Treasure in the Sand

As some of you know, I frequent Panama City Beach with my husband Mac as he does orthopedic ER work at a hospital in the city. Poor me, right? While he fixes ankles, hips, and knees, I get to sit and look at the beach (from my condo; no thanks for the sand), and write things like... this post.

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I also take beach walks to clear my head, and then to fill it up again with the next "wise thought" so I can impart it to whomever chooses to listen.*

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And then, sometimes on these walks, I stop and talk to other beach sitters or walkers. Being an introvert, this will always be a harder thing for me than pushing my pen across a page, or clicking keys on the computer. I really do like people. Actually, I love people! Especially one at a time.

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Yesterday I was walking and thinking, and thinking and walking, and I was very content with just me, myself, and I... then God entered in. I recognized the feeling; today was a day to share ...Him...with someone.

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"Oh boy! With who?," I nervously asked God. I wasn't sure what lucky man or woman was going to get to hear me say a "Word" but somehow, whenever the Lord nudges me to speak up, he then faithfully directs my steps to the right person.

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So, I started walking and praying, and praying and walking...

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Not too long after that, I saw a man with one of those treasure-hunter-contraptions; he was waving it back and forth across the white sand.

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"Is this the one, God?"

"Yes, go."

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So I leisurely strolled up to this older fellow. He was wearing a thick sweatshirt, worn out jeans, and baseball cap as it was a Florida-type-of-cold-day. The treasure-hunting-device was beeping decisively. I said, "Find something?"

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"Yep, it's in here somewhere," he said. After about 30 seconds of shuffling the sand, a rusty old bottle cap was uncovered. He put it in his pocket explaining to me that even things like this, considering their age, might be worth something.

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"Oh really, how interesting to know," I replied.

"Where are you from?" I asked.

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"Michigan," he responded. (He looked like he was from Michigan. Not sure what Michigan-people really look like, but if I had to guess, it would be like the weathered snowbird who was standing in front of me.)

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"Ah, here for warmth! I get it! Nothing like sunshine in the midst of winter!" I said. Then I asked, "Do you do this much?," sincerely wanting to know more about his treasure hunts.

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"Yep," he said, "This is my third day here, and I've already found 37 cents, 2 rings, and a cross."

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"Oh wow!" I said. "That's awesome. A cross! I love that." I then said to myself, "OK, a cross...he found a cross...there's your segue."

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So, I took a breath, said a prayer, and asked, "Do you know what the cross means?"

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A little bewildered at the question, because, as you know, that's not an everyday "how's the weather type question," he quizzically said, "No, tell me."

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And for the next minute, we had a conversation. I can't recall exactly all I said, but it was from the heart. I know I told him that God loved him, and I also know that the age-old-timeless-Truth found in John 3:16 was spoken: For God so loved the world that he gave his only Son, that whosoever believes in him should not perish but have everlasting life.

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He said, "Yes, I believe that! I am a Christian. I am a Catholic Christian."

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I smiled and simply said, "Yay! That's great to know!" We spoke for a moment longer, and nodded at each other with a quiet agreement and a good-bye. As I walked away, with hopeful confidence that he knew Jesus as his Savior, I said, "God's Spirit lives in you." And that was that.

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I kept walking on, and praying much, asking the Lord to use my meager jumbled words to do his mighty life-giving work. I prayed that when this friendly older Michigan man got back to his sunny beachside condo, he would relook at the rusty bottle cap, the 37cents, the 2 rings, but most of all the cross--and then take hold of the age-old timeless Truth of this treasure that he uncovered in the sand.

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*Check out other beachside writing, and subscribe to the Daily Prayers on www.RespitefortheWeary.com

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