Handprints in the Sand

Warm sun. Pine trees. Clear, cold lake of variegated blues. Lonny and I were on vacation with our sons. Higgins Lake, in Roscommon County, Michigan, had drawn us once again.

“Hey, Mom, look at this,” Grant called. He and Samuel were at the sweet place where the water gently pushes against the soft sand. They were filling buckets. Sculpting with shovels. Scooping water with plastic pails.

“Mom, we’re making a huge hand,” Samuel called. “The biggest. Sand hand. Ever.”

I slipped a marker into my book and stood to admire their progress. “Wow,” I said. “You’re right. That’s the biggest, best sand hand I’ve ever seen. Cool guys. Very cool.”

I returned to our sun-warmed quilt, flopped on my tummy, and opened my book.

But I couldn’t read.

The scenery was too beautiful.

More than enough to pull me from a printed page.

Though the lake was as natural and lovely as always (one of God’s best, I think) it was my sons who had captured my attention. Heads tipped close. Strong, brown shoulders. Smiles. Laughter. Pleasure. Purpose.

The kind of scene that makes a mama smile deep. Straight from the heart.

That, to me, is the beauty of getting away. Time for family.

Time for fun.

Time for brothers to leave their handprints in the sand.

Thank you Lord for this precious time. In your grace, help us make the most of it.