Sands of Time

I love trips to the beach.  I’m not exactly sure why. Anyone who has met me knows the beach should be my last possible vacation destination.  I burn- easily and inevitably.  I tend towards hyperactivity and feel being made to sit anywhere for hours on end a form of inhumane torture.  The memories I have of beach trips with my children as they grew are full of stress and tension as I executed the regimented count to keep track of bobbing heads in the waves, rinsing grit out of a crying infant’s eyes or mouth, and slathering sunscreen on reluctant faces with a density comparable to the peanut butter I spread on their sandwiches.

Yet when considering a vacation destination this year, a beach was the image that kept creeping into my psyche.  My soul craved the predictable sonata of the ocean waves punctuated by the screech of seagulls and the crescendo of the afternoon thunderstorms rolling in just prior to the panoramic sunset.  I enjoy walking on the beach, scanning the recently wave swept path for iridescent seashells that promise to package up the calming mystique of the shore like a magical memory souvenir.

One morning as I walked, I was struck by the sheer volume of little shells scattered in dense piles for yards of dampened shoreline.  I usually look for unique shells that haven’t been broken in two or penetrated by a hungry sea urchin.  On this beach, however, you couldn’t walk without stepping on them. It was almost over whelming because everywhere I looked there were beautiful little shimmering treasures. If I bent over to pick one up, I’d see another equally lovely shell next to it, and then another alongside with shimmering colors– tiny, compelling, and perfect. Then as I walked, I almost felt guilty at all the shells crunching like autumn leaves beneath my feet-  like I was walking across a treasure chest, crushing the contents with each step.  It occurred to me that the miles of sandy beaches were all composed of crushed, ground up shells created literally from the sands of time.  How ancient were the grains of sand that glittered underneath the foamy tide?  Is there a number high enough to encompass the vastness?

The verse from Psalm 139 kept invading my conscience-

“How precious to me are your thoughts, O God! How vast is the sum of them! If I would count them, they are more than the sand. I awake, and I am still with you.” Psalm 139:17-18

One of the reasons the beach is so rejuvenating to me is that it makes me feel both insignificant and magnificent simultaneously.  Magnificent because I am loved by a God who thinks of me and my loved ones in an infinitely endless stream.  His thoughts of us existed before our birth and will continue after we no longer walk the earth.  Just processing the reality that God had a single momentary thought about me is profound, but to think about his thoughts being more in number than the grains of sand on a seemingly endless beach is pretty mind blowing.   However, this dizzying centrifuge of thought precipitated by the sand between my toes also surreptitiously humbles me because of my undeniable minuscule mark in the universal sands of time.  The sheer magnitude of God’s creation, time, plans, and vast dimensions of his omniscience are instantly brought to mind when contemplating the complexity and awe of nature, and my comparative insignificance.

Creation forces us to recognize that it isn’t all about me, or you, or us.  It is all about God.  A God that loves us.  A God that created us in love, saved us because of love, and through sacrificial love transforms us from insignificant specks on the timeline of existence to infinitely valuable treasures to live with Him for eternity.

“But do not let this one fact escape your notice, beloved, that with the Lord one day is like a thousand years, and a thousand years like one day.” 2 Peter 3:8