Road Trip Diary: July 21

July 21, 2009
My cousin, Dora Lea, had her first baby today (actually the first baby of any of the grandchildren on this side of the family), a boy—Preston Lee Branch. 7lbs. 14oz.
We went to the beach. How comforting that sound—waves breaking on the shoreline. I looked some, but today I mostly closed my eyes and just listened.
I went for a run and a dog ran up excitedly beside me for a bit, dripping happily with ocean water, matching my steps in a friendly manner before darting off to say hello to some people standing in the waves’ break.
Driving over San Diego/Coronado Bay Bridge, we notice suicide hotline signs. “I wonder why those are there?” Ginger asks. “Probably because a lot of people come here to jump.” I answer. It makes me wonder (a little morbidly, I admit) what the suicide comparison rate is for people across different states. It looks like somewhere with beaches and sunshine and easiness would not have too many people wanting to “end it all”. But then, I’m sure they think the same thing about people who live in mountains or green farmland or fast moving cities. The grass is always greener, I suppose. And that is our society, to pin life’s complete joy on place or circumstance rather than something inside. I have seen a lot of people here actually who seem void of life. They are searching (aren’t we all) for fulfillment in places and experiences and superficial friendships, with no real connection to another, to a person, to a friend, to One. I think maybe this is how the world is becoming. The more we “grow” the more we “grow apart” from each other and from our own selves. Surface friends. Surface streets. Have casual attitudes become our demise?
Lord, tonight I am sad and empty. My heart longs, like an arid desert for its rain, for the fulfillment of its desires. But I have poured them all before you as an offering—they are, after all, my only treasures. I have laid them at Your feet. I feel that, perhaps, You have begun a winnowing in me—removing the people from my life who are not meant for it at this time. I pray that You will eventually restore these broken pieces, return these people to my life. But all I can know for sure is that You are here to stay—and that is enough.