It reminds me of a Sunday morning, a breeze blowing, no shoes, and this rocky shore. I had my Bible and my journal, and I was staring out at the sea, listening to the water splash and soaking in the land of the Bible. The land Jesus walked. It lay before me, the names and places like a live map, bringing the black and white words to life. The breeze blew the ship across the sea, and the pigs ran down the hill near me as Jesus healed the man who lived "among the dead" in the crypts above where I sat. The stones were hard and rough under my feet as I thought about the ones that would not allow the seed to grow in the parable, told just over there to the right. The knoll where Jesus sat to tell stories, overlooking the sea and boats and people coming and going.
And I could hear the shouts and smell the fish as the fishermen washed their nets, just there, where the seven fresh water streams emptied into the Sea of Galilee, the Kinneret. Nets that were later stretched to the limit by an unbelievable amount of fish, caught at an unbelievable time of the day in an unbelievable place.
Sitting there, I let it all wash over me, let it soak in, deep in my heart and mind. I saw it all as I sat there, that Sunday morning. Saw it, and will never forget it. The Jesus I know lived and breathed here. Lived and breathed, touched lives, healed hearts, and worked miracles.
And the lapping of the water against the stones, the sun coming up behind me, the breeze blowing gently was all there, making it as real as the Bible stories in front of me.