~ Day 37 ~
Intercostal Islands…Rocks for Someone…Carrying Shaggy.
The Georgia rest stop had only a few cars in the lot when I
fell asleep. Upon waking, the place was packed. I missed the Walmart hotel, yet
my morning routine wasn’t altered due to different location. It was 9am and St.
Simons Island was only a 20min drive. Today would be one of reflection and
restocking rocks. I loaded up my backpack with extra blank rocks and went
through my Sharpie bag, throwing out ones with fine tips worn all the way down
and then replacing that colored marker with one that had a new, fresh tip. Oh,
how I love Sharpies.
It was Thursday and people were lined up on the bridge and
road that lead to the island. There was a fork in the road where most vehicles
were veering left to go to more well-known beaches and main streets. Tumbler
veered right and we found a more desolate beach down the road. I spent the next
five hours here. Did some walking on the beach, but mostly sat at perfect perch
for this pilgrim. It was a large, weathered telephone pole that had been washed
up by the waves. It sat 200 feet off the ocean shore and the view was pristine.
It was not a busy part of the long stretch of sand shore. Occasional
individuals and couples walked the beach, most of whom had a dog on a leash or ran
leash-free on the beach. One guy and his dog were playing catch with a tennis
ball. The guy would launch the bright yellow ball down the beach and the dog
would retrieve it, then bring the ball back. It was metaphorical to me, for
when the dog would drop the ball at his master’s feet, he would take off
running in a full out sprint. Without turning back, the dog was already 25 feet
ahead when the yellow ball would zoom over his head, bouncing in front of him.
I watched them play fetch for a while. Not once, did the dog turn back to see
if his master was going to throw the ball… he simply had full trust in his
master. If only you and I could have this same unfaltering faith and total
trust in our Master.
Dozens of rocks were scribed as I sat against this washed up
wooden log. Many were left along the beach where people were combing it for
treasures. It’s fun to think of how God would have specific people find the
rocks with words specific to them on their current path. My time here was
solitary and pensive. It was a needed time of reflection. Though I had spent
two days resting at my friend’s Georgia home and only been back on the streets
for one day, I needed to unpack the weight of which I was carrying. The
Savannah mission field felt like a week had been spent on it. I was still
carrying Shaggy’s impressionable heart in my own. “God, please send others to
love on Shaggy. Help me to trust that You are with him as well as ahead of
him.”
I had a beautiful phone conversation with a friend who has
lived states away for most of our friendship, yet I still consider her a close
friend. We literally were on different oceans, she a few blocks from the
Pacific, and I a few hundred feet from the Atlantic. Yet the differing oceans
were all the same water that touched together around the continents. Such is
our friendship. She is a gifted writer who had played an important part of my
journey. At a young age, she was the first person I handed some pebbles of
pushed-down pain to… and she put them in the pocket of her heart that I trusted
then, and still do today. Our stories are different, yet are similar… again,
like the ocean.
At 3pm, I drove to Jekyll Island. There is so much history
here, yet I did not come to see the landmarks, rather to spend more time alone
with the lover of my soul. Tumbler took a full loop of the island and during
the second, slow trip along the island perimeter, he pulled off the road to
park at a dirt patch. I made my way through the brush and came out in the clear
for a sight I had not anticipated. The beach was covered in fallen trees that
erosion had uprooted. It was so ugly and absent of order that is was beautiful
and complete. I explored the area for two hours, taking in the rare beauty and
leaving rocks in random places... There were no interactions with people on
either of these islands, no stories heard, nor hugs given. God knew who would
find them. God knew their hearts. God knew their story. We don’t always see the
soil of which our seeds are scattered on.
Fernandina Beach was an hour away. Tumbler took the detour
off the main highway and we drove around the town. Though I wanted to park and
walk around, it was clear that we were to keep driving. I was hungry wanted to
stop for food. “Keep Driving.” I pulled out a fraying plastic bags from my
backseat and ate a few slices of bread that I picked up at the day shelter back
in Panama City. Surprisingly, it was still soft. It reminded me of Christopher,
Milton, Shoshane, Brandon and little Cheyanne. And it reminded me of the
Wilson’s who had opened their home and hearts with love. Memories played like a
projector reel in my mind. It continued to play one slide after another as
Tumbler got back on the main highway and we headed to Florida… back to the
Jacksonville mission field. I would spend the next three days in this epic city.
God had specific people scattered along the path He would lead me on. Today’s
solitary stillness would carry me through the beautifully busy days and nights
to come.
Grow every day.
Plant seeds every day.
Trust the Gardener every day.
Unshakable Peace and Purpose
Cling to the Rock
Psalm 18:1-2
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