Noah’s Builds a Boat: Riding Out Life’s Storm

Long ago—before ships sailed the seas—lubbers and giants roamed about, doin’ as they pleased. These scallywags called bad things good and good things bad. They lied, cheated, and plundered like pirates. But Skipper, who sees all, were not laughin’.

“I’m sore sorry I made man,” Skipper said. “Time to swab the decks clean and start over.”

Just as He was about to scuttle the sorry lot, He spied Noah, a feller who still listened to Him.

“Noah!” Skipper called. “The world’s got more rot than a shipwreck!”

“What’s a ship?” Noah asked.

“It’s a vessel fer floatin’ on when ye don’t want to drown.”

“Drown? Our brook dries up every summer!”

“Not this year,” Skipper replied. “I’m sending a flood. Start choppin’ trees. You’re gonna build me a boat.”

Noah—certain his hearing was going bad—rolled up his sleeves, leaned his ax against the tree, and napped.

“Noah!”

“On it, Skipper! One boat comin’ right up!”

Noah sawed, hammered, and pitched the seams tight, all while muttering, “This is daft.”

“Noah!” Skipper’s voice boomed. “Less yammerin’, more hammerin’!”

Noah wasn’t the only one who thought his boat project daft.

• “Are ye sure ye heard right?“ Noah’s wife grumbled. “Yer ears have been out of sorts since ye started listenin’ to ‘em Rollin’ Stones.”
• “Dad, everyone’s laughin’ at us,” his oldest son moaned. “Why not build a chair like normal dads?”
• “Old guy’s lost his marbles,” said Noah’s neighbor. “What’s a marble,” Noah’s other neighbor replied.

But Noah kept poundin’ on planks to the beat of Gimme Shelter.

“See clouds?“ said neighbors, mocking Noah. “I don’t see clouds! I only see a clown.”

Years passed. Thieves stole nails, boards, and old Popular Mechanic’s magazines. Vandals scrawled vile messages on walls, and gangs terrorized neighborhoods. At last, Noah nailed the final plank. Taking a step back to admire his handiwork, Noah let out a satisfied sigh—then scampered up scaffolding to escape two hungry lions.

“Hey! Outta me boat!” Noah hollered. But at the lions’ mighty roars, Noah changed his mind. “Fine. I’ll bunk on deck.”

More animals arrived two by two—tigers, elephants, parrots—even skunks.

“Blimey, Dad,” groaned Ham. “Skunks? They stink.”

“Skunks might say the same ‘bout ye. Now grab a mop and swab the poop deck. Yesterday ye missed a spot.”

With everyone aboard, Skipper sealed the door shut. Plop, plop, plop. The crew fell silent.

“Rain?” Japheth asked.

“And hail,” Noah replied. “Best batten down the hatches, mates. Sounds like we might be in fer a blow.”

And what a blow it was! Why to this day, whenever a captain runs his vessel aground, the conversation turns to the first seafarer—Noah—and how he beached his boat atop a mountain peak.

So mates, remember: if ye want ter keep yer toys safe and yer days fun, do as Noah did: listen ter Skipper, mind yer parents, and follow the instructions found in Skip’s Code of Conduct.

If yer boats and ship—cars and trucks—be crashin’ about, use kind hands, not hurtin’ ones. Share yer toys, don’t break ’em, and be nice ter others—even when they be mean ter you. Do as Skipper says, not as others do, and ye’ll have smooth sailin’ in yer bathtub and plenty of fun playtime fer years ter come.