The peace and tranquility of the beach underwent a seismic shift yesterday. It wasn’t the arrival of a sudden Atlantic thunderstorm, nor was it the warning siren of a shark sighting that broke the spell of the tide.
The change was far more profound, and infinitely louder.
My daughter Kelley arrived with her husband and my two grandchildren—ages four and two. In an instant, “peace and calm” departed on the high-speed rail, leaving only a blur of motion in their wake. The ocean, the dunes, and our once-quiet house were instantly transformed into a sprawling, chaotic playground. The air, previously filled only with the rhythmic pulse of the surf, was suddenly thick with the music of joyous screaming, the melody of unbridled laughter, and a sense of mischief that was, quite literally, more fun than a barrel of monkeys.
There is likely a specific word for such a transformation—an “uproar,” perhaps, or a “jubilation”—but no single term quite captures the essence of it. I don’t mean to imply that there is anything negative about this shift. On the contrary, it is the beauty of the contrast that makes it so striking. It is as dramatic a change as the mind can imagine: the transition from a landscape of meditation to a theater of life.
Today, I stand as a witness to unrestrained joy. As adults, we carry a thousand invisible restraints—the quiet weights of decorum, worry, and self-consciousness. We have fallen prey to the inhibitors that tell us to walk instead of run, to sigh instead of shout. But these children haven’t met those guards yet. They inhabit their bodies and this beach with a ferocity of spirit that we have long since traded for “tranquility.”
When Jesus asked that all the little children come to him, He wasn’t just speaking of innocence; He was speaking of this vitality. One only needs to stand close to my grandchildren as they conquer a sandy beach to understand why they were the ones he wanted near. In their sandy handprints and breathless giggles, the beach has found its true purpose: not just to be a place of rest, but a place of resurrection.
Lovely! Exuberant! Profound! 🥰🥰🥰
Thanks Tammie!