When guests come to visit the island, they rush to the gulf, wanting to see the ocean. Off they go, wearing bathing suits, carrying towels and beach toys, beach chairs, cool drinks, and pads on which to lie. I warn them of the FL sun and its potency. We keep sun screen on hand for company who, in their excitement, fail to bring their own. “Be careful, “I say, “the sun can be brutal; before you know it, you can be burned.” “Yes, we know it. We’ll be fine. No problem.” And off they go. Time passes and they return—already bearing traces of the red skin to follow. By the next morning I listen to groans and see brilliant marks. “I got too much sun!” I hear them say, “I didn’t think this would happen!” I bite my tongue and swallow the words, “But I told you so!” How human we are in our refusal to listen, to follow advice. I think of Adam and Eve in the Garden. “Don’t eat from this one tree…” Perhaps nothing really changes and each of us has to learn for himself. I wonder, dear Lord, how often you think, “I told you so!” and yet you continue to forgive us and love us regardless. Amen.