The World According to Tiff Sniff

I love Tennessee in the summertime. The leafy green trees, the cool green and blue of hills and ridges in the distance. The humidity is so thick you can see it: during the day, everything looks a little bit hazy. At night, when the air cools slightly, tendrils of fog hide in the tops of trees and between steep slopes. Lightning bugs glow and dance like the precursers to the arrival of some mythical forest creature, all light and grace. The lingering scents of skunk and honeysuckle and magnolia trace everywhere I go. The sounds of church softball, children laughing, dogs playing, and music are everywhere in this city of life and family. I really do love it, and am so grateful to be home.

But somewhere inside, my core longs to resonate with the thunder of waves crashing on the California beaches, ending their long journey from Asia with a thud I feel in my belly. To walk along the sand, the hard crust giving way just as I leave each step. To stand in the cold, cold surf until my feet and ankles go numb, laughing at the dolphins doing somersaults around each other just offshore. To face head-on the wind that wraps my hair around my head and makes my eyes water. To spread my arms and stand on my toes and feel that if I just knew how to let go, I, too, could fly off toward the setting sun like the gulls singing and circling over head.

God's creation is amazing, and I have never been anywhere I could not find beauty. That is a true gift, and evidence of His love.