There are times on the island when I miss my family, scattered around the country as they are. When we moved to the island so many years ago, we knew only the real estate agent who sold our lot, and then the contractor who built our house. Since then, we’ve become embedded in the island’s life; the family members we’ve made here have become nearly as dear as blood relatives. When I think of Communion, the ritual that shares body and blood of Christ, I watch others approach and then leave the altar. As they receive the bread, dip it into the cup, and then place it into their mouths, I am overcome by love. We have each eaten the most sacrificial of meals, shared the same body and blood! Surely this act unites us in a deep and serene manner that even outweighs familial blood. I thank you, Lord, for this gift—for my new family fathered by you, given to me. Amen.
A strong line of high winds and thunderstorms passed through last night in the deepest hours of darkness when the world seems most vulnerable and a house’s shell most fragile.
I came across a grim sight on the beach today—a crab was eating another crab, one that resembled him so closely the two—one live, the other dead–could have been twins.
At a restaurant in this area, the wait staff throws pieces of bread to the fish gathered beneath the deck. When the fish cluster to feed, a green heron appears
