Remembering to Breathe
Every year we return to South Carolina, it feels a lot like we're going home. It's a place that's etched itself into my heart, and all my childhood memories. In some ways, I feel like I grew up on the beach, among the wild things that burrowed in the sand, dampened by the salt-spray. There was "the year of the seaweed", when hurricane surges had stirred up the depths and washed color on the sand. There was the year we bought peaches and watermelons from the local farmer's market. That one time in 2015 we were there during the hortific flooding that washed out roads and railroad tracks. We drove our 12-passenger van through water as it splashed up on the hood. Somehow we survived. I've changed every year, especially over this past one it seems. This returning, this coming "home" - it grounds me, reminds me who I've always been, Who's always been there. He's traveled with me every year, guarding my path, healing my spiri...