“I’m not going to the beach this year…..” is what I said as my soul sista laughed her a$$ off at my bold proclamation. I mean there is just way too much month left at the end of the money these days. Eggs are $6 a dozen. And there’s tuition x 3 and all the other costs of keeping my middle school girls alive and my college girl in the lifestyle she has become accustomed to. Hashtag Hotty Toddy (IYKYK). Lest I forget the Bahama vacation that morphed into the A/C replacement. So this summer we will just lay low and do less. We will spend less. We will be beach less. And she laughed. Because she, like me, subscribes to the Take-the-Trip philosophy of parenting. So I moaned and mourned for weeks about no trip this summer. According to some mom blogger we only get 18 summers with our kids. I just won’t have pictures of my kids’ sandy toes from Summer 12 and 10. It’s fine. I’m fine. In my best Ross Gellar impression from the margarita fajita episode, I’m totally fine. I was not fine. I got back from the beach today.
I don’t know why my soul needs the beach. I don’t know why I need to see wave upon wave come in and go back out. Roll, crash, wipe away. Repeat. Maybe it’s the blank slate that every wave leaves. No matter what masterpiece or unsightly trash lies in its path, the wave levels it and makes the space new again. Does my soul need the beach to remind me that every masterpiece I’ve created or unsightly sin I’ve committed is at the mercy of the one who commands the waves? *cough cough* I seriously doubt it. I am shallow. I like to sit, read, sip, tan and judge….I mean watch. But there is something in that water.
And it might not just be the beach. Day one of Summer 12 and 10 started on a dock of a lake with friends and a lot of kids. Three mornings and three nights sipping and sitting. From coffee to whiskey. No waves and no sand. But plenty of stories and laughs and the start of a tradition. There was something in that water.
We go on vacation seeking water from ocean to lake to river to the hotel pool. We dream of owning a lake house, beach house or boat. There is something about water.
I’m working my way through a devotional on the Gospel of Luke and one passage included commentary on the power and significance of water in the Bible. Tertullian, an early Christian author said, “How privileged is water in the sight of God and of his Christ, that it should so bring out the meaning of Baptism!” He goes on to explain how Jesus was baptized in the River Jordan, his first public miracle was changing the water to wine at Cana, he calls upon believers to drink his eternal water, he speaks of charity and giving a cup of water to a neighbor, he calmed the seas, he walked on water, he met the woman at the water well, he washed the feet of the apostles with water, Pilate washed his hands with water before sentencing Jesus to death and at the crucifixion, water from flowed Jesus’ side when pierced. There is something about water.
Last week I sat in church watching a little family struggle to make it through the 50 minute mass. Two little girls in big bows and smocked florals. I watched mom and dad struggle to make them sit and shush to no avail. And as I watched them I wanted to ask “Do you know? Do you know that yesterday I sat in your pew shushing my own little girls in their big bows and smocked florals and tomorrow you will sit in my pew wondering how you got there?” You don’t know because I sure didn’t. There must be something in the water.
I’m in the so-called sweet spot season of parenting. Again, there is this other mom blogger, who told us that we hit the “sweet spot” when our kids are a little independent but not all the way independent. (Do they ever really get independent though? I know I’m not.) But I digress….mine are 12 and 10 and I guess this is the sweet spot but it doesn’t feel very sweet. Because I’ve also got one who’s just about all grown, she has already flown, and so I know how fast the time gets blown. This sweet spot feels more like a bitter pill (that I guess I have to swallow with water)…that reminds me that time is a thief. The minutes and hours that turned ever so slowly from the 5:00pm witching hour to the 8:00pm bedtime have turned into the years that won’t stop coming. I’m grateful to be past the beach days that included swim diapers and puddle jumpers but sad that before long their little cheeks hanging out of their bottoms won’t be so cute anymore. The calendar pages flip with a vengeance. I’d have better luck trying to stop the waves than stop the clock.
I told my people these 10 days were our Re-days. Recharge. Rejuvenate. Recoup. They are our Nothing Days. If you are bored then I have done my job. When you vacation on the gulf coast you never know what water you’re gonna get…day to day and sometimes hour to hour. But for 10 days God delivered. It was like He said “Oh child I see you. When I gave Kenny Chesney the words to his song “The Woman With You” I had you, Kelly Erin, in mind. I see you gophering and chauffeuring … .juggling and struggling the other 355 days of the year so this clear emerald water is for you my child.” (Nobody ever said that song wasn’t written for me.) And all the other people on our little stretch of sand for the past 10 days enjoying the beautiful water God sent me, you’re welcome. Our fall is coming in HOT 6 days after we get back and we are not ready. We’re still sitting in the dust that May left us in. But there was something in that water and God knew I needed it first.
My girls and I spent the last few days of our beach days and the last days of Summer 12 and 10 with our friends, theirs and mine, floating and sipping. Watching and laughing. Toasting and crying. Remember when’ing and can you believing. Bracing for the days that are coming in hot with both dread and excitement. And starting the countdown til we sit there again for Summer 13 and 11…. with a heart full of grateful for whatever was in that water.