Beep beep. Wake up time. Definitely coffee time. Whew! Good run time. Mmmm, breakfast time. Rush hour time. Late for clock in time, whoops.
Meeting time. Presentation time. Lunch time. Paper football time. Another meeting time. Dreaded paperwork time. And finally, finally quitting time.
Now, official vacation time. No schedules, no set times. Stay up, sleep in, drink before five, lay in the sun, swim in the surf, and play in the sand. Whatever my heart desires. Now I’m on beach time.
I’d rather be there, than here.I know I have to be here, but I will still daydream about there. I will close my eyes and be there.
Where the salty water meets the sand. Where the breeze blows and the waves crash.
A place that seems like the edge of the Earth. Somewhere that mimics Heaven itself. Somewhere I see all of God’s glory in every detail.
Yes, I’d rather be there, but I know I’m needed here.
You have given me each grain of sand. Every shell and each wave are Your treasures. The sunsets You cascade down the stretch of sand, and across the horizon, are Your foreshadowing masterpieces; Giving us a glimpse of Your kingdom. For all Your mercy, all Your faith, to You Lord I will serve.
Every crisp morning I race over the dunes to catch the first glimpse of light across the white sand. In the nick-of-time, I make it to the peak just as the light begins to cascade over the beach. I am always welcomed with the tradewinds; lightly twirling my hair in a dancing motion. Standing motionless, mesmerized by God’s subtle beauties plastered across the beach, I can only seem to feel calm and as if all of life’s troubles slip into the salty breeze.
My joints begin to break the frozen, simplicity of my enjoyment, to send me on my reasoning for coming down here this early in the first place. Not even two steps into my stroll to the waters edge, I spy my first treasure of the day. A small, ebony shell peeks up from the sand and as I bend down to retrieve this small trinket, my eye catches another one and another one. As I continue to bend, never standing fully erect as I move, more and more shells come into sight. Finally I have made my way to where the waves kiss the shore. The weight in my old, rusty bucket pulls slightly on my arm, causing my mouth to turn up in sweet satisfaction.
Every day I search and search for more shells to collect. And my goal for each day is to make it to the pier before my bucket overflows. In a fortunate win-lose situation, my bucket is full before I make it to the bony structure coming out of the ocean. Regardless, I make my way under the pier to examine each and every shell I scooped up for the day.
The sand under the pier is usually untouched at this time of day, making me feel as if this beach is mine and mine only. I spill my bucket over in childlike excitement, proudly reveling in the amount I have obtained. Each shell is different than the rest. Some may look the same but at further inspection each one has its own quirks. All are tumbled smooth from the pounding waves, but each one shows a different aspect of their endeavors. Although, they may have started out more rough and jagged, their journey to the shore left them smooth and soft. Finally when my inspections come to an end, I thank the Lord for the ability to enjoy the simplistic blessing the ocean and beach have to offer.