From Pajamas to Bikini…

Hi. I’m Sherri, and I’m in SRQ. That is code for Sarasota for anyone who doesn’t live here or at least fly here. Airport codes are so random, but I kinda like it. It’s like insider language. People who live elsewhere will have to forgive me for being so spy-like. Or just learn it and be all like, “yeah, I’m headed to SRQ for spring break next year!”

This blog is a somewhat lame attempt to channel all of the thoughts that seem to float around in my head without a place to land. Who will ever read it is beyond me, let alone why it would be read-worthy is further still. There is no shortage of amazing people sharing their stories through blogging. But perhaps if in doing this benefits one person somehow, it will be worth doing. Even if that one person is me.

Today was a beautiful day. It always is when I can go from my pajamas to bikini. Twenty pounds ago I said “pajamas to bathing suit”, but it’s a bikini now. Side note….If I continue to eat a late night snack consisting of lime flavored tortilla chips sprinkled with shredded cheddar and then microwaved for thirty seconds, it will be back to bathing suit.

One of my absolutes is time at the beach. This is critical, I mean seriously vital to my sanity. I schedule it. Friday morning, Lido with Whitney. Or sometimes Saturday morning to myself. On occasion it will be Sunday evening on Siesta with one or both of my daughters. The details are not important, only that I know I must spend time with my butt in a beach chair and my toes in the sand. 

I must hear the ceaseless melody of the waves crashing. Crashing may be a bit of an overstatement as it is the Gulf of Mexico, and we really have baby waves. But I must hear it. I must feel the sea breeze and inhale the salt air. I must hear the seagulls, feel the shells underfoot. I have a deeply rooted sense of awe just being there.  

I know so many people who live here and NEVER GO TO THE BEACH. I can’t pretend to know what is wrong with these types of people. I just know that my chair is in the trunk of my car pretty much all the time, along with a half packed beach bag by my front door. I consider myself beach ready at all times, kind of a cross between a tourist and a girl scout.

(And while I do not apologize for my faith, I hope to remain authentic without getting all weird.)

So besides the obvious, why the deep need for the beach? Because it’s there that I am reminded of God. Mainly of how truly small I am, and how big God is. The horizon, all the water, the waves that just keep coming, the countless grains of sand. The intricacy of the shells, the patterns on the sand that often mirror the patterns of the clouds in the gorgeous blue skies. It overwhelms me. It calms me. I can’t help but slow my pace, my breathing, my racing thoughts. God made all of it. The big expansive parts. The small microscopic parts. And me, he made me too, and I get to live here and enjoy all of this because He loves me so very much. 

So thanks for reading…until the next post…
Sherri





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