Growing up in San Diego, our Saturday beach outings are etched indelibly my mind. After a sultry day in the sun and sand and surf, I remember using the little outdoor showers where we could rinse off before loading ourselves back in the station wagon. Our skin and feet felt soft once more, itchy sand abolished from bathing suits, clean(ish) after all those hours of boogie boarding and sunbathing, a satisfying ending to our stay.
I know you know what I’m talking about. The absolute exhale when you finally can take a shower after an extended camping stint, for instance. It’s fine while you’re all together, everyone smelling like stale campfire, you just make do. It’s best if the weather is temperate, maybe spring or fall. Not so good when the days are warm and sweaty. But you’ve been there, you know how rejuvenating it is to have that first shower when you get back. In fact, as we make our re-entry to civilization, it’s almost all we can think about, first thing on the agenda as soon as we unload.
Or after a hearty morning workout. I can’t think of many things taking precedence to getting in the shower. I just want to clean up and feel fresh again, I know I’ll feel energized and eager to start the day once that’s done. I hate lingering in work out clothes and rarely ever do. I’m always anxious to leave that part of the day behind and move on.
In a different but similar way, there’s no faster way to warm up after an afternoon in the snow or a day out in the winter hiking, skiing, or hunting. When you’re chilled-to-the-bone-cold, not much feels better than drenching your skin with almost hot water and letting it cascade all over, soaking into your muscles. So relaxing and caressing.
I’ve heard of missionaries taking cold showers for two years. I’ve had a few of my own when we’ve run out of hot water. I know things could be worse, but it is a harsh start to the day. It’s easy to feel grateful for warm water after going without, but I vowed after one Christmas Eve cold shower that I would appreciate my showers every time from then on. I decided I never wanted to take this luxury for granted again. It truly is one of my favorite parts of the day. And I love that I can take one any time I want. If it’s been a sweaty yard day, if I just want to get ready for going out at night, if I’ve been working in the dusty garage, it’s a tiny indulgence that tickles my senses and elevates my mood.
I’ve done quite a bit of thinking in the shower, as I’m sure most of you have. It’s where I can finally be alone to face the realities in my head. I have cried a lot of tears over the years, taking advantage of the water to muffle my sadness. Because often I’m simply not at a place to talk. I don’t know why I’m sad, or it’s too overwhelming, we’ve been talking about it too much already and I’m embarrassed that I’m not over it. Whatever the case, it’s provided me some privacy and a little respite while I’ve examined my thoughts on my own. Likewise, I remember appreciating of the din of the fan and the water in my early mom years as I slipped out for a little pause from crying babies. Maybe selfish, maybe smart. A tiny secluded space, a little pick-me-up fragrance, the cacophony of water droplets all coalescing into the perfect reprieve and occasion to breathe and pull myself together.
I’ve thought about the obvious symbolism. Because as much as I relish the feeling of being clean, even more than I need a shower after a long camping trip, I need the refreshment of changing, of repenting, of letting go, of moving on after a full day of mishaps. Just like I’m not prone to skip a day of showering, I can’t imagine not being able to wash away the soils of my emotional day.
I think back to miscommunications with friends and family members. How something I said was mistaken. How I was flippant. How I was short-tempered. How my pride got in the way. How I missed an opportunity to serve or be kind or to notice. I hate the burden of such awkward interactions, the heaviness of my humanness, the memories that make me flinch.
But just as the shower can soothe me, nothing feels better than clearing the air with someone I love and care about. After a long day or however long it’s been, I love the sense of relief and peace I feel once we’ve resolved things. I feel light, even a little like floating. The world looks brighter, in a giddy, Pollyanna sort of way. I didn’t realize how unsettled or weighed down I’d felt, similar to not noticing how dirty I’d gotten camping or how cold I’d been walking around in the snow, until now.
Maybe it’s like those campers at some of the state parks we’ve been to where free hot showers are available all day, who wouldn’t grab their miniature bottles of shampoo and take advantage of an amenity like that? But some don’t, maybe too much trouble, too much time away from fishing or the fire, maybe they don’t realize how disheveled they’ve become. But maybe we’re not that different, choosing to live with our dirt instead of simply apologizing to a child or spouse we’ve offended or talking to God about weaknesses that we’re still grappling with or asking for forgiveness when we’ve been overbearing or arrogant.
I guess I just know I feel more cheerful when I’ve made the effort to clean things up, to wash off the grime and work and mistakes of the day. A shower can serve as a routine physical reminder to check my heart, to notice if anything’s amiss, if there are any messes I can attend to, if I’ve done something I’m embarrassed by or feeling off about. It’s my time to commit to make amends, to clear what I can, to wash away past misdeeds and to begin again, facing the day fresh with no mistakes in it. Yet.
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