It took me a moment to collect myself before answering. It was such a crazy, random, inexplicable question. It's like asking "Do you believe in God?" or "Is there a single sane person in Congress?"
How can you not love it?
If such things don't put you in the holiday spirit there is simply something wrong with you.
The previous night we'd bumped into Santa Claus himself on Duval Street and he copped a feel when Sarah had her picture taken with him.
I think she said "Joy to the world" or something like that.
The first time it hit me was sitting in the back seat as Dad and Mom drove as round the big curve on Tybee Island, before there was a guard rail or a landscaped clump of sand, and I excitedly stared at the sun throwing diamonds on the ocean. God casts a line and threw a hook in my heart and reeled me in.
Salt water flows in my veins. Pirates are preferable to Priests. Sand is never confused with dirt. Under the Boardwalk is holier than inside of any Church building. Bar food is bountiful. The sun bubbles out of the sea every morning and bubbles under it every night. Romance is everywhere as the sea kisses the sand throughout the day and night.
Tightening my grip around her waist we strolled under the Mango Trees.
After Jesus rose himself from the dead, the first thing he did was go to the beach to hang out with his friends. They grilled fish ... probably checked out girls wearing bikinis ... went surfing.
"If it's good enough for Jesus," I finally said, "it's good enough for me."
God I love islands.
