Yesterday Hilary, Lauren and I took a drive to this beautiful beach resort on the shore of Lake Huron between the communities of Kincardine and Owen Sound. A very pleasant “end of summer” outing. Slow-paced farms of Red Angus beef cattle; apple orchards; Pine River cheese factory near Amberley; fields dotted with dancing hydro-producing windmills; foot-long hot dogs and beach fries by picnic tables talking to an old retired lake fisherman; crimson sunset to the west over a gently rolling lake, low-angle sun giving artfully composed picture-perfect farm scenes along Highway 21.
That little stretch of beach holds special memories for me. The kids were much younger. We had taken pretty much the same drive and arrived late afternoon. No crowds. We took a football onto the sand and started throwing. Hilary had always loved “catch” (baseball, football…she was pretty handy). But for several months she had suffered from “locked shoulder”. Every chore had become difficult. As always she put the matter to prayer. Right before this little trip it seemed that she was realizing some improvement. She took the football from me and started chucking beautiful spiral throws. The kids laughed at this demonstration of victory. Her condition became remarkably better right there on the beach! I remember a healing evangelist once saying after prayer “Now do something you couldn’t do before.”
This time daughter Lauren walked the sands stretching her capability after a bout with torn Achilles tendon. The “boot” is off; the crutches are gone; physio continues. The stuffing pretty well knocked out of the summer season for her. She has been brave and patient, learning, if just for a little while, the plight of the handicapped. Her boyfriend Steve has been a real comfort, right from the night of the impromptu basketball game and trip to hospital.
I did my little stroll down into the waves at the shore’s edge. A wedding party had gotten out of a limo and come to the waters for pictures. I gave them adequate space (about eighty yards). Much giggling as the group of ten got into position and held up dresses out of the sands. The woman photographer had some nifty devices to get them all relaxed for the shots. The last two to leave and head up the path by the big flapping Canadian flag were the “special couple”. Impulsively I shouted out “Hey…Bravo.” They turned somewhat surprised and smiling, waved and gave me the thumbs-up. (Yes, bravo to your maturity, little ones, and love and hopes and dreams and risks in entering into covenant under God. So many today see marriage as unnecessary baggage and conformity. Not so.)
Drove home through Goderich, Clinton, Mitchell and Stratford. Tired. Contented. Thankful. (This would be a good time to read Psalm 104.)
En route we got a phone call from our son Jordan and we described the day. Imagine that little cellular device delivering to us the voice of our happy Arctic charter pilot second-born…all the way from Iqaluit in the territory of Nunavut. He had just finished a town-to-town flying junket of several days with representatives of the Housing Authority. They celebrated with a dinner of Arctic char and caribou. Much new development up there. Early in September he changes jobs. Commercial airline pilot at last! (Montreal will be “home”.)
Yep, pretty good day I would say.