Shifting Sand

I had a beautiful week with my family at the beach. We’ve gone to the same spot for nearly thirty years, and to be able to bring my own children to a place that holds so many of my childhood memories is nothing less than a treasure. It’s a blessing to get away and enjoy a little rest with my family; that privilege is not lost on me. I’ve thought quite a bit this week about all that I’m grateful for, and I’ve also spent time reflecting on just how much has changed through the years.

The place itself has transformed over time. For almost twenty years, we took a family picture in the same room, on the same couch, in front of the same blue and white wallpaper. But, alas. The wallpaper is now gone, and new, more modern paint and furniture has replaced what was apparently outdated. You might be surprised by how this turned my routine-oriented family upside-down. As if there is no other possible place to take a family picture, we have felt defeated by the absence of the tacky blue and white wallpaper and have all but given up on the family beach picture. But, we got one this year…in front of a palm tree. The setting was just whatever. If we were inside, on the couch, in front of the blue and white wall paper, my daughter and I wouldn’t be so worried about our hair.

Good grief.

Our family has also changed through the years. We joined my sister and her family for a few days during our beach vacation and reminisced about moms love of good food and dads love of fireworks. During an annual fourth of July buffet, in which no “doggie bags” were allowed, we laughed at the fact that mom would have wrapped up leftover steak in a napkin and stuck it right into her purse. “It’ll be perfect for breakfast,” she would have reasoned.  And as many times as I died…died…of embarrassment because of these kind of antics, I found myself stuffing leftover ice cream bars into a bag after this years picnic.

They were Haagen-Dazs, for heaven’s sake.

And as the fireworks displayed magnificently in front of us, my sister turned to me and said, “Dad would have loved this.” You bet he would have loved it, and for one main reason: you could feel the “boom” as they went off. For dad, fireworks were not worthy of watching unless the “boom” could be felt. Unless the explosion rattled something on the inside, it just wasn’t worth it. We were close enough this year that the ground shook with each explosion.

Dad would have loved it.

But our parents are no longer with us, and though the memories of them in this place are as tangible as the sand beneath my feet, the reality of their absence still deeply penetrates my heart. Mom is no longer here for beach talks while sitting at the edge of the shoreline; Dad is no longer present to build sand castles and compete in ocean hand-stands with the grandkids. I walked the beach following the same path dad used to take early in the mornings while memorizing books of the Bible, and I also thought of my grandfather who used to walk the same pathway. He never brought anything with him to the beach except for a towel and a bottle of number “4” sunscreen (I mean, what was the point, grandpa). He was sufficiently happy with the sound of the waves and the feel of the sun.

My sisters and I would spend hours on the beach together as kids, and overtime, our primary concern shifted from becoming the tannest teenager to becoming mothers with a keen focus on keeping our babies asleep during naptime. In our over-crowded beach house, every closet would be occupied by a little one and a sound maker. By mid-afternoon our house sounded like Niagara Falls, and no one was allowed to shut a door, take a shower, or…breathe. Because breathing could wake a babe, of course.  We would do anything…anything…to keep those littles asleep. But because of growing families, bigger kids, long distances, and busy schedules, it’s been years since we’ve all been together in this spot.

How can such a familiar place feel so different?

As I walked the shore line and watched my three children in the ocean together, I took a mental picture as they talked and dove under waves. I’m keenly aware that these moments too will pass. My kids will continue to change, grow, and one day leave our nest as they become more independent. My mental snapshot was put away for safe keeping with the many other memories from this spot, and I will recall it with gratitude and happiness. But in the moment, I felt a wave of sadness. With tears welling up, I begged the Lord to show me how to rejoice in Him in the midst of these changes.

The next morning, I read from the book of Matthew and came across this verse in chapter twenty-four: “Heaven and earth will pass away, but my words will not pass away.”

Yes, and Amen.

The truth of these words filled my space with a sweet aroma. We can’t stop the changes that are to come, and we’re not created to stand firm on anything…or anyone…other than Christ, the One who holds us fast. My heart will both swell with gratitude and be overcome with sadness as the waves of life roll in both sweet and bitter changes. But through the changing seasons, Jesus remains the same, and His steadfast word should be more cherished to me than any memory I hold dear. I had a conversation recently with my sister that reminded me the time spent in God’s word is never wasted time. The verses we seek to better understand will become a part of who we are and equip us as we face challenges in this life. As a pastor, my husband has noted that when he sits beside the bed of believers who are nearing the end of their life, they often request that he read from Scripture. They don’t want to hear from their favorite book, and they don’t find comfort in looking at old photo albums, but they hold tight to the precious words of their Savior.

The fact that heaven and earth will pass away is not a sad reality but one that should produce in us great rejoicing because when that happens, the final victory will belong to Jesus. When that happens, we will experience the fullness of glory, death will be no more, and the pangs that often come with changing seasons will be gone forever. Rest in the surety of this hope and cling to the words of Jesus – they are life, they are given for you, and in the seasons that seem strange and unfamiliar, remember what will never change: The grass withers and the flowers fade, but the word of the Lord stands forever.  

(Found a spot. At least for beach trip 2018)