“Boobs for PC” was the painted message on the back of the SUV I was stuck behind yesterday. On top of this, the delightful young men saw it fit to illustrate their provocative message with a provocative picture. Given their license plate, I assume the car had this message plastered on it since Texas: a few hundred miles from the white beaches of Panama City Beach, FL.
They also had a “Proud Mom” sticker next to the illustration, which means one of these cool guys had borrowed their mom’s ride for the week. I’m sure all the Spring Breaking ladies are impressed by this.
They’re a just a microcosm of what includes an en masse of 18-22 year olds who will descend upon the gulf shores of Panama City beach during Spring Break to stumble, peacock and party in a haze of drunken revelry.
Twelve years ago I was joining them…”Spring Break ’98!” was my party cry for a few years after the expiration date.
As a lifetime resident of Panama City, I’ve been annoyed by their presence in the recent past. This year I’m more grieved than anything.
They fit the tragic mold of Jeremiah 2:13. They are attempting to fill shattered containers with the unfulfilling unforgiving idols of alcohol, sex, peer affirmation, and hedonistic escapism. For one week out of fifty-two they feel they can evade the desperate lives they’ve hewn out with splintered shovels and broken rock.
My prayer is that many seeking young men and women will come to the end of their self-made ropes this Spring Break season:
That the finest wine with Christ at a wedding banquet would numb their taste for cheap beer (Matthew 26:29).
That intimacy with a Bridegroom who knows and loves them without condition would make sex taste like cardboard (John 17:3).
That the only affirmation that would matter would be their adopted Father’s embrace in the gospel that killed their adopted brother (1 John 3:1).
That they would seek true hedonism not in a temporal week adventure, but an eternal God-given journey of pleasures forevermore (Psalms 16:11)
That’s really my prayer for Spring Breaking heathens like them, and hypocritical religious onlookers like me.
That in all our wanton and proficient idol worshiping, we’d see Christ as all satisfying and all sufficient for every season and week of this vapor life.