Monday, April 2, 2012

Beach baby!

Greetings from sunny Lihue on the Island of Kuaui, where the Beve, friends D and ML and I have been relaxing at many a beach. We headed south this morning to Poipu, where the sun and sand and waves were the perfect setting for worship of God's spectalar second-day creation of water dividing from land. I never get used to it--to how the same ocean can look so gray on our coast and so blue this much farther west and away from a continent. Three hours west the sand is softer, redder and more malleable for creating sand castles than the sand along the shores I more frequently walk. And how much warmer the water is, how little time it takes to ready one's body to go in, and how--even if we aren't quite sure--the sandy sea won't wait and usually makes the decision for us to tumble our bodies under, press particles of sand into cravasses where I didn't even know cravesses existed on my body.

It was good and sweet, and a perfect place to watch His creation in action in humanity as well. I don't know if you've ever noticed, but bathing suits don't leave too much to the imagination now. No matter how modest, shapes of bodies can be seen. And believe me, most of those suits are anything but modest. Speedos on men who really have no business taking their business out for a swim in so public a fashion, if you know what I mean; women in bikinis who must not have looked in a mirror before they dressed--otherwise how could they bear to look at themselves at all? But what struck me as I sat watching people this afternoon, is that all these people, all these bodies--the old, the young, the fit, the flabby, the pregnant, the merely looking like they're pregnant people--were fashioned by God's hands. Whether they know it or not, He made them with a purpose, made them in HIS image. And he put no limitations of that creation. He never once said 'only if you're like this, I created you. Only the good ones belong to me, only the good ones are the ones I've known since they were in their mother's womb.'  He know it all. He loves them all. Purposely and completely. That really heavy man buried up to his chest in the sand? He was made in God's image. And the balding man who lifted his small son complete with flippers and all straight over his head as the toddler giggled, that man, too, was made in the Image of God. The woman complaining that she'd had to walk 'about a mile' to find friends and their picnic, she's also made-in-God's image, and that's just the start. I could got on all day writing of these poeple. The more we are different, the more we're exactly the same under our speedos.
Praise God.

(Sorry about all the typos...I think they're fixed now. I'm not going to type on the Ipad's just beyond my capabilities! Thanks for your patience.)

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