Renewal

This past weekend I took my two daughters on a quick and spontaneous trip that just happened to include a short stop-off at a beach. Since we live in Iowa, "real" beaches (the kind where the sand comes from God instead of a truck) are a bit difficult to come by around here--especially the sort of beaches where you can't see the other side. But I hunger for that exact sort of beach.

All of the time.

I'm a fan of warm southern breezes, palm trees, and white sand meeting up with the jade green clearness of the Gulf of Mexico. Unfortunately, it takes about 20 hours to get to Florida's panhandle and at least a few hours more to reach some of my favorite spots: Clearwater Beach, Sanibel Island, and Naples. Unfortunately, when the idea struck to get the heck outta Dodge on Friday afternoon, it came with the dratted realization that "the new school year" was scheduled to commence on Monday. And since my bank account couldn't support two tickets to paradise, let alone the three we would actually need, Florida wasn't in the cards for our girls' getaway this weekend. 

So we went to Wisconsin, instead.

Now normally, I don't think most people think of "beach" when they think of Wisconsin. They think of dairy cows, dairy products, guys wearing cheese hats at football games, and rolling green hills dotted with (you guessed it) dairy cows. With the fame of Chicago and the very name of the state of Michigan being shared by that big ol' lake, we often tend to forget that Wisconsin, too, borders Lake Michigan. And when you've got a lake big enough that you can't see the other side, there's bound to be a beach worth visiting.

Right?

Sure. In . . .Michigan. But Wisconsin? Really?

Really.

I've been to the "other side" of Lake Michigan. A couple of summers ago our little family took a long weekend in the lovely little town of South Haven, which boasts two beautiful beaches and is within easy driving distance of many more. Although we all love our visits to the ocean, I have to say: Lake Michigan can be a pretty sweet substitution for us budget-conscious Midwesterners. When you look across the big expanse of blue lake, it may not have the salty spray, but it "feels" like you're at the ocean.

I don't remember thinking about Chicago or Wisconsin when I was on a beach in Michigan, just like I didn't think about South Haven, Michigan as I sat on the Kenosha, Wisconsin sand last Saturday morning. All I thought of was . . . peace. And wholeness. And the strange sort of "rightness" that settles over me whenever I sit near an ocean (or a reasonable facsimile.)

There's something about a big body of water and a sandy shore that helps me find my center. The vastness, the depth, the power of the waves and tides all work together to work a mysterious peace through my soul. Every time I visit a beach--a real beach, not the trucked-in kind--I'm reminded that I need more than what is seen. In the chaos of everyday life, I need that break from the land to know that it's okay to not be able to see the other side. That there is beauty in the mystery. That I don't have all the answers and that I don't have to have all the answers. I simply need to breathe, to listen to the waves breaking and slapping against the sand, and to feel the warmth of the sun on my face while the coolness of the morning still lingers in the sand.

It's only a five or so hour drive away, this beach we discovered. As drives go, it's not terribly long, but neither is it what I would call an easy drive. There's no direct route between my Iowa home and Kenosha, Wisconsin. There are confusing offshoots of interstates I don't normally travel, every excuse for road construction known to man, and every ten minutes or so, a toll booth that will make you a pauper in its quest to pull the state of Illinois out of its monstrous debt . . . at least in the transportation department. Honestly, it's a crappy drive to get to and from Kenosha's sweet beach. But then again . . .

Why should I expect a path toward peace in my soul to be an easy road? 

As a fantasy reader and author, as well as someone who studied at least the required bits of history necessary to achieve a Bachelor's degree in the United States of America, I know that peace is generally only noticed before or after a war. A season of unrest passes, and renewal--that deep, thirst-quenching hope, wells up within.

For me, the renewal of my spirit often comes 

by way of a beach. 

There is beauty in the mystery of not being able to see the other side. And in that beauty, there is hope.