After a cloudy weekend here on Panama City Beach, Sunday evening gave us this . . .
So now I’m understanding the Aqua part. The water here is absolutely crystal clear. Gorgeous.
The beach, at least near us, is surprisingly uncrowded, since it’s the height of spring break season. When we go out to walk, it’s a bit like being the only minivan at Sturgis. Probably not even exaggerating to say roughly 99% of the people here this week are under 25 years old. They get going a bit later in the morning than we do, but even before the sun sets . . .
. . . they’re all doing their college spring break thing, including blaring outdoor karaoke followed by a nightly dance party that goes until about 2 a.m. every night across the street from our condo. Fortunately, the door is heavy, the walls are thick and the windows and window coverings are substantial, so although it’s audible, it’s at least muted at bit.
During our walks, we overhear rather more interpersonal drama than we have in other locales with an older demographic. And yesterday I glanced at the street in time to witness a Girls-Gone-Wild moment when a young woman popped out of the sunroof of a passing car. Whatever. (And, no, there’s no photo!)
Mostly harmless it seems, but I’ve lived long enough to know some choices do have lasting consequences.
By three methods we may learn wisdom: first, by reflection, which is noblest; second, by imitation, which is easiest; and third by experience, which is the bitterest. ∼Confucius
Blessed are those who find wisdom, those who gain understanding, for she is more profitable than silver and yields better returns than gold. ∼Proverbs 3:13-14
So I’m hoping for all these young men and women–as well as for the rest of us, really–wisdom, deep and wide as the ocean; foresight, penetrating beyond the horizon; and clarity, sparkling as the waters of the Gulf.
Did I offer peace today? Did I bring a smile to someone’s face? Did I say words of healing? Did I let go of my anger and resentment? Did I forgive? Did I love? These are the real questions. ∼Henri Nouwen
. . . but even as I write, here comes the sun. Amen.