At the start of a summer vacation at the beach, around sixty years ago, I sat down to read a best-seller my sister had advised me never to read. It was called “On The Beach” by Nevil Shute, and described an end to the world due to radiation poisoning after an atomic war. I should have taken my sister’s advice. I closed the book haunted, and it took me a while to shake off the mood, walking and listening to the lonely surf, and thinking of the godless cruelty of man’s ability to destroy every last hope.
Now I’m sixty years down the road, and facing a different sort of “end to the world”, simply because I’m over seventy and know I must sooner or later leave it. I also don’t take vacations for granted, as I have worked straight through many a summer. However I did manage a week off this year, and the family combined resources to rent a huge house with many bedrooms at a beach.
I have grandchildren ranging from two to twenty around every corner, with another on the way, and I feel blessed. Furthermore, I find that I’ve had so much practice counting my blessings on days when I’ve wanted to gripe that, now that I have no desire to gripe, the sense of gratitude to God I have just about flattens me.
This is a much better beach.
On the beach, hearing the hush and roar of waves And shouts of young men springing joyous sport As if care was washed away, was sent to caves Where darkness flees at noon, I must report Care still exists, but has been changed by hearts To something bright. What is it about a beach That redeems fallen man? No sermon starts To save souls like sand does. You can preach Until the cows come home, and at your best You might make some eyes become as dreamy, But only through boredom. At the beach man's blessed For it's then men see as God wishes we'd see. Most of our suffering just needn't be. Life's lived upon beaches of Infinity.
Sunrise's Swansong 