Today we are digging out our sandbox. It probably doesn't seem like a very significant event to most, but for us it's a really big deal. You see this sandbox was no ordinary sandbox. It measured 8 feet by 8 feet square and 3 feet deep. I remember the weekend that Steve built this treasure as though it were yesterday. It was an unusually hot Labor Day weekend with temperatures rising into the 90s. This would surely be a true labor of love for his children. Steve had actually built the exact same sandbox just one year earlier at our previous home only to have us move several short months later. But while this new sandbox had the same dimensions, the same materials and the same builder, it would be incredibly different from the first.
This sandbox became so much more than an ordinary sandbox. Because it sat at the back of our yard, near where several of our neighbors' lots meet, this sandbox became the gathering place for countless adults and children over the last eight years. It became the place where we built relationships. Mommies and daddies, grandparents and cousins, babysitters, friends and strangers all took their seats along the edge of that sandbox.
Right there in that box many children learned to share.
They dug holes. DEEP holes, over and over again. We all did.
We made long tunnels and bridges and we learned to take turns.
We filled countless buckets and drove dump trucks.
We learned to start over and work hard and be flexible.
We looked forward to the dampness of the morning that made the sand pack so much better.
We learned about safety and kindness and "no throwing sand."
Each spring we dug out the old, faded & broken gems and replaced them with new ones.
In that place, we did science experiments and played games.
We cleaned up after ourselves and experienced consequences (from flooding it with hose water).
We built homes for frogs and made traps for rodents.
We even had a tea party or two out in that sandbox.
In it's glory days, our beloved sandbox has held countless shovels, buckets, rakes, trucks, cars, cups and other plastic treasures. Occassionally, it held a forgotten pair of sunglasses or a misplaced pair of flip flops. It also seemed to be the place to find missing baseball caps and garden tools. But more than anything, our sandbox held people, neighbors, friends and families.
While building castles and digging tunnels, the mommies and daddies got to build friendships too. Along the edge of that sandbox, we announced pregnancies. We awaited babies and adoptions. We rejoiced over good news. We welcomed babies home. We watched toddlers learn to walk {and dig}. We nursed wounds and dried tears. We shared hard news. We grieved the loss of loved ones. Toddlers became young children. We dealt with new diagnoses. We loved. We taught. We played. We disciplined. We made new friends and we enjoyed old ones.
I never thought this decision to dig up the sandbox would bring up so much emotion in me, but it has. And you know, after all these years and countless hours spent around that big old box, I am pretty sure I don't have a single photo from our time there; only memories for our hearts and whispers from the sandbox.
And for all the sand that was dragged into the house from sandbox shoes filled to the brim, and for all the sand that spilled onto the couch out of sandbox pockets, and for all the cups and bowls that went missing into the sandbox depths, it was worth it. It really was.
