Open Apology to The Beach
I hate the beach.
Summer is not for me.
This used to be my cry from May to September.
What I meant was I hated myself at the beach.
I hated the way my skin matched the white clouds but quickly washed red.
I hated the way my toenail polish always seemed to chip.
I hated the way my hair would tangle and not flow.
I hated the way the sun made me squint my eyes shut.
I hated the way I swear and the sand seemed to stick in all the right places
I hated the way my swimsuit never looked as good on me as it did in the store.
I hated that I never felt comfortable without makeup so seconds into stepping on the sand I had mascara running down my face.
Most of all I hated how the beach made me vulnerable.
But, the truth was,
I could never truly hate the beach
or any part of nature. It was a work of art painted by the creator himself.
But then again so am I. Yet it is so easy to admire the mountains and despise my body.
How lucky was I that the sun chose to kiss my cheeks so quickly or that the beach was so filled with adventure that my toes showed the evidence?
What was wrong with my hair wrapping around itself with excitement or sand choosing to do the same with my skin?
How could I hate that man-made products of beauty couldn’t survive in God’s glorious design?
And the reason my swimsuit didn’t look the same is it was paired with a scowl, not a smile.
I am sorry that I lashed out at God’s creation calling it awful names, admonishing its beauty, and questioning its purpose. And, by direct extension hurting The Creator. All of his creations are beautiful, even at the beach with tangled hair and sandy toes.
