Evidence that miracles just might exist, after all

I guess I could add to all of the arm-waving and finger-pointing over “Health Care Reform,” but I don’t want to.

Instead, I just want to tell a good story with a happy ending. It might help to know, too, that it’s true.

Get out a map of the world and put your finger on the equator, about halfway between South America and Hawaii. That’s about where the ship was.

Not much nearby, is there?

On the night that this happened, there was a lunar eclipse and some of the crew and a few scientists decided to stay up to watch it.

One of the scientists decided to find a place from which he could watch the eclipse by himself. Then, without telling anyone, he went up to the bow, climbed onto a flat, triangular space located there, and laid down to watch the eclipse.

You should know that, on any ship, the bow is one of the quietest places aboard. The machinery noise is behind you and all you hear is the wind rushing past and the water breaking against the hull.

It’s also a peaceful place. So peaceful that the young scientist fell asleep watching the eclipse. Sometime thereafter, he rolled over and, about halfway through the roll, he ran out of ship.

Here begins the miracle.

When he fell overboard, he missed the massive anchor that was just beneath him and was not knocked unconscious when he hit the water.

In the water, he was pushed away from the hull by the bow wave, which spared him from being sliced, diced and served to the local fish population by the propellers at the stern of the ship.

At this point, his situation was about as follows:

No one had seen any of this. The nearest land was thousands of miles away. The nearest solid ground was covered by several thousand feet of water and the nearest ship was receding at a very good rate. It was well after midnight and no one would know he was gone until breakfast.

For whatever reason, however, a crew member was still up and, at that precise moment, he decided to empty his trash can into the trash container on the stern of the ship.

Unlike the bow, the stern is one of the noisiest places on the ship. The stacks are angled towards it, so you get all of the engine and associated ventilation noise. Add to that the rumble of the propellers under the ship, the constant noise of the rudder rams moving the rudder to hold the ship on course, and the wake turbulence under the stern.

With all of that, the crew member thought (thought, mind you) that he heard someone shouting from astern of the ship. Instead of just shrugging it off, he called the bridge. The officers on the bridge decided to act, triggered a man overboard alarm, and began a maneuver to bring the ship right back up its wake.

Here, I will add that the ship had only recently been outfitted with a night vision monocular and, when they steadied up on the reverse course, they saw the scientist frantically waving each time he came to the top of a swell.

Now, even with a night vision device, imagine how small a head is on the open ocean and how difficult it is to see such an object. Shortly thereafter, though, he was back on board and he was the quietest individual on the ship for some time thereafter.

So, to sum up: A clear night. No broken bones during the fall. Not knocked unconscious by hitting the water. Completely missed the vegematics at the stern of the ship. Didn’t drown in the wake turbulence. A crew member decides to empty his trash can well after midnight and “thinks” he hears a voice and acts. The ship has a night vision device that was only recently added to its inventory. No time was wasted discussing whether something had happened — someone acted. The prescribed maneuver was performed without a hitch and the ocean was calm enough that the person could be seen when he was atop a swell.

Miracle?

You tell me.

In these times when it’s tough to believe anyone is watching out for us, I’d bet that there’s one person who’s likely convinced that there’s an argument otherwise.

And that’s a feeling I think we could all use a bit more of just now.

We’ll get back to the shouting next week.

Larry Simoneaux lives in Edmonds. Send comments to larrysim@clearwire.net.