We follow a predictable routine. A typical day begins with waking around six o'clock, grabbing a cup of coffee and donning our walking shoes. We head down the short boardwalk that leads to our destination: the miles of sandy shoreline which afford perfect sunrise viewing.
November in Hilton Head is considered winter season and few vacationers are evident. Fewer still is the number of people on the beach at sunrise. Those who are present are intentional. They know they are in for the treat of God's amazing daily display. They have cameras in hand.
A few surprise me. The die hard morning beach runner, in runner's nylon shorts. The face-pierced, stocking-capped, jeans-mid-buttocks-wearing teen boy. The pajama clad young mother with toddler in tow.
As the moment arrives, all activities stop. My husband and I cease our walk. The runner pauses his morning work out. The beatnik pulls his hand from his chained back pocket. The mother pulls her child to her chest. All are armed with cameras and we capture the shared moment. God's creation screams for our attention and we listen.
God's brushstroke painted all these masterpieces on the same morning:
Psalm 19:1-3 (NIRV):
"The heavens tell about the glory of God. The skies show that his hands created them. Day after day they speak about it. Night after night they make it known. But they don't speak or use words. No sound is heard from them. At the same time, their voice goes out into the whole earth. Their words go out from one end of the world to the other."
I miss our beach walks already.
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