South Coast Rock Tour
~ Day 43 ~
Frankie…Free Parking…Rebecca.
The hot sun woke me up before my alarm went off. I have been
going to bed earlier than my normal 2am drift and being mindful of not over
exerting myself during the day to the point of exhaustion. Some days give a
passing grade to this mindfulness, and other days receive a big F drawn boldly
over the day’s page with a bright red crayon. Today’s exhaustion would be due
to my lack of awareness to my surrounding… but God would place diamonds in the
long, arduous detour.
This Wednesday started with normality… Normal slow waking up
as I made my backseat bed, normal banana and V8 breakfast, normal grey metal
bathroom, normal praying for God to lead me through the day. We started this
day by going to the library. Thought I was there to write in the
air-conditioned building, but God had other plans in the hot outdoor air. When
I pulled into the lot, Tumbler veered into a parking space that was away from
the crowded prime parking spaces. My Carhartt purse and laptop bag were grabbed
and I went to open Tumbler’s door… that’s when I saw Frankie. He caught my eye
immediately. Partially because he had a handsome, laid-back look about him, and
more so because the Spirit nudged me saying, “Go talk to him.” And so, I put
down my two bags, and walked over to his SUV that he was standing next to and
organizing the inside of. “Hey man, you a traveler?” --- “Ha! In some ways, I
am. In some ways, I wish I was more so. I travel around the area playing
music.” I asked a few more questions, and Frankie told me how he had been
successful in the corporate world but was never passionate about it. “I would crawl
through the work day and couldn’t wait to get home to write songs and play my
guitar. Eventually, it felt like I was suffocating in the office job and I
decided to quit so that I could pursue my passion… music.” Frankie’s transition
wasn’t easy. Many of his friends and family were not supportive. Frankie and I
talked in length about how he has navigated playing gigs at bars and
restaurants. He talked about how difficult it was to play his original songs,
for establishments wanted to hear well-known cover songs. Frankie had stopped
writing a year ago to focus on learning more cover songs. His acquired agents
wanted to brand him differently than his natural brand. He left the corporate
world to be free to live his dream, and now his dream was shifting back into a
business. I encouraged him to continue to do what he loves, even if those
around him weren’t cheering for him. Frankie was given a “Be Brave” rock. The
two of us talked in the library parking lot for an hour. He was easy to
converse with. We both agreed that God knew we would meet today and connect on
a deep level. Our embrace was long and firm before we parted paths for the day.
Frankie said he would start writing again. I may never see him again, but I
will always be cheering for Frankie.
I finally went into the library, but couldn’t concentrate on
writing. It was 10am and I wanted to hit the streets. When Tumbler’s door was
opened, I let out a loud chuckle, because it was so apparent that the Spirit
had me go to the library solely to make brief but lasting life-music with
Frankie. Tumbler drove over the big bridge that led to the intercostal and the
smell of the ocean came in through the open windows. Learning from yesterday,
the closer one gets to Daytona Beach, the more expensive parking can get. So,
when I saw a “Free Public Parking” are after crossing the bridge, Tumbler took
an impulsive right into the lot. Patting his dash, I said, “Heck yeah, buddy…
what a find!” As I put on my backpack, and started walking, I had no idea that
this “free parking spot” would be paid for in a different way. Unbeknownst to
me, Daytona Beach was over 6 miles away. I had parked in the north side of
Ormond Beach. I had on a tank top, capris tethered up to my knees, and my
sneakers with thin polka dot socks to my mid-calf. Oh, and a 50lb+ backpack
full of rocks. The first hour went fine as I was jacked to get to the busy
beach area. The second hour was more arduous. I would look ahead to slight
bends in the road, thinking that around that curve would open up to Daytona.
Each time the bend was rounded, the road would open up to no sight of the main
buildings and tall rides. I stopped for a cold Gatorade and chugged a coconut
water fruit drink. My packs straps were tightened and I was grateful that Ann’s
rope held together the strap that had broken back in Jacksonville. After
walking for 3 hours, my feet were on fire and my shoulders were screaming at me
from the weight of my cargo. There was a vacant lot where a hotel had once
been. I crossed the street and trudged through the desolate landscape. There
was a 12ft cement wall that dropped to the sandy shore. If it had dropped
directly to the ocean, I might have been tempted to drop my pack and do a
cannon ball into the cold, blue waters.
Sweat drenched my clothes and my hair was snarled with sweat
and the salty air. The ocean view was beautiful and I wanted to sit down and
rest my body. To my right was a staircase from the torn-down hotel. Sitting on
the bottom step, my shoes and hot socks were taken off with a deep sigh. “Wow,
God. Didn’t see that coming when we parked. You’ve been so strategic in the
parking placement, but this one has thrown me for a loop. But thank You for the
exercise.” I looked down the long stretch of the beach to my right and saw the
big yellow hotel that marked my starting point. It was a good 3 miles away.
Then I looked down the beach to my right and saw the distinct long pier that
marks Daytona Beach. That too, was a good 3 miles away. I was at the halfway
point, and already super tired from walking with my rock-laden pack. Deciding
to stay and chill on the gnarly stairs for a while, some rocks were pulled out
and drawn on. This was a desolate part of the beach and only a few people
walked by or rode their fat-tire bicycles on the white shore. I didn’t even hear
Rebecca sit down on the top step of the staircase. My eyes lifted from the rock
on my knee and did a slow panoramic sweep of the ocean and then saw the
blond-haired lady above me. “Jeepers, you came in quietly! Aren’t these cool
stairs? My name is Katie.” --- “You looked so content doing your art. I come to
this spot every day since moving here. My name is Rebecca.” She was friendly,
funny, and feisty… We gelled right away. She too, had been a traveler, and her
last journey to destinations unknown had been for 2 years straight. Rebecca
missed the freedom of not knowing where the next city-to-explore would be, but
she had fallen in love with the beaches of this area. “Daytona is a sunny place
that attracts shady people.” I struggled to swallow my mouthful of Gatorade
before it was sprayed out from laughing at her synopsis statement. Rebecca
loved adventure, loved her small cabin off the ocean, and loved this solitary
cement staircase. When asked what word she needed, Rebecca said, “Peace”. In my
pack, God conveniently had a rock with this word scribed on it. Our time
together was one of the main reasons for the long walk that God knew would lead
me to my first time at this oddly beautiful perch where Rebecca comes every
day.
Rebecca left after we hugged, and more rocks were scribed.
After a while, I called my strong and lovely sister, Courtney. Oh, how I love
her so deeply. I can’t just hop on the four-wheeler and ride over to her house
that is right next to my parent’s farm. We are states away, but hearing her
voice made her feel close. Courtney is seven years younger than me, though she
is probably the more mature one of us two sisters. She is the mother of Sawyer
and Dani Joy, whom I love being an aunt to. She is an amazing mom… loving,
engaging, protective, teachable, and affectionate. Courtney’s middle name is
“Joy” and it’s a perfect description of the gift she is to me and so many
others.
I bounced off my present situation with my younger, joy-full
sister and asked Courtney what she would do: Walk the remaining 3 miles to Daytona
Beach and deal with the 6-mile trip back later OR turn around now and walk the
3 miles back to Tumbler and drive to the downtown beach. The latter choice was
chosen by Courtney, and I went with her wisdom. Instead of walking back to the
sidewalk that runs along the busy ocean-side street, my shoes and socks were
stuffed in my backpack and I took the beach back the 3 miles. My bare feet sunk
in the sand with the weight of the rocks, but the scenery took my mind off the
growing burn in my calves. I love the ocean, I love the purpose-full placement
of people, I love this south coast journey, I love Jesus, my Rock.
The remainder of the afternoon and evening were spent in
Daytona Beach. Rocks were handed out to people as well as left at random places
to be found by people at the right time. I treated myself to a feast at Red
Lobster (mainly because I was craving those cheddar and herb biscuits) and my
waitress, Pam, was a meal in and of itself. Went to an AA meeting late in the
evening and talked with two guys for an hour after. Most of the rocks that were
made earlier in the day were handed out by the end of the evening. I was
physically tired, but spiritually amped up. The next 3 days would be relaxing and
mainly spent at the ocean with a dear friend. The speed of the day and the
freedom of allowing the Spirit to guide the day would be slightly altered, yet I
needed these next 3 days of rest and I love my friend, Cheryl, who would come
join me on the journey.
In-joy the journey.
Even the delays and detours.
They often hold treasures in the midst.
Unshakable Peace and Purpose
Cling to the Rock
Psalm 18:1-2
No comments:
Post a Comment