Tuesday, March 20, 2018

Day 43 ~ South Coast Rock Tour

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








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