As a teenager, I lived and breathed “Gidget,” “Beach Party” movies and the Beach Boys. There was something glamorous about a beach as you glide across waves never getting your hair wet. I would devour every article that mentioned Annette Funicello and Frankie Avalon. Ah … the good ‘ole days!
When I graduated from high school, my parents surprised me with a trip to Hawaii! As I think about that time, I realize how much of a stretch that trip was for my dad. First, he didn’t like to travel, and second, his legs had never seen the light of day. But all three of us embarked on that trip with great excitement (especially me).
Waikiki Beach was more beautiful than any photos I had seen. I pinched myself to make sure I wasn’t dreaming. The water was the most beautiful aqua color and the perfect temperature — not too hot and not too cold. The beaches were combed and clean, someone was there to make sure you didn’t get too much sun, and the best of all, they offered surfing lessons.
It took me two days pleading with my parents to take surfing lessons until they finally gave in. I couldn’t understand what the big deal was … Gidget never fell into the water and Annette had perfect balance and perfect hair!
I was the first to show up for the lesson. There were 10 of us, each with an assigned board. The instructors asked how well we knew how to swim. We were shown how to lay on our stomach on the board and paddle with our arms about half a mile out to the wave break. I wasn’t a good judge of distance, but I remember thinking half a mile seemed like a really long way. Then they showed us how to turn the board around, hop on the board on our knees to wait for the right “wave.” Just before the wave crested, we were to jump to our feet on the board, balance ourselves, and have the wave glide us to the shore. I bobbed my head up and down assuring the instructors I knew what I was doing.
Let me tell you, when you paddle half a mile, that’s a long way. My arms were limp. I turned the board around, got on my knees, waited for the perfect wave, jumped up and immediately fell off. I had to fight my way to the surface and away from the undertow. After four attempts, eventually lasting all of 10 seconds “surfing” until I threw in the towel. Surfing was not as glamorous as I thought.
Insufficient preparation must be a part of my DNA. I went on a March of Dimes Walk-a-Thon once to earn support for each mile walked (around White Rock Lake and back). I walked 12 miles, hobbled to the bus for home, and didn’t walk for a week.
To be well prepared is critical in life. “If I had 8 hours to chop down a tree, I’d spend 6 sharpening my axe,” said Abraham Lincoln. We prepare for a career by studying. We buy insurance in case of a car accident or a house fire. We even prepare for the end of life by making a will to provide for loved ones.
The Bible tells us we must prepare ourselves spiritually as well. We do that by putting on spiritual armor to protect ourselves from spiritual attack (Eph. 6:10-20); by preparing our minds for holy living (1 Peter 1:13); by making sure we’re always prepared to answer questions about the reason for the hope we possess (1 Peter 3:15); and by ensuring that we are ready for the promised return of Jesus (Matt. 24:44).
I haven’t mastered the lesson of preparation, but I’m still working on it. What about you?
1 Peter 3:15 “Instead, exalt the Messiah as Lord in your lives. Always be prepared to give a defense to everyone who asks you to explain the hope you have.”
