So if rules were made to be broken, we successfully broke a big one on Sunday.
We didn't go to church.
When you work for a church and you're married to a preacher who is himself a preacher's kid (and grandkid!), not going to church is something you just don't do. And we're totally fine with that. We love making it a regular part of our lives to worship God, and we love modeling for our kids how important it is to carve out regular space for God.
But on Sunday, on Tim's last weekend as a Floridian and our last one together as a family for several weeks, we communed with God on the sunny shores of the Gulf of Mexico.
We built castles and played with our buckets.
We put our toes in the sand and felt the grains.
We ran into the chilly surf,
and ran out with our buckets full of sea water.
We relaxed, and breathed the salty air,
and ran free on the shores with the soccer ball.
We fed the seagulls some of our snacks,
and rejoiced when we tossed them right into waiting beaks.
And then we realized that we should have listened to the voice of reason (a.k.a. mom) when she warned that the birds will become your best friends if you feed them.
We sat on the shore,
and we watched as our own little miracle walked in the very same water that she couldn't navigate on her own just a few months ago.
We found lizards in the shadow of a fallen palm tree
and pretended we were birds when Mom wanted to take serious pictures.
We walked around with what Micah called "snowy feet" - a whole different kind of snow than we are about to experience.
We sat together for one last time on the warm coast and left ready to transition.
And when we reached for our snacks, we found a little sign that might have come directly from God - a bag of Peanuts from the Phillies stadium,
and a reminder of our new church home.
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