Mom and Dad only left us on the beach alone for a short time.  How could they have known what adventures lurked in shallow water?

My family went on a camping trip to Florida in the summer of 1960. One afternoon our parents walked farther ahead looking for seashells. They told us to stay on the beach or only wade in the shallow water, which sounded safe and simple enough. They just hadn’t counted on a baby shark coming along.

“That shark has a mouth full of teeth,” he gasped, revealing his sixteen years of wisdom. “It could bite my fingers off!” But Keith didn’t give up; instead he came up with another plan and the chase was on again. This time my 11-year old brother, Gary, caught the shark by the tail. Keith ran quickly along side of Gary using a swim fin to hold the shark’s head down and try to prevent it from biting anyone. They dragged the shark a few steps closer to the beach when Gary’s fear and adrenalin kicked in and he hurled it with all his might up onto the sand.  

Hoping to keep the shark alive, we dug a hole near the water's edge deep so it would fill up with water. A narrow sand barrier between the hole and the ocean prevented the shark from swimming away. But no matter how hard we tried, it appeared impossible to make a big enough hole to keep sufficient water on our baby shark. As fast as we scooped out sand, more took its place as the needed water seeped in. Pouring water over the shark didn't help either. It became obvious that our baby shark wouldn't survive. 

When Mom and Dad returned, they were dumbstruck over our escapade. Mama shuddered to think that where a baby shark swam, a mama shark might not be far away—a thought that never crossed our young minds.  

But the deed was done. Dad took a picture of Keith holding the shark to keep as evidence of our adventure. Gary never forgave Dad for not including him in the picture, after all he caught it the last time, and that was the time that counted.  

Dad, a high school science teacher, looked up sharks in the books he brought along on our trip, and determined that we caught a blue shark. Without anything handy to measure with, he estimated the shark to be about 25 inches long.  

We collected a number of specimens of sea life that we caught and Dad pickled them in formaldehyde to take home for his high school science classes. He wished that he could find a way to preserve the shark, but concluded it would not be possible to find a large enough container.  

The last thread of hope for pickling the shark vanished that night. To our dismay a raccoon found it and ate half of it. So the only option left was to dispose of our treasure in the trash container on the campsite.  

Janice D. Green is passionate about Bible literacy for young families. Wife, mother, and grandmother, holding more than 20 years experience as an elementary library media specialist and teacher, she gained many insights for writing for children. Her more than 40 years of serious personal Bible study fuel her passion to write Bible stories that include additional family friendly resources. Her goal: to inspire others to trust and believe the Bible as God's word.

It happened one summer day when I was visiting at my Dad’s house. He lived deep in the desert, and we were roofing the addition to the house he shared with his new wife. The sun blistered us with 105 degrees of pure hell as I slapped down the black shingles and Dad nailed them to their resting place. 

Dad stopped for a moment to wipe the sweat from his face and said, “I’m sure a fourteen-year-old boy would rather be out having fun, but I love doing this.” He picked up his hammer and continued pounding nails. He was right–this wasn’t how I pictured visiting Dad. 

“Who is this strange man? Who could love sweating like a pig roasting over a barbeque pit? WHO is this man I call Dad?

All my life I longed for his approval. The absent demonstration of manhood left a crater-like hole in my soul. Psychologists say that children who grow up in one-parent homes fill that empty space with anger. I am living proof of that adage. 

Dad moved out when I was five. Afterward, I saw him once or twice a year. As a teenager, I often imagined how I was going to tell him off when he came to visit at Christmastime. But the moment he walked in the door, all that anger evaporated and I ran to him. An hour after he left, my old friend Depression crept back in with his evil twin Resentment. 

Thirty-five years and thousands of miles of distance did little to soothe our strained relationship until my nephew asked me to perform his wedding. The family all traveled to Colorado for the festivities. My sister Linda randomly won the Coca-Cola Challenge and three tickets to a Colorado Rockies baseball game two nights before the wedding. 

Dad, Linda, and I went to the game with the requirement that one of us run in the Coca-Cola Challenge. I was the only one healthy enough to compete. 

A Rockies official escorted me to the team’s bullpen during the seventh inning stretch and prepared me for the Challenge. “By the way, this game is being televised nationally,” she said. She explained the contest involved running from the left field wall, tagging second base, and continuing to the first baseline in less than twenty-five seconds to win. Nervous energy shot through my veins like a boy on his first date. 

Boom! Blasted the starting gun. My forty-eight-year-old legs struggled mightily. The crowd of thirty-five thousand people roared their encouragement as the TV cameras rolled. I won with my lungs sucking air like a lung-cancer survivor as the crowd cheered.

As the beautiful Rockies’ representative escorted me back to my seat, the jumbotron scoreboard replayed my victory run. It all felt surreal as we approached my seating section. I could see Dad watching the jumbotron and waving his ball cap wildly from his wheelchair. My mind raced back to my little league days as a ballplayer. Hundreds of times I had looked toward the stands, longing to see Dad, only to be disappointed at his absence. Now, here he is.

Dad casually mentioned on the ride home from the stadium that this was the first time he attended a baseball game. I realized then how much he had missed. Under the cruel shadow of divorce, son missed father and father missed son. 

The rare air of tranquility enveloped us as we each accepted the journey of our lives. We loved each other despite it all and in the end that’s what matters. Reconciliation has to do with accepting your losses and kicking anger to the curb. Resentment and regret only steal your joy. Forging a new future based on peace allows love to emerge.

Similarly, humanity lost itself in all the crap of life. Alienated from God the Father, we had no path to return to Him. Until Jesus came and dealt with our sin at the cross. Christ created a new beginning based on peace, “we also rejoice in God through our Lord Jesus Christ, through whom we have now received reconciliation,” Romans 5:11 (NIV).

First John 4 further explains, “This is love: He loved us long before we loved Him,” and concludes, “Everyone who loves is Fathered by God.” 

It happened one summer day thirty-five years later that I came to appreciate Dad. I’ve also learned Father God is my eternal Dad who never leaves. My heart is whole and filled with the love of God and love for my Dad.

Dave Holland pastored churches for thirty-eight years before retiring. He takes part in the Destin, Florida Chapter of Word Weavers. He recently released his new devotional-Bible study based on the Gospel of Luke titled “Extraordinary Jesus: Ignite Your Season of Miracles.” His website, DaveHolland.org, describes his ministry and books. Pastor Dave is available to preach and teach in churches and conferences. Contact him at [email protected] 

I’ve heard quite often, from a variety of people, the Lord works in mysterious ways. Satan may make a concerted effort to derail our lives, but in the end God will, ‘give us beauty in place of ashes’. And for me, it happened one humid summer night in July, four years ago. 

That night, I laid my head down on the pillow to thank God for another wonderful day. Thoughts about His love, grace, and mercy rolled through my mind. All at once, I was struck with an idea for a book.

Now, not knowing me personally, you would say that’s wonderful Denise. You're an author and here's a beautiful idea from God for your next book. But you’d be wrong. At that point in my life, I’d never written nor ever considered writing a book. I was a high school math teacher with twenty-four years of experience. I loved working with numbers, not so much with words. 

But now, I must digress and share with you, how the Lord directed my path through the obstacles set before me over the following twenty-four years, so I’d get to that one summer night. 

Back in 1997, when I was thirty-two years old, I began having what I’ll call coughing fits. They would come without warning, day and night. Each episode would last about 20 minutes. Over the next two years, it became so bad that during the majority of Sunday mass I would have to hide in the restroom. I knew I could no longer attend church services.

Then in 2001, I developed panic attacks. They would conveniently occur while I was driving in heavy traffic. Between the coughing fits and attacks, I was always exhausted. I wracked my brain trying to figure out, the what and why this was happening, but to no avail.

Too afraid to venture far from home, I limited my traveling to the grocery store and work. But I missed the church services. Accepting my fate, I decided one day to watch mass on television. Although I did my best to be faithful and regularly attend the televised services, something seemed to be missing. 

One Sunday, nine years later, as I clicked through the channels, a Texan drawl caught my attention. I stopped to listen to the pleasant voice. Joel Osteen’s sermon awoke the spirit within me that day with his positive message. Every Sunday, I made sure I was in front of the television, coughing or not, to hear his uplifting words. In that time too, I learned all of the things which brought about these fits. I’d developed allergies to a variety of plants, foods, and animals. I worked hard at trying to avoid these triggers but was not always successful.

About a year after that fateful morning, an unexpected desire grew within me to take reading courses. A high school math teacher by trade, I questioned this odd craving. However, from all the sermons I’d been absorbing I had no idea that God was circumventing the devil’s destructive path, leading me to a happier and healthier life.

By 2013, I noticed my panic attacks had begun to subside and being more careful with what I was ingesting, the coughing had lessened a bit too. 

Through Joel Osteen, I learned about the teachings of one of his colleagues, Pastor Joseph Prince and eventually I happened upon Pastor Doug Batchelor. As I listened to these three men, I understood more than ever before about God’s love, grace, and mercy which he freshly sends us each and every day. With Him by my side, I began to meet the day with a positive mindset.

In 2015, after spending four years taking five reading courses, a new fire grew within my heart. I wished to move out of the classroom and become an exceptional student educator. This position would have me working one-on-one with students who struggled with learning. 

At the beginning of the 2016 school year, a position of this type opened up at my place of employment. However, I’d be required to work in a curriculum for which I had no experience, English. I found myself thinking, what an interesting twist because I’d need to use the reading certification I’d just received to apply for this specific position.

After my first year working in the English classroom, it happened that one summer night, when God gave me the idea to become a writer. The story which he shared would reach out to those same teenagers who I worked with day in and day out. This novel would remind them of God’s goodness as well as prepare them for what the Book of Revelation shares. In the end, God took Satan’s handiwork and turned it toward my favor. Thank you, God.

Denise Michele Simsek is a member of the Tampa chapter of Word Weavers International. She received a BS in both Business Management and Secondary Education as well as MA degrees in Educational Technology and Educational Leadership from the University of South Florida. Denise is currently a high school Exceptional Student Education teacher with over 30 years of experience. Happily married with one child Denise enjoys cross stitching, drawing, writing, and is an avid genealogist.