Skip to main content

Watching the ocean, wondering about God

Last week I stood on a beach at the Gulf of Mexico and watched the full moon hang round and pregnant in the night sky.

In front of me, the waves of the ocean splashed quietly against the sand. All around, me millions of stars twinkled while a few children scampered and played in the dark.

I heard my own kids giggle and laugh—but I was somewhere else.

As I stood there, I thought about God.

I looked skyward and wondered what type of being could spin oceans and stars and moons — even sand — into existence.

I wondered how this world, this solid round globe that we call home, can hang in the sky, spin around the sun and serve as a home for billions of souls.

I wondered why I’m here.

I wondered about my connection to God and about my existence on Earth.

I kept asking those questions, but, honestly, I still don’t have the answer, but I kept asking, anyway.

As I stood there in awe, my youngest son squirmed in my arms. I’m not sure, but I think the waves and smell of the ocean and the night frightened him.

He seemed uncomfortable, uneasy.

I pulled him close and, softly, he laid his tiny head on my shoulders. He wrapped his small arms around me and, after a few minutes, was asleep.

And for a few minutes, Zach and I were in perfect harmony with the rest of God’s creation. There was no war, no hunger, no hatred—no pain.

There was, simply, peace.

But that moment, like so many other moments in my life, slipped away, and my son and I returned to the present.

I’m not sure if I’ll ever have another moment like those few minutes with my child, the moon and God. Heck, I’m not sure what I’ll have for lunch tomorrow.

But I am sure that somewhere inside each of us is the desire to know and understand our place in creation. Across the globe, billions of men and woman have fought and died for centuries, each trying to convince the other their God was the one true answer to a universe full of questions.

As for me, I still don’t understand God.

But I honestly believe the answer won’t be found at the end of a weapon. Instead, I believe the answers about God are more likely to be found standing on the beach, gazing at the full moon and being embraced by someone you love.

Comments

@okieprof said…
Bravo Scott, great photo and story of a great man

Popular posts from this blog

Ex-pastor suing Moore's First Baptist Church

MOORE — A former official with Moore’s First Baptist Church is suing the church for his termination, and for “spreading false rumors about his mental health throughout the community,” court documents show. Jimmie D. Lady, the church’s associate pastor, filed the suit in Cleveland County District Court last week seeking $10,000 in actual damages and $10,000 in punitive damages for “severe emotional distress and mental anguish as a result of statements made about him when his job was terminated.” Lady’s attorney, Andrew Hicks of Houston, claimed church officials terminated Lady for being bi-polar, then spread rumors about Lady in the community. “Although a man of God, Dr. Lady cannot ignore the dramatic, adverse effects these untrue and unfair accusations have had on him and his family,” Hicks said. “First Baptist Moore’s efforts to tarnish Dr. Lady’s reputation have threatened his family’s livelihood. Through this suit, we hope to restore Dr. Lady’s good name.” Church officials denied

If I were a chef...

If I were a chef, I’d spend early Wednesday mornings at the Farmers Market. I’d get there around 7 a.m., when the produce was wet and fresh and the day was young and the people were still drinking their coffee. If I were a chef, I’d wait patiently while the wrinkled granny lady individually fondled all 631 tomatoes on the table in front of her. I’d quietly tap my foot as she sniffed and touched each of the red, buxom vegetables before she finally selected two, and paid for them. I’d do that, if I were a chef. If I were a chef, I buy peaches — boxes and boxes of peaches. I’d buy them from the old, snaggle-toothed man with the radiant smile whose booth sits to the right of the entrance to the fairgrounds building. I’d buy his peaches because I know the old man understands fruit and earth and trees, better than anyone else there. I’d smile as his wrinkled, gnarly hand gently placed peach after peach in my basket. And I’d give him a sly wink after he handed me a bruised, but succulent pea

Coming full circle

At 45, I went back to school. The desire to go back, to get that Masters Degree, has haunted me like a vengeful spirit from a B-grade horror movie. I found myself dreaming about college; I read the want ads in the newspaper and would mentally circle the listings which called for a degree. I remembered my past — almost three decades ago — and how foolish I'd been. I wondered if I could ever atone for my mistakes. Then, somewhere between the end of my first marriage and the the start of my second, I realized I'd been given a gift. A chance to start over. Honestly. There it was, the real opportunity to return to my roots, rebuild my life and take another shot at the brass ring. I just had to be smart enough to see the chance and take it. I did. Several years ago I left a job I truly loved (and was very good at) because the work environment became so poisoned I couldn't stay. I'd lost hope. I felt I'd come to the apex of my career only to have it all come crashing down