spirit of god
The paddle out for Mark Metherell, July 4, 2012. Photo by Carey Shyres.
The first wave wrenched the board loose from my fingertips, sending it crashing into my knee and knocking me off my feet.
“You OK, Cath?” I heard someone call from behind me.
“Not really!” I hollered, as someone reached around me to steady the huge stand-up paddle board while I struggled to regain my footing in the icy-cold waters of the Pacific.
My friends, experienced surfers Joel and Rob, appeared at my side, holding onto the board and gently coaching me to wait for the next set of waves to pass before attempting to paddle out toward Second Reef, several hundred yards beyond the shore break.
“You got it?” Rob said, “OK. You’re good to go!”
Gripping the long-handled paddle in one hand, I foisted myself forward (if with less grace than I had hoped) onto the board, while Joel pushed it forward into the momentarily glassy sea between sets.
This Sunday is Pentecost. For 50 days, a group of 120 followers of Jesus waited. Their teacher, for whom they had left all they had, was now gone. Judas, one of their own, betrayed their master and then killed himself. The comforter they had been promised had not yet come.
