Sandy Parts

We went to the beach last week while the Kansas B’s were here. The Kansas B’s are a trio consisting of my son, my daughter in law, and my granddaughter. Yes, I know what you are thinking. “You’re are far too young to have a grandchild.” And, “Don’t you have a three year old?” The answer is yes, yes, and yes. Details about the specifics, and how this all came to be, is a story for another time. And now back to the beach.

There we are on a sunny but windy day at the Oregon Coast. My little guy is doing what he does best on the sandy beaches. Digging.
His tiny fingers clawing at the sand and periodically he would throw wet sand in the air above his head. He can stay in one spot and dig for hours. I sometimes wonder if he notices the water just feet from him. But then he will stand up and look out towards Hawaii for a second or two, then it’s back to digging. I have found that we all go to the coast to do and experience different things.

For instance, my wife likes to build a “sand compound for the dissenters”. Most people would just build a castle.

She likes to collect rocks and sticks as well. Some people like the Kansas B’s, at least the son and granddaughter, wade right into the water. Kansas is a dry place after all. The daughter in law helped with the “compound” and enjoyed strolling with her hubby. For me, it is alternating between taking pictures and staring out into the ocean and being mesmerized by its beauty, power, and vastness. It makes me wonder. It makes me ponder. And it makes me dream.

And before we knew it, it was time for lunch. So everyone was brushing the sand off of his or her bodies. My wife was wiping the boy down. He had sand in his fingernails, in between his fingers, on his neck, in his hair, in his back, in his ears, inside the hood of his jacket, and in the corners of his mouth. He seemed to clean up good, though.

We went to one of our favorite restaurants in the area. It was about ten miles from the beach we were at, in a little town south of Lincoln City. Our little guy had exerted so much energy, that by the time we had driven that short distance he was fast asleep. Instead of waking him up, T. carried him into the restaurant and held him until he woke up and then he ate his noodles.

As we were loading ourselves back into the car for the ride back to the beach, my wife decided she should go ahead and change his diaper. We know, and we are working on the potty training. Don’t judge. Off went his pants and then off with the diaper. And there, in between his diaper and his skin, my son had smuggled half of the beach. His bottom and his little front area were covered with a layer of sand that was surprisingly in the shape of a size #5 diaper.

So we stand him up in the middle of the parking area, out in the windy elements and brush off the sand from his rump and the other spot. And all the while he is saying, “That tickles”. Yes it does. I am not sure how he could have slept or sat in that condition. It couldn’t have been comfortable in his sandy pants. He didn’t seem to mind though. He was just enjoying life so much that he couldn’t be bothered with a little rock granules on his body parts.

Here is what I have learned from this. Life is precious. And as believers, the Lord has been so wonderful and gracious to us. Let us not be bothered so much by small irritations that it robs us of the joy of life. Sure, there is stuff that can get to us, but compared to what He has given to us, we really shouldn’t mind.

Jesus said, “I came that they might have life, and might have it abundantly.” What’s a little sand in the pants compared to that? There’s a great big ocean out there.