Circles of life in Port Aransas

Friday, May 20, 2022

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Circles of life in Port Aransas

The seagulls gathered en masse where they were being fed. After a couple hours running in the surf and shoveling sand from one place to another, we broke out our own picnic dinners, fabulous adult lunchables from HEB. I had tuna salad with cranberries, cheddar cheese squares, lots of little crackers, and red grapes.

And I felt bad for the seagulls, who hovered and soared and landed, walked as close as they dared, their red beaks open and singing their squawky song, as if to ask: “a piece of cheese for the bird, sir?” But if we feed them all the rest will come. The kids, 2 and 5, are having fun now, but will the birds suddenly attack them? We don’t know. So I felt bad, and remembered James’ verse about widows and orphans.

“If a brother or a seagull lacks in daily food, you must not say, “Go in peace, be warm and well fed” but then do nothing” (James 2).

Your mercy towers to the heavens, O God, and your faithfulness to the skies. Above all the earth be your glory.

We dug in the sand where there were bubbles and found dozens of tiny clams. Most of them we left in the spreading surf to recreate their tiny homes for themselves. We watched a few of them begin to dig slowly and then disappear in an instant.

A few hundred yards north fisherman arrived on the pier as evening came. A restaurant at the base of Caldwell Pier is named “Keepers.” You catch ‘em, we’ll cook ‘em.

I felt like I was part of a great swarm, of fish and clams and seagulls and humans, all doin’ what comes naturally. It had been a long day, driving in the sun from Austin. We stopped and read the stories of war and treachery by Mexicans and Americans alike at Goliad, previously La Bahia, a meeting place where Spanish, Mexicans and a variety of Americans crossed paths violently during the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries. But we also read of lifelong bonds formed between these various otherwise enemies, and how the “Angel of Goliad” saved the lives of several otherwise doomed soldiers in the Texan Army of the Republic.

In the evening I pray for my critical spirit to lift. Something seems wrong everywhere, and part of me wants to forsake my humanness to become a quiet, done-to amoeba.

As if I could. My mind will not let me. Instead I must ask God continually to lift the judgments I make, then mute and moderate the criticism I feel of everyone and everything. Pray unceasingly. God’s perspective can be mine, and my lazy self-righteousness will disappear down the spiritual drain, showered away like the superfine sand of our Port Aransas beach.

It was not you who chose me, but I who chose you and appointed you to go and bear fruit that will remain.

I know this has been true for me in the past, and it will be true in the future. The only question is, can it be true right now?

From our beach we watched first a big black ship setting out to sea from Aransas Pass. Then a few minutes later we watched a big white ship coming in from sea. The white ship must have been 300 yards long. I looked for Jasper to show him the ship. I looked for Miles to show him the ship. By the time I found them the ship had sailed out of sight. How long did that take: three minutes? Four?

Lord, break open my heart in this precious tiny moment, this NOW that passes so quickly out of sight, and show me your heart. You love me. Let me remain in your love, and be excited to receive the joys you have for us tomorrow. Which starts early for Andi and Aki, who plan to get up early and watch the sun rise over the eastern sea.

Awake, O my soul! Awaken me, Lord, and I will wake the dawn.