I haven’t told too many people about this yet, so let’s keep it quiet, please…just between us.
This Sunday marked the first time in 2 and a half years that I have been gone from Elevation 2 Sundays in a row.  I knew I was in full fledged preaching withdrawal last Wednesday morning at the beach when I woke up at 3:30 AM.  I couldn’t go back to sleep for some reason, and after a sufficient attempt to fight it, I gave up and walked out to the beach.

I know a lot of people go to the mountains to hear from God.  For me, the beach is a superior setting.  The size of ocean makes a good backdrop for me to think about how big God is compared to whatever I’m praying about.  And since I have a hard time with silence and stillness, the noise and motion of the waves creates the perfect soundtrack for me to reflect.
I also like how, presumably, no one can hear me praying out loud over the volume of the waves.
And there I was, praying out loud way too early Wednesday morning on the beach, and at some point, I crossed over and realized I wasn’t praying anymore.  I was actually preaching a sermon.  To myself and the waves, and the shells, because there wasn’t another soul in sight.
The altar call must have been powerful, because the waves just kept coming forward.

I don’t know if I’ve fully experienced Jeremiah 20:9 yet in my short ministry:
But if I say, “I will not mention him
or speak any more in his name,”
his word is in my heart like a fire,
a fire shut up in my bones.
I am weary of holding it in;
indeed, I cannot.
But I can say now that I love my job so much, I’ve preached a sermon out loud, to nobody, on the beach, before 5 am, because I physically miss my pulpit at Elevation just that much.
Does this make me crazy?