I don’t know why, but the words of The Lord of the Rings keep coming into my head as I try to wrap my head around just how awful the Gulf oil spill is. I think about what happened in the Mines of Moria because the dwarves became too greedy and dug too deep.
So I am devastated in anticipation of the oil slick reaching the coast of Florida on Monday. This isn’t to say that I am any less devastated about the oil slick destroying miles and miles of protected wildlife refuges in Louisiana and Mississippi already.
But the place that I know most intimately is Pensacola Beach and the Gulf Islands National Seashore. The National Seashore extends from Florida to the barrier islands off Mississippi’s coast, where we collected shells that turned out to be hermit crabs with Grammy when I was a young child after taking the ferry out to Ship Island for the day.
Here is the picture of the first time my sisters and I were ever on Pensacola Beach. Our family had just moved there from rural Mississippi, and it seemed like such an amazing place:
Darkness settles on roofs and walls,
The morning breaks; the steeds in their stalls
Please pray for this place to make it.