July/August 2000
Sandcastles
by Dan Schaeffer
When I think of that day at the beach, making the sandcastle with Katie is all I really remember. I have forgotten all those pressing details that screamed for my attention then.
Family life had been hectic, with one activity after another. But finally we were taking time off for a beautiful day at the beach. Though only 20 minutes from our home in Southern California, it's a place we visit far too infrequently. I snuggled my feet in the warm sand, sitting comfortably in my chair, watching the waves roll in. This is the way life was meant to be, I sighed.
Christi, Andrew and Katie, ages 13, 12 and 10, played on the beach. My son rode the waves with his boogie board, while my older daughter went off exploring. My youngest, Katie, wandered toward me and my wife Annette with that "I'm bored" look of a child who has no one to enjoy the beach with. She asked sweetly, beseechingly, "Dad, could you help me build a sandcastle?"
I said what any red-blooded dad would say in such a situation. "Not now honey, I'm resting. Why don't you just go play with..."
But she was not easily deterred. She used the one argument that fathers, at least this father, can't easily withstand. "But Dad, you made sandcastles with Christi and Andrew when they were little."
It's true. As parents we do seem to shower attention upon the first child, doting on every glance, step and accomplishment. When that little one wants to do something, we do it.
How often had I cajoled Katie's older siblings into building sandcastles? But slowly I became less passionate about it. I loved each child just as deeply as the others, but the later children somehow received a diluted activity level from Dad. A "been there, done that" attitude had weaseled into my life.
And with the increased activity level of my two older children, my own energy level seemed to be depleted. That day at the beach, the plain truth is that I didn't want to get off my seat and play with my younger daughter. I wanted to vegetate, and she knew it.
But her words reminded me that she wanted the same attention the older two had gotten. She wanted to be able to say that Dad had made a sandcastle with her, too. I was a part of my daughter's memory scrapbook, and she was collecting pictures. She wanted one of me making sandcastles with her.
I grinned and said, "Oh all right, let's make a sandcastle." Her eyes lit up, and we proceeded to make one.
Soon my son (the engineer of the family) joined in, and Mom began to take part. While my son and my wife tried to create a moat to keep the rising tide away from our castle, Katie and I made the walls, parapets, flags, stairs and anything else we could imagine. We had a pretty good sandcastle going. It was fun again, and I soon forgot my laziness and added the experience to my own memory gallery.
But as nature would have it, the rising waves lapped closer to our castle, breaching our sand walls and filling our moat. No one minded. We had built it, and as the longevity of sandcastles is a bit tenuous in the first place, none of us expected it to last too long. The fun was in building it, together. Katie was satisfied. Her smile told me she felt all was now "fair" again, and she abandoned the sandcastle for a new interest.
I was left alone to sit in my chair, my feet nestled in the sand once more, and my eyes were drawn toward the sandcastle. It was now just a mound of wet sand, all the intricacies washed away by the waves. Someone walking by wouldn't suspect a sandcastle was ever there.
Moment by Moment
Months have now passed, yet when I think of that day at the beach, making the sandcastle with Katie is all I really remember. I have forgotten all those pressing details that screamed for my attention then. The waves of time have washed away all trace of their presence and revealed them to be less significant than I had thought.
What water does to sandcastles, time does to life. Oh how carefully we must choose what we do with our time. I thank God for the wisdom to see the importance of making that sandcastle with Katie.
Every day, in a figurative sense, I am making sandcastles with those I love. I have only a short time in which to make them, and time is the most essential ingredient in making a sandcastle. I regret all those missed opportunities when I should have made a sandcastle but instead nestled my feet comfortably in the sand.
I'm given only so much time to make sandcastles with those I love, sharing moments of togetherness before the tide comes in. The waves of time allow me only a moment here and there, and then all is washed away. Each day is a new opportunity to make a sandcastle with loved ones, but I must make it before the opportunity is lost.
As I thought about this, I remembered Psalm 90:12, "Teach us to number our days aright, that we may gain a heart of wisdom." I memorized this verse years ago because I tend to live in a hurry, always trying to reach my next goal. This verse continually reminds me that time is precious. As Moses said, "Soon it is gone and we fly away" (Psalm 90:10, NASB). Friends, relatives, children, spouses -- we're building sandcastles with others all the time.
I know I'm not alone in my struggles. I remember speaking of this one day with my sister. She and her husband were planning an expensive vacation that their teenage boys were very excited about. She admitted that the price tag was high, and they would be paying it off for months. But, she explained, "We've only got a few years left before they're gone. This might be the last big vacation we have together."
She didn't need to say more. There is such a thing as being "penny wise, but pound foolish." She and her husband were numbering their days left with their sons. Little could they know the importance of this decision. They took the vacation, and a little less than a year later Brian, their 18-year-old, died in a swimming accident and went home to be with his Lord. The vacation is now paid off, but the memories it provides will last the rest of their lives. They can thank God that they built the sandcastle before the tide came in.
Something to Remember
Some things can be put off, and some things can't. It takes wisdom to know the difference. Maybe that's part of what Moses was saying. Everything in life is not of equal value, and time is limited, so I need to use wisdom in how I spend those moments. I have my friends and family for only so long, and then the tide will inevitably come in, so I need a heart of wisdom to number my days.
Not long ago, I put away some money without my family knowing about it. I had a secret plan for it, but then I noticed that my kids were worn out from school, and my wife was running on empty. We had faced several grueling months. So I took $200 out of my "stash," and the next Monday morning (my day off), as my children sat bleary-eyed and ready to go to school, I announced, "Put your backpacks away!" They looked at me as if they hadn't heard me right. With a sly grin, I opened the closet doors and motioned for them to put their school backpacks away. That's when my oldest shrieked with joy. She didn't know what was going on, but she knew she wasn't going to school. Soon they were badgering me with questions as I drove to our secret destination. When we pulled into the parking lot at a major theme park that none of them had ever been to, I heard another shriek of joy. We blew the wad and then some. We had a blast!
Irresponsible? From a certain point of view, but I created a memory that I wouldn't trade for any amount. My family will always remember that day. I hope they will look back and remember that Dad loved to spend time with them and have fun with them. The key word is remember. They will have something to remember.
I've built sandcastles through taking walks with my daughter and building a go-cart with my son, having a barbecue with friends and playing football (adults against the kids) with another family in a nearby park. None of these cost much, if anything, but they were splurges of time -- and that is something we do not get back.
By the way, you might wonder what I did with the rest of my "stash." I reserved three nights in the Awahnee Hotel in Yosemite National Park, a dream of my wife's for years. Next week, we will celebrate our 5th, 10th, 15th and 16th wedding anniversaries there.
Why so many at once? I was busy on all those other anniversaries and needed totowhat was it that I needed to do? Funny, I can't remember. But next week, I'm going to build a sandcastle with my wife, and this time I will beat the tide.
Dan Schaeffer, M.Div., is a book author and senior pastor of Foothills Evangelical Free Church in Rancho Santa Margarita, California, where he lives with his wife Annette and their three children.