At my latest trip to Goodwill, I scored on a stash of old Jimmy Buffett music. Yes, I still rock the CDs. I know there’s such a thing as streaming and digital downloading, but I still like something tangible that I can hold in my hand.

Holding one of those CDs in my hand instantly took me back to my days in the College and Career ministry at Central Church back in Memphis. For three or four years, we’d go to Panama City for a kind of summer retreat.

I distinctly remember there were the same two guys who’d set up at the beach and play nothing but Jimmy Buffett music. Basically, it was them singing and playing guitars with canned music behind them. Apparently, that was okay back in the 90s.

I need to get back to the beach sometime. I miss the feeling of wet sand between my toes and hearing the ocean waves crashing into the shore. I miss the way the ocean air smells.

I’m thankful for the memories I gained, even if some of them involved cheesy Jimmy Buffett impersonators. At least I can think of them and Panama City every time I listen to the real thing.