There’s sand in my bed.

Its become routine this summer for Addie and I to hit the beach after nap time. Generally thats when the weather has warmed up to balmy 70 something degrees, we grab our beach bucket, a diet coke, and I try not to worry that this will be the day my daughter chokes on one of the two billion rocks she’s eaten thus far at the beach.

Its usually a hit. Addie spends not an insignificant amount of time checking out boys in their bathing suits and sticking wood into her mouth, while I try to figure out if the lack of sunscreen I’m wearing will either connect all of the freckles on my body or inevitably give me skin cancer. It’s probably a combination of the two.

Ug, what I wouldn’t give to be golden brown.

Anyway, when its time to leave, I dust Addie and myself off with the capableness of any parent who has taken their child to the beach a dozen times, and stick her wet bottom in the car. And yet, inevitably, there’s nothing that I can do to stop the sand from being everywhere.  When I change her diaper, its in the cracks and crevasses. I find it in my hair, and oddly enough tonight as I was chewing dinner, a little somehow wound up in there too. Curiously, as I was rolling around in bed last night trying to get to sleep, I had to get up and brush the sand out of my bed. Quite a fair amount too. It kind of bugged me to tell you the truth.

For a lot of the good things, sometimes theres just some junk that goes with it. Going to the beach and getting some sun means that I will be digging sand out of all of our crevasses for few days. Even though I know that the good things are good, and they’re worth the sandy junk that comes with them, why is it still so hard sometimes?

Its been hard to lose these last ten pounds, because that means I can’t have dessert. I really just love dessert. Sometimes I have dessert.

Its hard to organize or clean my house, because that means sacrificing time from something I’d rather be doing, like reading on my deck in these last few days of summer.

Its hard to let bad habits go…because they’re fun and easy. But I know I’ll be better without them.

Its hard to let myself be worked on and worked out, because that means relinquishing the last bit of control I think that I have, and not being in control makes me really uncomfortable.

So yeah, the sand in my bed is really just a giant metaphor for something bigger going on that God’s working out in me. What I am actually saying is, God’s doing some good in my life, but theres some crap thats coming along with it. I know, I also rarely metaphors so you’re taken aback. You thought I really just was talking about sand in my bed!

Oh wait, yes, yes, I do use metaphors. Like, actually quite a bit, like here, and here, and oh, here! And here and here and here.

I’m confident I’ll get through this awkward teenage adolescent phase of feeling like I’m continually growing up soon, as in hopefully the next few years, but until then, I’ll just continue to go the beach, inadvertently eat sand with my daughter, and write blogs about it.