IT'S ONLY
September 3, 2003

Central Kansas boasts few lakes and rivers, so one must travel a few miles out of the way in order to find a decent size body of water. Even then, the lakes are man-made creations used for everything from hydroelectric power to regional recreation, but the fine people of the Midwest do not mind the facsimile, since coastal beaches are hundreds of miles away. And as a native of the desert Southwest, I have always been accustomed to making day trips to area lakes to gaze upon something other than dry brown dirt. During my exploration days of college, I found myself at a nearby lake many times.

On one such occasion, three of my college friends, Brian, Jessica, and Misty, accompanied me to the lake one spring afternoon for a day spent under the blue Kansas sky. From my previous trips to the lake, I had discovered a back entrance leading to a private beach opposite the dam. We had decided to take advantage of that knowledge and stake claim to a piece of property on the west side of the water. Like I said, I knew of the beach, but I had never actually been there, so we had a difficult time finding it. Once we found it though, we parked close the water’s edge on the beach. “It’s only sand,” I thought as I placed the car in park before we unloaded our gear.

After a few hours lying in the sun, horse playing, and exploring the cove, we knew we had to begin our trek back to town. Jessica was a preacher’s daughter, and we needed to get her back for her father’s Sunday evening service. We packed up our things into the trunk of the car, piled into the seats, put the car in reverse, and stayed put. I tried again. Nothing. Apparently, the sand where we had parked wasn’t very packed and we were stuck. We climbed out the car to investigate. During our fun in the sun, the car had settled into the sand quite comfortably, and wasn’t moving an inch, and each time I pressed on the gas, our predicament worsened. Brian took charge and began to gather sticks from the surrounding brush. The girls helped to push the car back and forth, hoping to free the tire from its demise. No such luck. After an hour of trying different techniques, we finally pushed the car to freedom and drove away from the lake four very tried and dirty people.

“It’s only sand.”

In life, we learn many lessons the hard way. We learn not to touch a hot stove. We learn to steer clear of strangers. We learn to lock the door at night before we go to bed. And we learn not to park on soft sand. Through trial and error, we learn that every cause has an effect, and that every action has a consequence. And many times, two simple words begin the rolling motion of a lesson.

“It’s only...”

Say the words out loud. They don’t seem very forceful or intimidating. But these two simple words combined can be two of the most deceitful words in the English language and often precede other terms that, by themselves, appear harmless or meaningless. It’s only $19.95. It’s only one hamburger. It’s only a bump. It’s only sex. It’s only this one time. It’s only this. It’s only that. Get the idea? Like drops of water in a bucket, each “it’s only” adds up to many, and soon we’re stuck in a situation from which we cannot escape, like debt, excessive weight, drug addition, a life threatening sexually transmitted disease, or even soft sand.

I have found myself justifying many of my own life’s decisions by convincing myself that “it’s only” this one time or “it’s only” an experiment. Today, Americans are so dependant upon being a part of the “experience” and receiving ample self-fulfillment that we lose sight of what it means to be truly human. When my friends and I were at the beach, we focused on getting a few rays of sun on our white skin and lost sight of the fact that we were parked on proverbial sinking sand.

In early 1978, a young man walked a few blocks across town to pick up a motorcycle he had recently purchased. Steven was excited about the opportunities the new bike offered him, and was looking forward to riding along the empty roads of the Eastern New Mexico plains. During his walk that evening, he thought about many things – his position within the police department, his two young sons, and his future. He was recently divorced and was rediscovering life again as a single man. A new chapter of his life was beginning and the motorcycle was just the icon of freedom he desired to represent the changes he was bound to experience.

Steven was going places. His tenure within the small town police department promised to become an asset in later years as he worked his way up the ranks to possibly become Chief of Police, but for the time being, his stint as detective was rewarding enough. Although he had never attended college, his street smarts and personable demeanor enabled him to establish an instant rapport with whomever he encountered. He knew his attractive personality and dashing looks would assist him for the remainder of his life, so he only needed to focus on the present. And currently, his goal was to ride home in the setting sun on his new motorcycle.

After exchanging money for a title, Steven straddled the bike, flipped up the stand, and kick-started the engine. However, nowhere between his second-floor apartment and his destination did it occur to him to bring his helmet. Normally, he wouldn’t have left the house without it, but this was an exception. He was going to take his motorcycle out on its maiden voyage with the wind blowing through his hair.

“It’s only a few blocks home,” he thought to himself as he pulled out into the street.

Steven never made it home. He was looking forward to riding into the setting sun, but that same sun temporarily blinded another driver at a stop sign. The driver ran the intersection and collided with Steven on his motorcycle. The force of the crash threw Steven from the bike and caused his exposed head to slam against the asphalt of the street. Instantly, Steven fell into a coma. The other driver, surprised by the accident, jumped from the car and began to assist Steven, but he wasn’t trained to deal with such an injury. Witnesses called for paramedics and Steven was transported to the nearest trauma hospital 100 miles away. He died en route.

Lives were forever changed in the blink of an eye that fateful day. Two small boys were left fatherless and forced to grow up with only a few memories of his presence. A small town lost a promising policeman. And the final chapter to a life full of hope and promise was was closed forever.

“It’s only…”

There are millions of personal anecdotes describing how lives have been altered because of a small excuse beginning with these two words. And as history repeats itself on a daily basis, we must remember to learn from the mistakes and correct choices of others, or we’ll be doomed to mimic life in an endless loop of hopelessness. Keep this in mind. Why? Because it’s only your life.