Summer is about wonder.
I grew up knowing summer to be the pungent smell of saltwater air that envelops the east coast oceanfront towns.
We spent only one week per year at the beach, but my memory of those weeks overshadows swim lessons and day camps and bike rides to the neighborhood pool. Grains of sand embedded themselves in the seat of my bathing suit all summer as a reminder of the week when we rode the waves of the ocean until my mom called us in for dinner.
The summer after I asked Jesus into my heart, I couldn’t wait to get back to the beach — it was as if the air was thinner there.
I could talk to God more freely sitting on the sand floor (that He made) and under the intangible sky (that only His hands have touched). He’d been there all along, but this year I wanted to hear from Him.