[GUEST ACCESS MODE: Data is scrambled or limited to provide examples. Make requests using your API key to unlock full data. Check https://lunarcrush.ai/auth for authentication information.]  John Ʌ Konrad V [@johnkonrad](/creator/twitter/johnkonrad) on x 73.7K followers Created: 2025-06-23 19:49:21 UTC He almost captures what it feels like to sail a large ship into a storm under god. Almost. But not quite. I was a devout Catholic before I went to sea. After? Not less faithful, exactly but profoundly changed. My belief didn’t vanish. My perspective shattered. I still attend church most weeks, just not every week. I still pray but not with all my might. Before I went to sea, I was needy in the way most young people are. I prayed hard for god to fulfill my needs. I needed my dad to beat cancer. I needed help raising my little brother. I needed my mom to rest, not work herself into exhaustion. I needed good grades. I needed a woman to love me. I needed certainty. Control. A plan. I needed god to tell me I would be alright. Then came the storms. The first few times I hit real weather at sea, the needs changed. I needed five minutes of calm to pour coffee. I needed the deck not to pitch so hard I’d fall. I needed a brief reprieve from the fear clawing at my gut. I just needed safety. Every other need took a backseat. So I prayed. Then came the monster. A supertanker sailing to Alaska in a monster sea. Waves so big I thought the ship would break in half. Rain so thick you couldn’t see the bow. Standing on the bridge I couldn’t see further than the steel deck twisting beneath my feet. The radar useless, blinking echoes of phantoms—was that a boat? A squall line? Or just another towering wave? The sky was black. The ocean was loud. The pounding shook my bones. The smell I can’t even describe. I stood atop XXXXX feet of steel - one of the largest moving objects ever built by man, and still felt like a leaf in the mouth of a god. And in that maelstrom, a break in the storm revealed something I’ll never forget: a tiny fishing boat, one of those Deadliest Catch types, barely visible through the mist. That boat was maybe a tenth the size of ours. Maybe less. And I thought I felt small. Then I heard their voices over the radio. Not panicked. Not screaming. Not calling for rescue. Over and over, they repeated just one thing: “Can you see us?” Not “help us.” Not “save us.” Just, “Can you see us?” I’m tearing up just writing this. That’s all they wanted. To be seen. To know that if they didn’t make it, if the waves took them, someone would know they were there. Tell their family they were seen. And when I clicked the mic and said, “This is the VLCC Marine Columbia off your port bow. We see you,” the relief in their voices… it was overwhelming. I’ve prayed many times since then. I’ve gone to confession, read the Bible, talked to priests. I’ve still asked God for many things I need - but mostly for others, mostly my family - but something inside me changed that day. After that storm, I stopped praying for calm seas. I stopped praying for comfort. I stopped praying for outcomes. All I’ve ever wanted since then is this: To be seen. To be seen by God, not for what I want or need, but simply for who I am. That’s it. To be seen by a god who loves them. That’s what sailors pray for when all their ego and hope is drained. Or at least that’s what I prayed for after the last ounce of ego left me. Calm seas and land have a way of building that ego back up but the Secretary is right, nobody can think they are god after an experience like that. They can only believe in one. They must believe because to live unseen and unloved is unbearable. XXXXXXX engagements  [Post Link](https://x.com/johnkonrad/status/1937236553056813376)
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John Ʌ Konrad V @johnkonrad on x 73.7K followers
Created: 2025-06-23 19:49:21 UTC
He almost captures what it feels like to sail a large ship into a storm under god. Almost. But not quite.
I was a devout Catholic before I went to sea. After? Not less faithful, exactly but profoundly changed. My belief didn’t vanish. My perspective shattered. I still attend church most weeks, just not every week. I still pray but not with all my might.
Before I went to sea, I was needy in the way most young people are. I prayed hard for god to fulfill my needs. I needed my dad to beat cancer. I needed help raising my little brother. I needed my mom to rest, not work herself into exhaustion. I needed good grades. I needed a woman to love me. I needed certainty. Control. A plan. I needed god to tell me I would be alright.
Then came the storms.
The first few times I hit real weather at sea, the needs changed. I needed five minutes of calm to pour coffee. I needed the deck not to pitch so hard I’d fall. I needed a brief reprieve from the fear clawing at my gut. I just needed safety. Every other need took a backseat.
So I prayed.
Then came the monster. A supertanker sailing to Alaska in a monster sea. Waves so big I thought the ship would break in half. Rain so thick you couldn’t see the bow.
Standing on the bridge I couldn’t see further than the steel deck twisting beneath my feet. The radar useless, blinking echoes of phantoms—was that a boat? A squall line? Or just another towering wave?
The sky was black. The ocean was loud. The pounding shook my bones. The smell I can’t even describe. I stood atop XXXXX feet of steel - one of the largest moving objects ever built by man, and still felt like a leaf in the mouth of a god.
And in that maelstrom, a break in the storm revealed something I’ll never forget: a tiny fishing boat, one of those Deadliest Catch types, barely visible through the mist.
That boat was maybe a tenth the size of ours. Maybe less. And I thought I felt small.
Then I heard their voices over the radio. Not panicked. Not screaming. Not calling for rescue. Over and over, they repeated just one thing:
“Can you see us?”
Not “help us.”
Not “save us.”
Just, “Can you see us?”
I’m tearing up just writing this. That’s all they wanted. To be seen. To know that if they didn’t make it, if the waves took them, someone would know they were there. Tell their family they were seen.
And when I clicked the mic and said, “This is the VLCC Marine Columbia off your port bow. We see you,” the relief in their voices… it was overwhelming.
I’ve prayed many times since then. I’ve gone to confession, read the Bible, talked to priests. I’ve still asked God for many things I need - but mostly for others, mostly my family
- but something inside me changed that day.
After that storm, I stopped praying for calm seas. I stopped praying for comfort. I stopped praying for outcomes.
All I’ve ever wanted since then is this:
To be seen.
To be seen by God, not for what I want or need, but simply for who I am.
That’s it.
To be seen by a god who loves them.
That’s what sailors pray for when all their ego and hope is drained. Or at least that’s what I prayed for after the last ounce of ego left me.
Calm seas and land have a way of building that ego back up but the Secretary is right, nobody can think they are god after an experience like that. They can only believe in one.
They must believe because to live unseen and unloved is unbearable.
XXXXXXX engagements
