Sunday, March 11, 2018

MISSED MOMENTS

I don’t take my camera to the beach. Which means I miss a lot of really really neat photos.

This week alone:

  • Three trios of beach walkers carry parade-style American and military flags. You know, the big flags, attached to 6-foot white poles nestled in belted cups. The flag bearers wear military rucksacks across their chests.

 I ask what’s up.

Turns out, these men and women routinely canvas the beach, looking for veterans. The rucksacks are filled with heavy stuff to represent the burden veterans with PTSD bear. They hope to bring comfort to the men and women they reach.

I want to hug them.

  • Two jumpers parachute in. They land perfectly,  roll up their chutes and soak up the sun.

  • Someone or a group someones created a 20-foot trail of fruit and flowers near the surf. It looks like a Hindu or Buddhist funeral offering. Whoever created this ribbon of loveliness chose unblemished bananas, mangoes, apples, oranges, pears, tulips and chrysanthemums. I feel the emotion.

So the next time I go to the beach, I take my camera.  To capture that emotional moment. That powerful event. That once-in-a lifetime sighting.

OK. Here it is. In time for Spring Break, which draws 100,000 high school and college kids to town.


Monday, March 5, 2018

A GROCERY STORY BLESSING



 I'm calling this a God Story.

Yesterday, we decided to tithe more than usual to a little church down here on South Padre Island, Texas,  because we’d been remiss in meeting our 10 percent. I was feeling bad about that, because I felt I was denying Jesus his share of the wealth He provides for us.

Now, this little church annoys me seriously. The pastor has said some very prejudicial things from the pulpit (like saying all Palestinians are terrorists …  SO very wrong). But …

Worshipping inside this little church has reminded me that no human understands the Bible exactly. No human preaches God’s heart perfectly.  I need to be in the Word for God to talk to me. And I also need to hear His Word in order to hear Him.

So we tithed.

Then we went to the grocery store, Where I spent a ton of money because I am making sloppy joes (great recipe)  to feed 25 people Monday night at a kid’s program the church sponsors in one of the poorest neighborhoods in the area.

I had a vase with three long-stem red roses in my buggy because Allen insisted on buying me flowers (then tired of shopping and left to wait in the truck). But at check-out, as I watched the cash register tick higher and higher, I asked the cashier to put the flowers back. “Too much,” I told him.
He handed the flowers to another man, (both  about 24 years old); they exchanged words in Spanish and the  other guy trotted off with the beautiful symbol of my husband’s love for me. (Just the thought still makes me smile.)

Soon, the other man returned, carrying a dozen long-stemmed red roses and handed them to me. “I can’t …,” I said. He waved me off. “They are free.”

Free.

I stared with disbelief at this lovely young man handing me roses. As I took them, he bounded off, and I realized, and I truly believe, he was a vessel of God’s love for me. And acknowledgement of sorts that God loves me and was thanking me for my gift to Him.

There. That’s my God story. And the picture shows my roses. From God.