Traveling to and through Florida DAY TEN

We took a too long trip for one day, to Sanibel Island and back. The original plan, last August, was to spend one night with our friends Barb and Dave who live on the island. But in January Barb received a diagnosis of stage 3 ovarian cancer. The good news is that after ten months of tests, procedures and sickening therapies, last week the report came back: No Evidence of Disease. Hallelujah! Naturally, we could not stay with them. We visited for a half hour, shared a bit, prayed and hugged. The windshield time was worth it. I am determined not to ignore my friends anymore.

Sanibel Island is known as the shell capital of the world. I don't understand why we've been told, "There are no big shells anymore." I mean, where have they gone? Regardless, there are literally millions of shells everywhere on the island. The beach was not combed and smooth. It was au naturel and beautiful. Though the waves were mild as the tide went out, they still made their presence known, crashing in our ears as we breathed in the open sky and expanse of sea along the Gulf Coast.

Twenty-five miles of paved bike trails in and around the island made our eight mike ride through palms and waterways one of the most pleasant we've ever had. We hope to return one day when we can stay a night and ride all day.

We took the short, albeit slow, narrow and winding road to Captiva Island. We barely saw water because there is little, if any, public parking available. Most of the custom summer mansions were hidden behind gates and situated at the ends of winding drives through huge, treed properties. To us, Captiva was a bit of a disappointment. I fought the urge to say it was a waste of an hour in our short day on the islands. Then I reminded myself that each moment is what it is, no more or less. The redemption: I'm glad I had the chance to peek at the place so many people have told me about.

Shell collecting back on Sanibel proved to be revelationary to me. Each shell, even if of the same species, was unique. Each shell is lovely in it's own way, whether chipped or worn with age. In fact, the older they were, the more smooth and pretty their surfaces and the more their intricacies could be seen, all from decades of tumbling through their life in ocean and sand. Regardless of their place in the world today, their inner beauty, that which they were created for and have not struggled against, is more greatly revealed.

They were created by Love just like me. I may be overweight and have my 'issues' but my Creator looks on me the same way I gaze at the shells. With awe and Love in the moment, not seeing the cracks and chips, and only seeing the beauty.