I have lived in South Florida for over twenty-three years now. I have learned to enjoy this beautiful place where God has planted us. I am a Wisconsin native, but I am fast approaching that magic moment when I will have lived in South Florida longer than I lived in Wisconsin. Will I still be a Wisconsin native at that point? Will cheese begin to lose its allure? Will I finally begin to enjoy watching the Dolphins as much as the Packers? Even now, I have to admit that I can hardly remember my childhood class trips to tour the Miller Brewing Company in Milwaukee (Yes, we took class trips to the brewery—they do things a little different in Wisconsin).

Another sign of acclimation: After twenty-three years, I finally drove down to Key West, located less than two hundred miles south of us. This wasn’t my first time in Key West. I did go there once with my parents and siblings when I was a young teenager. I have two memories of the trip. The first memory revolves around the terror we all felt as we drove over very narrow bridges (including the seven mile bridge) with a very large motor home being buffeted by semi-trailer trucks going in the opposite direction. This was before the major rebuilding project of the eighties that vastly improved the roads and bridges. Those of us in the back of the motor home were convinced we were going to be buffeted right out of our narrow lane through the flimsy barriers into the waters far below the bridges. In case I am not communicating well, this is not a happy memory.

The second memory is of driving down the main drag in Key West (no pun intended), and having an absolutely naked man stroll through traffic in front of our vehicle. His head-to-toe tan left no doubt that he was quite used to strolling about in his birthday suit. People just didn’t do that sort of thing in Fond du Lac, Wisconsin (too cold in the winter, I guess). This apparently not-so-bizarre-for-Key West behavior left a negative impression.

So for the past twenty-three years, while almost one hundred million visitors from around the globe have visited Key West, I have steadfastly refused to take the three hour trip south. But finally the call of the Atocha treasure, and the history surrounding its discovery, proved too much for this homeschooling family. We decided to brave the perils and head down to Mel Fisher’s museum to enjoy some history.

As we drove, we spent some time praying over the family and explaining some of the issues Key West has. Fortunately for us, the television show America’s Got Talent, had just highlighted a flamboyantly gay character. It gave us a starting point in explaining a little of what the family might witness as we explored Key West. I’m glad we spent that time explaining, although we did not see a repeat of the “tanned man” from my last visit in the seventies, we certainly saw many other things that highlighted the overt sexualization of Key West night life.

I have three memories that stand out from this trip (apart from the extremely enjoyable time I had with my family). The first memory is that Ernest Hemingway was a cad. I knew that before this trip, but our time spent touring his Key West house framed that opinion even more fully.

The second memory comes from our ninety-minute Conch Train Tour. We had a highlighted moment when the train “conductor” was explaining that Key West has not been hit by the full effects of a hurricane since the devastating hurricane of 1919. As I listened, I was transported back to 2005 when hurricanes were released to cleanse the land. Although Key West did not suffer the full impact of Hurricane Wilma (like Cozumel Island and the Yucatan Peninsula), Wilma did so much flooding and related damage that Key West’s homosexual bacchanal, Fantasy Fest, was disrupted and canceled. However, in stead of recognizing God’s cleansing intent, the festival’s organizers rescheduled the event for December of that same year, all the while stating that they would not let Wilma’s effects limit them. They missed the merciful hand of God in the hurricane.

I believe the Lord was attempting to call the island back from the same judgment that fell on New Orleans through Katrina that year, but the people of Key West didn’t hear God’s patient call. As a result, as the Conch train’s tour guide explained their good fortune in avoiding devastating hurricanes for so long (a fact he credited to the prayers of a Catholic Nun in 1922), I felt a prophetic twinge that made me realize that this good fortune will not last.

That leads me to my third memory. One evening we were looking for a restaurant that wasn’t a tourist’s location. I searched the web and came upon an out-of-the-way restaurant that you needed a global positioning system (gps) to find. As we drove through an industrial area, then through lanes of mobile homes, and finally ended up on a dead end street next to the water, I knew we had found a place that most tourists overlooked. Even more interesting to us, during the drive the Lord showed us an openness in the heavens that we had not felt on the island yet, just before we noticed a small church and school.

This will be my favorite memory. Key West is an island that is dedicated to hedonism and bacchanal activities. It celebrates aberration and excess as business and government policy. It is ripe for cleansing judgment. But just when you think there is no hope, the Lord shows you a lighthouse that is effectively doing Kingdom work in the heart of all this darkness.

I pray that the members of that church bear even more fruit for the Kingdom than all the evil fruit that the rest of the island has released down through the years. And I also pray, that should a thoroughly cleansing hurricane strike Key West, that every one of God’s Kingdom warriors experiences divine protection so that they can shine like the stars as they lead many to righteousness in the aftermath.

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