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The grassy shoulder of the road is thick with oddly angled cars and SUV's as we approach the end of our trek from Winter Park. Two women stand side by side, shielding their eyes from the sun, holding spiffy, orange Summit Frisbees high above their heads to signal our arrival. They guide us into what may or may not be an actual parking space, but no one cares. I grab my juggling balls and SPF 15 chapstick, and we set off up the hill, sunscreen and blankets in tow.
We near the pavilion, and the smell of sizzling hot dogs mingles with the taste of sea salt in the wind—an ambrosial mélange of spring simplicities floating along waves of animated background chatter. Three little boys engage in clamorous struggle over a nerf football. A couple adjusts a blanket on the grass beside us, and proceeds to unload their son's stroller. A friend applies sunscreen to another's back and shoulders. Groups congregate near the grill, some dressed in shorts and flip flops, some dressed like they've recently stepped out of some hipster store window. An amorous couple sits cross-legged on the grass, picking and pulling at individual blades, flirting innocently through the windows of large sun-glasses. I sigh at this portrait contentedly and I realize—this is my first trip to the beach since moving to Florida last July.
I'm so glad.
We make our way down to the beach, and Isaac takes his place in the ocean, surrounded by several men to help keep each other safe. The waves are cresting and agitated, unmercifully wrestling each person who dares cross them to the group of men in the distance. They rail against each fragile body, spitting foam their faces, pushing them back towards the shore. I see my friends, one by one, fight their way out to be submerged—to re-emerge, to be absolved, to make their statement here, before God and man, in all this wet and quaking violence. It's beautiful.
And they find the walk back to shore is so much easier.
My heart is filled to overflowing. Is there anything more beautiful to behold than this exchange? Is there anything else that takes the ordinary—the splashing of water, the singing of songs, the throwing of a football—and makes it something so much more? There, on the beach, in the grass, in the sun, in the presence of a most jubilant throng of heaven—in everything, right down to the tossing of a orange Summit Frisbee—was found an act of worship.
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Posted by kaileyH on 2008-07-09 20:45:13 | Rating: | Views: 45
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