Over the weekend someone built an elaborate sandcastle on the beach, complete with turrets, shell door, and raised moat wall. I assume a mold was used to help shape the castle’s form, so fine were the architectural details. I can picture a family spending hours just beyond the water’s reach, tamping wet sand into molds, patting it into place, finding broken sticks and reeds and edging tools to outline and highlight windows and doors, selecting shells marking the passage into the castle. They must have stepped back in delight at their creation as it stood untouched by the sea, guarding an imaginary family living with its walls. However, when I walked by the castle this morning, most of it had already been sucked into the ocean; only the back portion remained sharply intact, and even that succumbed to a wave as I watched. How like most of our human plans that sand castle is! I design my own future too often blind to God’s word—God’s orders—only to see everything wash away when a storm comes. Forgive me, Father, for building my castles in sand; remind me that you are the rock of my salvation. Everything else is temporary, prey to the next wave. Amen.