Patriotic Hymns, Little Kisses and the Color Green

So we arrived at LBI yesterday before everyone else in the group which was nice. Gave us a chance to get acclimated and spend some quiet time on the beach by ourselves. Also gave us a chance to meet our neighbor for the week, whom we found out is a minister who is friends with a pastor we know at First Assembly in Bayonne. Small world. Just a way of God letting us know that even with all the insanity of the last couple of days, He's still orchestrating this concert of our lives.
We biked around town a bit to get the lay of things and found a little Methodist Church that looked promising for service this morning. We confirmed with our neighbor that it was an ok place to go, and off we went this morning. Majority of the folk there were of the wise, white haired variety (one of the little choir ladies just celebrated 97 years this week), but there was a familiarity that put me at ease. We sang "God of our Fathers" (or God of the Ages as it is in the new PC hymnbooks...) with its trumpet intro. I imagined my dad's voice singing the exact same song back in Ohio today. I always love hearing him sing that one. The tenor line can get pretty high, and I could picture the way his forehead stretches out for him to hit the notes. The "prayer song" as it was labeled was "ask and it shall be given unto you..." a verse from an old camp song. Even more poignant today as I was asking to be freed from the guilt and pain I've carried for so long.
I was also able to genuinely laugh today. The pastor had gone into a time of silent prayer, as indicated by the bulletin, and it had gone not more than 15 seconds until the pianist (another wise, white haired lady) started playing robustly the offertory song "God Bless America". The pastor was a very theatrical man who looked up, looked back, went back to her piano and pointed to where they were supposed to be in the bulletin. She finished the line with a quiet flourish and he hugged her shoulders. I joined the rest of the congregation in laughing not at her, but at our own mix ups and failings. Knowing that when we do mess up, God turns around, points us in the right direction and gives us a hug.
I am amazed that God finds ways to give me little kisses of joy and peace just to let me know that He hasn't quite forgotten me yet. I may scream and cry to Him that He has, but He hasn't. Every little detail is in His hand. We went back out on the beach this evening for a walk with Joe's dad. As we walked the sun was setting over the bay on the other side of the island. The pink and purple sky reflected on the sand and the water, making the water turn the loveliest shade of green. I intensely dislike the color green. I think it makes me look sick if I wear it, I admonish Joey for using it in lighting schemes and I refuse to eat mint chocolate chip ice cream (I have more against the chips than I do the mint, but still). But the water in the evening is this beautiful shade of green against blue that looks like stained glass as the wave begins to crest. And I think to myself, surely God is here. Surely He is real and surely He loves me and has not forgotten me. But it isn't just here that He loves me. He loves me in the city when it is grey and dreary and I haven't seen the sun for days. Here, though, He reminds me with kisses of joy and the patriotic hymns my father sings so masterfully. Here I am reminded I live in a country where I am still free to worship how I choose when I choose. May I never choose to stop.