Without getaways, most people hate their ordinary lives.

 Ministers feel the pinch, too. They may be called by God, sealed by the Spirit, and shepherds of the flock, but on many days, it doesn’t feel lofty or noble. Just tedious. And then, it’s time to depart from the pressure to a locale where God can refresh us and speak to us without all the fray of activity.

Always through the years, God has connected us with friends who help us to escape. The Whitmans and their beach cabin…a trailer in Leakey, Texas….a river house owned by the friend of a friend.

At the Whitman’s beach cabin, Sam and I got engaged. It was a tiny haphazard construction contrived of driftwood, furnished with narrow bedding. One of the couches in the living room was a seat out of a car. The cabin contained the essentials-- a shower and small stove and refrigerator, sink and coffee maker. No description can conjure up the joy we felt when we arrived there.  To us, it was the Taj Majal on stilts. 

The breezeway below hosted a magnificent place for shady cooking and for small children to play. When ours came along, we took them there and indoctrinated them with a love of the beach.

During Unemployment Year, we fled to the cabin many times to leave the worry of spreading resumes and looking marketable behind. In retrospect, that was a wonderful year. At the time, our nerves jangled with concern. Would we ever be middle class? The soothing sound of the waves and constant wind gentled our souls. Some nights, it rained furiously. I remember on particular day where the Gulf was still as a lake. I have never seen it that way again.

T.V. reception was terrible, so Sam studied and I read to the kids from Lewis’ Ray Bradbury collection. My kids cut their teeth on scary science fiction. The stories wrapped around them and grabbed their imaginations. All three kids were witty enough to "get" the punch lines, the humor and preachy morality that stamps most science fiction. We laughed and screamed reading those stories, and the girls took turns reading aloud, also.

When they sold the cabin, Lewis asked whether we wanted anything from there. I asked for the book. Samuel held it to his face. "This smells like the beach. It’s the smell of our heritage, and it holds my memories. That’s where our family belongs." Quite a mouthful for a twelve year old.

Since then, we have been employed.  We can afford to rent much fancier digs.  We've stayed in very nice, large, remodeled cabins that could house 10 or 12 family members.  Still, while we're sitting around peeling shrimp for gumbo, someone will say, "Do you remember the time at the Whitman's cabin...." And the unparalelled joy of the cumulative time spent near surf and shore rolls over us like benevolent waves.