I call them Bigfoot sightings.
They are the pictures I don’t take.
They are the once in a lifetime memories that don’t get recorded for whatever reason.
Last week, I was driving down the highway very early one morning when a coyote ran out across the road in front of me. I was aware that there are occasional coyote sightings in Brevard County, but this was the first time I had seen one.
I knew almost immediately what it was, not because it was chasing a giant-tailed bird, and not because it was dodging any falling boulders or carrying with it a box marked “Acme,” but mostly because of the tail, because of the dog-like face, because it was so clearly not a dog.
Am I heartsick that I didn’t get its picture? Of course, but I wasn’t about to cause an accident, trying to fumble with my phone to get a blurry shot of something.
This morning, even at sunrise, the beach was crowded. There was a strong breeze coming in off the ocean the waves were larger than I’ve seen them. The ocean was filled with surfers. And the beach itself had more than a few fishermen, setting up their poles.
These are things I am used to seeing—surfers and fishermen. I’m also used to joggers and dog walkers, even men with metal detectors, sweeping the beach for treasure.
But today I saw a first. There were two young men (I’m old enough now to call men in their twenties “young men”) lounging in the sand, one on his back, one leg crossed over the other, his hands behind his head. The other man stood over him. He had a guitar slung over his shoulder and he was singing.
It was quite the image. It was beautiful. It was charming. Later the third member of their group arrived, a girl, also in her twenties, who had been out surfing. Both men raced to her to help her with her board.
It was all something I would have loved to get a picture of, but really impossible to get a picture of without coming across as kind of creepy.
Much like with the coyote crossing the street, you will have to take my word for it that it happened at all.
All of which makes me think of Mary Magdalene, at the empty tomb. She was the first person Jesus appeared to and she had to wonder who would possibly believe her story. No Facebook, no Instagram, no selfies with the risen Lord. All she had was her word. All she had was her story.
I wonder if it was the look on her face that convinced others or the tone of her voice, a certain wild-eyed look about her that could only belong to someone completely crazy or someone who had just seen the dead come back to life. I wonder if people noticed the joy, the emerging joy within her as even she needed time to process just what was happening.
The disciples were skeptical of her story, but there was something there in her voice, in her eyes that told them they needed to see the tomb for themselves.
Whenever I share my pictures, whenever I share my stories, my moments with God, I am, in essence, trying to pull a Mary Magdalene. I am trying to get you to see what I have seen, to help you understand what I have felt and experienced, so that you can feel and experience those same things too.
I want you to get to the beach.
I want you to get outside.
I want you to get up this morning.
Because God is waiting.
They are the pictures I don’t take.
They are the once in a lifetime memories that don’t get recorded for whatever reason.
Last week, I was driving down the highway very early one morning when a coyote ran out across the road in front of me. I was aware that there are occasional coyote sightings in Brevard County, but this was the first time I had seen one.
I knew almost immediately what it was, not because it was chasing a giant-tailed bird, and not because it was dodging any falling boulders or carrying with it a box marked “Acme,” but mostly because of the tail, because of the dog-like face, because it was so clearly not a dog.
Am I heartsick that I didn’t get its picture? Of course, but I wasn’t about to cause an accident, trying to fumble with my phone to get a blurry shot of something.
This morning, even at sunrise, the beach was crowded. There was a strong breeze coming in off the ocean the waves were larger than I’ve seen them. The ocean was filled with surfers. And the beach itself had more than a few fishermen, setting up their poles.
These are things I am used to seeing—surfers and fishermen. I’m also used to joggers and dog walkers, even men with metal detectors, sweeping the beach for treasure.
But today I saw a first. There were two young men (I’m old enough now to call men in their twenties “young men”) lounging in the sand, one on his back, one leg crossed over the other, his hands behind his head. The other man stood over him. He had a guitar slung over his shoulder and he was singing.
It was quite the image. It was beautiful. It was charming. Later the third member of their group arrived, a girl, also in her twenties, who had been out surfing. Both men raced to her to help her with her board.
It was all something I would have loved to get a picture of, but really impossible to get a picture of without coming across as kind of creepy.
Much like with the coyote crossing the street, you will have to take my word for it that it happened at all.
All of which makes me think of Mary Magdalene, at the empty tomb. She was the first person Jesus appeared to and she had to wonder who would possibly believe her story. No Facebook, no Instagram, no selfies with the risen Lord. All she had was her word. All she had was her story.
I wonder if it was the look on her face that convinced others or the tone of her voice, a certain wild-eyed look about her that could only belong to someone completely crazy or someone who had just seen the dead come back to life. I wonder if people noticed the joy, the emerging joy within her as even she needed time to process just what was happening.
The disciples were skeptical of her story, but there was something there in her voice, in her eyes that told them they needed to see the tomb for themselves.
Whenever I share my pictures, whenever I share my stories, my moments with God, I am, in essence, trying to pull a Mary Magdalene. I am trying to get you to see what I have seen, to help you understand what I have felt and experienced, so that you can feel and experience those same things too.
I want you to get to the beach.
I want you to get outside.
I want you to get up this morning.
Because God is waiting.
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