Beach

Denny fixed a great breakfast.  We left for the beach about noon.  Super day.  Sunny.  Warm.  We took 2 cars and paid the daily fee at Isla Blanca.  I rode with Luke's.  We stopped at the SPI and had hor deovors.  Then Luke stopped and got taco meat at the meat market.

Thoughts from Facebook:

 Seeds fascinate me. Tucked inside of each one is a sort of code, a prescription for what that plant will be: a tomato or a sunflower or an oak tree or a snapdragon. These minute packages, some mere flecks of substance, never get it wrong. They never emerge as anything but what they were designed to be. A cornflower never blooms as a poppy. An onion never sprouts as a milkweed. God did that. He wrote the code for each of them Himself. It’s almost impossible to imagine, isn’t it?: that the One who spins galaxies also concerns himself with the story a seed will tell. The Counter of Stars also numbers grains of sand. He is the Architect of Continents, but also atoms and sunlight and the patterns on the back of a bee’s wing. I have spent most of my life unintentionally convinced that while God is in the details, He probably isn’t interested in the minutiae of my life. My conversations with Him should be more substantial, more magnificent, more eternally consequential and less laundry and dishes. But then… Yesterday, someone I love came home to find her dog had died while she was at work. It has been a hard, hard year and a half, and this is another in a string of bitter, crippling losses. The sparrow has fallen…again. There are no good words in these conversations, only a swollen silence that concedes to the pain without sending it away. Only questions without helpful answers. Only tears that drip off our eyelashes and slip into the empty places as unacknowledged proof of our shared sorrow…. 

I spent last night alternating between restless sleep and incoherent prayer. Blinking in the darkness and asking God if He was still awake. Did he remember she needs Him right now? Was He there beside her in her darkness too? In her pain? Did she know? She needs to know. Please make sure she knows You’re there, God. Please hold her hand. Please tell her You were there when yesterday was blighted by fresh pain.

My thinking self is sure that the God of the Universe wouldn’t condescend to worry Himself with the death of a dog, to catch the tears and hear the prayers offered up in that aftermath… (continued in comments)