ultimately given to me for another, not just my husband, but my children. The life I led would be a legacy to offer them, a foundation for them to stand on and as blessed children, to use to do great things for the nation and the world. I knew this and she didn’t know it. That’s how I could be better. The fishing stuff, the boating, I could learn given enough time and experience, but the hardest lesson to learn, the value of our lives, the preciousness of our next generation, I already knew! I left Shuyak Island a different person than when I’d arrived -- still not knowing the feel of the rod with a giant halibut on the end of the line, but with the confidence that I had been given the most important foundation, that the passing of time would provide the experience and the knowledge to fill in all the little details.

*

Several years later, around 1987, Red died when his boat went down in a storm during a late-season fishing trip. Debbie was on board also. The crew had donned survival suits and grabbed an EPIRB when they realized the boat was going down, but the zipper on Red’s suit broke and he developed hypothermia and drowned. Debbie and the other crew members survived.

The last time I was up in Kodiak I met Debbie there. She had moved back to town and opened a small gift shop. Life in Shuyak on her own wasn’t a possibility. I felt so sad. Not only had she lost her man, but she had no son or daughter who may have looked like him, to keep his memory more strongly alive.

My impressions while leaving Shuyak regarding my own course proved true. I worked aboard the 88' Green Hope for a winter season of bottom trawling: mending net, standing wheel watches, cooking up lots of food, "oiling and wiping" in the engine room, hauling and shoveling tons of fresh fish. I spent a total of ten summer salmon seasons on the beaches of Egegik in Bristol Bay buying fish and learning the ropes of set, net and driftnet fishing as well. In 1992 I received my Master Captain’s license from the U.S. Coast Guard.

Much more important than all that, however, was the precious gift I received in 1995 when True Parents blessed me to my husband.

From 40 Years in America, pp. 327.

Eric Bobrycki, “Fishing at UTS”

Craig Dahl and I had the distinct privilege and joy of taking care of Father when he came to fish at the Seminary. We were known around school as Huck Finn and Tom Sawyer. The Hudson River is wondrous and magical and we spent every moment we could on it or near it. Father provided a great excuse -- I say he was a co-conspirator at having us get on the river. We would fish for striped bass. A great fighting fish that Father, Craig and I love to eat. Father would usually get the fish and then give them as gifts to people who visited Tarrytown.

Father had been fishing the week before. We never knew he was coming until about an hour beforehand. So when Dr. Seuk would tell us, we dropped everything (usually our classes) and went for fresh bait and the boat. We were determined to have everything go smoothly for his next visit. He had scolded us for not having any new fishing spots. We took this scolding as a mission -- more reasons to stay on the river.

We were in our favorite bait store and I found two new lures -- they were Shad Raps and quite expensive -- $10 each. My first thought had been that Father would like these lures. I spent my own money on them and carefully put them in Father’s tackle box.

He came the next day and we were ready. Craig had found this little creek with this nice waterfall. We definitely shocked the fisherman on that creek -- coming down it with a 28 ft. Good Go. I saw Father’s eyes light up as we maneuvered around the big boulders -- I was literally hanging off the bow preventing our meeting with the rocks -- Craig was masterful at motoring the boat. Father was excited. We moored the boat away from the shore fisherman and handed a baited pole to Father.

I then remembered the Shad Raps. I showed them to Father and he told me to put one on. First cast -- striped bass. Second cast -- striped bass. Third cast, Father had got it snagged. He started pulling hard and I said, "No, don’t pull," and snap -- we lost the lure. He turned to me and said, "Another" -- I was so glad I had another. First cast -- stripped bass. Second cast -- snag -- I yelled "No" -- and snap. Lost the lure. Father turned to me and said, "Another" -- I said there weren’t any more.

Father was quite emphatic about those lures. He said that I should have President David Kim purchase 1,000 lures. I did the math and got the message: get $10,000 from David Kim for fishing lures. It was only seconds later that I burst out in laughter. I believe that it may have been what Sara felt when she got the news. Father had immediately turned around so that I could not see his face. I could sense his reaction from Colonel Han’s face who was sitting on the side of the boat and facing me -- he was all smiles.

I laughed at the Messiah and did not die. My intimacy with Father changed that day. The Hudson continues to be a magical river.

From 40 Years in America, pp. 235-36.

John Paul Hong, “I simply could not keep up with Father”

Some of my own memories of time I spent with Father concern just how hard he works. Often when he goes fishing, he will go out early in the morning and return to East Garden (his home in New York state) between 6:30 and 8:00 PM. He may eat dinner by around 9:00 and then gather with FFWP leaders to discuss things and plan for future Family Federation events. These talks can last a long time—often until well after midnight!

One day Father had been fishing most of the day, and after dinner met with leaders until 1:00 AM. Finally, he called the meeting to a close and sent us all home to get some rest. By the time I had driven the twenty-five to thirty miles to my home in New Jersey, it was 2:00 AM. After writing some memos, I settled down to sleep around 2:30 AM. At 3:00 AM the telephone rang. One of the staff from East Garden was calling. “Father is on the steps outside, waiting for someone to go out fishing with him! Someone should go with him.” I drove back to East Garden, and by the time one or two other leaders had arrived and we were ready to go out, it was around 4:00 in the morning. Father fished all day, keeping a similar schedule to the one he had followed the day before. By the end of the day, I was groggy with tiredness. I found I simply could not keep up with Father, although I am many, many years younger.

From I Am in This Place, pp. 82-83.

Howard Self, “Father had mistakenly mixed the hour and minute hands of his watch”

Kevin was the Western brother in charge of a rather large workshop of leaders at a training workshop in Kodiak, Alaska, at North Garden, with True Father. Father’s usual schedule for that time was to get started at 3:15 AM. Everyone usually went to sleep around 11:00 PM. Kevin, having some responsibilities to fulfill, was up later than the others one night. At 12:15 AM, he looked up to see Father walking down the hall, fully dressed in his fishing clothes. “Time to go,” said Father, “It’s 3:00 o’clock!” Kevin, looking at his watch, said, “But Father, it’s not 3:00; it’s 12:15.” Father had mistakenly mixed the hour and minute hands of his watch, seeing 3:00 instead of 12:15. Father looked at his watch and realized what he had done. Then he threw his head back and laughed long and loud, as if the funniest joke had just been played on him, and then went back to his room.

Father’s mind had told him that it was 3:00 AM, and no matter how tired his body was he completely dominated it, and was going out for his condition of fishing, no matter what.

From, I Am in This Place, p. 89.

David Leow, “You can always out-work others”

My favorite book in college was The Old Man and the Sea, by Ernest Hemingway. I read it while attending college at UCLA. I met True Father for the first time when he came to America, landing in Los Angeles. And in short order, I dropped out of school (much to the despair of my father) and began working with True Father's first speaking tour in America, originating in New York City.

Since 1979, I was involved with the ocean in one way or another. When the Good-Go boats were built, I was really drawn to the sea, mostly on the Pacific Ocean side of things. I've worked in San Diego, Baja California, Mexico, San Francisco, Hawaii, and Alaska. I traveled the whole West Coast, towing oil barges. I actually spent more time in San Francisco, at the refinery docks, than at home for a couple of years.

I spent time with True Father in many of these places, as well as Gloucester and New York, and created a Holy Ground with other members in San Diego, overlooking the Pacific down into Mexico. I’ve gone there regularly for years. I learned was that indemnity equals hard work. This has stuck with me for many years: "You can always out-work others." You learn this especially when you fish with True Father. He might not be the best, but he'll out-work anyone. At times, the work is long and dangerous. There Father was able to chat with me about the future, where I might live, and my wife. "So David, where would you like to live, San Diego or Alaska?" After a pause to think, I said "Both." Laughter from everyone. "You have the heart of a fisherman," he said.

There are many beautiful places out west and good men who work at sea. There are many terrible places with terrible people as well. The most beautiful place I ever saw was the Greenville Channel in British Columbia. The cruise ships can't fit in the channel. Only smaller boats and tugs travel there. It is dramatic beyond words. It is the best argument for the existence of God I've found. You don't need to say a word.

Looking back, I think it is a good idea to spend some time at sea - at least two years. It can change your life, make you humble and careful in your actions, and give you deeper insight into people, nature, and God. There are many brave and capable men who work at sea, better mariners than me, better people. There are many in our church, mostly overlooked, or forgotten. It is worthwhile hearing their stories. For them, like me, their journey began with hearing the Divine Principle. For me, it began in the desert in the spring of 1970 and ended at sea.

From Tribute, 211, 213-14.