Oregon Coast Mayhem & Writing Update

My little coastal tourist town’s system shrieks like a mooing cow

We are under a tsunami watch/advisory here in Oregon. Our last smallish official cresting surge was in 2022. It does create some mayhem—and hilarity. I mean, when you start getting texts like, ARE YOU AT THE BEACH? COME MY DIRECTION—WE HAVE ROOM! AND MY DOG WON’T BITE YOU, AT LEAST I DON’T THINK SO!!!

Or even better, “Have you checked on your parents? Why are they still in their house?! Are you sure they’re OK?”

…You have to start thinking with amusing replies. Like — Nah, I thought only of myself and hung them out to dry…errr, get soaked.

And sometimes I’m at a loss—like with that dog line. I finally type: THANK YOU. All is good. (CAPS BACK ‘ATCHA!)

All towns maintain warning systems. Once, I lived on the south side, on top of a hill, marked as the Evac Zone. When the cars started meandering up the gravel road (nothing quiet about that!) and parking along the edge with one tire hanging over our impressive ditch, I invited them all in for coffee.

They preferred to remain lonesome, I guess.

My little coastal tourist town’s system shrieks like a mooing cow—imagine a loud bellow that you can hear in every home, tourist trap, or hotel—and even while tromping on the beach (unless you’ve followed the waterline foam to sandy beaches that Google forgot).

I’ve not been the journalist covering the city council meetings in many years—but I always did think the cow noise probably would have been more appropriate for … let’s say, Tillamook/Cowbuktoo?!

At one point, there was a vote—the cow stayed.

Pardon my digression. I realize I intended to give you a “writing and all things related” update. But last night, when the hubs spouted, “What is going on?” I immediately grinned. “My Jesus is coming back!”

He couldn’t help but return the grin. I guess my enthusiasm is contagious.

Know that those in the areas potentially affected (including Hawaii) appreciate your prayers. People who love my beach (there are many) or other beaches remain very aware that our waves can proliferate assertively, or even become downright incensed. We respect that—and take appropriate measures—but we know God is with us.

We don’t tiptoe around.

If you don’t want to risk tsunamis, don’t be at the beach.

And sigh, isn’t that quite the metaphor … of life.

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Alright—God’s been a’talkin over here. I received a tap from a fifth person about this Heaven book. “The Holy Spirit asked me to check in with you, to see if you are ready for the waves of ministry that this all will release.” And as I sputtered out several preparations I have implemented as prompted, my writing buddy said, “OK, well that’s a ‘no’.”

LOL! And he was so deadpan.

So then my friend M. said, “He wants you to start praying NOW about that, in particular. What will you take on? What will you not take on? How will you determine?”

Well … can’t I take it all on?

Apparently not.

So yes, I have added it, and of course will seek the Lord with any requests—and I ask for your prayers, as well. I have been able to pray with a few this week—and God has honored those requests. I am thankful for Him.

More From Heaven

My Lord has been revealing more of what happened during my Heaven vacay. The last two days have been quite emotional as I pen the words. Yesterday, I was writing a chapter starring my elementary school teacher—her story about Jesus—and knew I could take the contemplation of it two different directions.

I decided to run and tackle the emotional healing Jesus gave her during her visit with Him. That evolved into a motif of sorries and apologies—and how do we heal when we never receive those?

After writing it all out, I tried supplemental musing as I parked at the grocery store.

God tapped me on the shoulder while I was in aisle 13. He reminded me of something He told me when I was there—that also supplied more healing for me.

Fighting to make it to the checkstand without waterworks, I texted hubby, who immediately wrote back: Wow, that is powerful.

You think? My heart is overflowing with gratefulness. And it made a stellar ending to the chapter.

I can’t wait for you to read it.

If you’ve read my other books, you know I love to leave a hook at the end of chapters—I will try not to do that incessantly here on the Stack. But I wanted you to remember today that He really does provide as we lean into Him—even in the healing we thought could never happen. Even in the darkest of nights. Even when the wall in front of us reaches to the sky. And even when our identity seems caught in the spokes of everything that’s happened to us—versus how He sees us, and our future.

Lean on your Jesus. He is a fine and sturdy helpmate.

Now you, brothers and sisters, like Isaac, are children of promise. -Galatians 4:28 NIV