Can't Help Falling In Love

The day is full of distractions.  Like when you tell the kids you're leaving in five minutes, which is five minutes later than you need to be leaving, and they decide that is the time to let the dogs in out of the rain.  Or when you're planning lessons fifteen minutes before you should be leaving for class because you fell asleep the night before watching Duck Dynasty, when you should have been planning, and your son decides to turn off the computer to get your attention and the document slips into the dark unknown where all unsaved documents go. Distractions that pull your affections in a million directions, often away from the ones who mean the most.  Enter vacation, more specifically, a week at the beach.  It's this hiatus from the daily grind that allows me to fall in love with my family all over again.

Stop and smell the roses......

My son lags behind on the path, holding a translucent green tube around his waist.  Every now and then it slips, pulling his one-size-too-big swimsuit down a bit with it.  He pauses, hoists the tube higher, and awkwardly tugs his swimsuit up.  I pause and wait.  A and her dad wait for no one on their way to the beach.  C dawdles, examining the sand on the brick pathway, tufts of shaggy hair sticking out from his head.  Too bad I didn't have time to cut his hair before we left.  He finally reaches me and grabs my hand, falling into step with my pace.  "Mommy, God made new dinosaurs after the old ones died. Did you know a Protoceratops...." He talks without pausing, rattling off dinosaur names and facts that would tongue-tie even the most articulate orator, but he is four and his blue eyes widen in innocent wonder as he ponders the magnificent magnitude of creation and the genius of the Creator.  "Is God everywhere?  Are dinosaurs in heaven?"  Our daily quarter-mile trek to the beach from the house becomes a place where we wrestle with big questions and take time to notice small things.  We end up with more questions than we answer.  No "hurry ups" just me and C holding hands slowly meandering along the path.  I catch a glimpse into the sweet, curious nature of my boy, a gift that I miss or push aside for the greater accomplishments of clean laundry and homemade dinners.  I'm reminded of the better thing.

Laughter is the best medicine.....

I relax in a beach chair and read.  I glance up from a page to see a man floating in the surf with two children who look remarkably like mine.  His arms link through each of their water rings and three heads bob happily in the waves, laughter roaring in with the surf. The sun glints off the fluorescent pink water ring that my husband has wedged around his waist; my daughter's pink-rimmed bucket hat sits tightly on his head.  When my laughter subsides, I fall a little more deeply in love.

Love makes the world go round.....

"Mommy, I love you!"  "I love you, too, Pumpkin."  A reaches for my hand.  We float quietly on the Gulf.  Her head rests nestled on the fold of her elbow, her cheek tilted up to the sun.  Her blonde hair curls wildly around her face, kept out of her eyes by the pink goggles she wears pushed up onto her head.  Suddenly, I see her, not as a baby but as a girl who loves dolphins and tigers and says, "seriously," and I gasp.  The sweet preschooler from two years ago is now a little girl flying into her tween years. Gone are the rounded cheeks and baby teeth;she's a big girl who requests "me" time in her room without the interruptions of her brother.  I brush back a curl and try to shoo away time or at least slow its pace.  Seven plus two is nine and then ten.  I pull her float near, trying to keep her close but know she will soon float away, eager to find her own way.  In the quiet, perhaps she senses my thoughts and longs, too, to capture this moment for a while longer, lingering in its knowledge that she is growing up.  Her voice breaks the silence, "Mommy?"  "Mmmhmm?"  "This is the best day ever!"

We have seven days of "best days ever."  Moments where we steal away from the rest of the world, isolating ourselves from the news, the chaos, and the stress.  Connecting without wires, laughing without reservation, relaxing without guilt.  We arrive harried and leave falling more deeply in love with God, with His creation, and with each other.

Into the Deep Blue Yonder

My children love the Gulf of Mexico.  I mean love, love.  Love like Santa Clause, the Easter Bunny, and birthdays.  Love like a Southerner loves sweet tea and SEC football.  You know: love. 

I, too, love the Gulf.  I just prefer to watch it glisten in the sun from the comfort of a beach chair, planted firmly in the soft sands of the shore, reclining with my favorite magazine in hand, usually, Southern Living, preferably Rick Bragg's column.  My children prefer to be in the Gulf, churning and twirling in the relentless pounding of the surf.  Apparently, they find this to be fun.  Again, I prefer the reading and sunning safely on the shore, but when my children suggested I join them in their churning and twirling with a chorus of "please" and some really cute puppy faces, I agreed.

A and C suggest we get into our little round tubes and link hands.  I grab C's hand, he grabs A's, and we begin our trek into the deep to ride the waves, a chain of brightly colored blue, pink, and green tubes, bobbing up and down at the mercy of the sea.  I drag my little chain down to the clearest water I can find, water free of murky seaweed, so I can watch for jellyfish, crabs, sharks, or any other marine life that might sneak up on unsuspecting wave riders. Feeding times for sharks are early morning and early afternoon, right?  Wait, that's right now.  How do you stop the pain of a jelly fish sting?  Jellyfish aren't deadly, are they?  These are the thoughts racing through my mind.  My children giggle freely, not an ounce of fear in their water-logged bodies.  I decide to relax and join in the laughter.  A few minutes into our being pounded by the waves and turned topsy-turvy into the sea, A shouts, "This is the best day ever!"  I squeeze the sweet hands of my little ones a little tighter and agree then check to make sure the amorphous, pink swirly thing floating our way isn't a jellyfish.

As we waddle through the surf back to our chairs, I ponder our adventure and wonder, "How often do I miss the 'best day ever' because I'm afraid to trust Jesus's call to leave the safety of the shore and trek out into the deep?"  How often is He calling me to join Him in the adventure of a lifetime, while I cling to the safety of my beach chair, shouting, "No, I'm good here!"  The Creator of seaweed, jellyfish, and sharks has planned a thrilling life for each of us, but so often we miss the thrill because we're content to sit with the seagulls.  I'm not afraid to swim in the sea, but I do find myself anxiously treading with caution, wondering if each step forward brings danger untold.  My children dive in eagerly seeing adventure.  Of course, I'm there holding their hands and urging them to proceed with caution, but isn't that what God does, too?  He invites us to join Him in the deep unknown with the assurance that He will go with us, holding our hand each step of the way.  Go ahead, you just might find "your best day ever" waiting beyond the shore.