Pentwater Welcomes You

The entirety of my writing “career” has been spent writing censored. I am constantly so concerned about offending someone or allowing others to see a side of me that I keep hidden that I spend a great deal of time crafting my words carefully so that no one is put off by what I choose to say.

Enough of this nonsense. Its time I start allowing whatever spills out of me to freely invade the blank space in front of me. Think what you will.

Among other things, Pentwater has always been a place of beauty, refreshment, and clarity to me. Even when I was young and before I knew what these words really mean I could feel each of them inside of me the moment I rested my eyes on the “Pentwater Welcomes You” sign. I cherish this place in a way that I cherish nothing else in this world. So why not start writing uncensored right now—here in Pentwater—in the place that brings me more clarity than my glasses? Yes, I think this is the perfect place and the perfect night to do this—here flying solo in Pentwater at the Pines Motel. Here in my temporary home of cabin 15 that smells of old wood and sand. Here on this queen bed (which I brought my own sheets for) next to the lamp with the picture of the Mayflower ship that sits on the nightstand. Simply perfect.

After three hours of karaoke in the car and one short stop for some deodorant that actually works, I pulled into the gravel parking lot of the Pines (fact: I love the sound of gravel under tires).

Typically, the amount of excitement that goes into packing for and driving to Pentwater exceeds that of a small child on Christmas morning. I’m not the only one that feels this way. My entire family (who normally is here with me) would agree with me. Allow me to explain. The countdown to return to Pentwater begins the second we leave the town. I start packing weeks in advance in order to create the perfect wardrobe for this most perfect place. I literally started learning how to play the ukulele in anticipation of strumming along as I watch the sun sink into Lake Michigan—creating the greatest soundtrack for a Pentwater sunset. The ride through town when we first arrive is full of girlish squeals and wild hand gestures. Get it? This place is special. This place is magic. This place is perfect.

So here I am—flying solo in Pentwater and participating in all of the same rituals that I would be doing if my family were here. I tried so hard to find the excitement that is normally there when I come here, but it was nowhere to be seen. Today, I went to the beach. It was nice, but something wasn’t quite right. I had bosco sticks for lunch. They didn’t taste all that great. I went for a bike ride. It wasn’t anything special. I had ice-cream from Cosmic Candy. Again, not that wonderful. I watched the sunset from the beach. It was definitely pretty, but I’ve seen better. Without my flock of family flying with me, Pentwater is wildly different—almost unfamiliar.

So, boys and girls, what did we learn today? That although Pentwater is an incredible place, maybe it’s not the actual town that I love so dearly. Maybe, it’s the people that are normally with me when I’m here.

compartments

So I have these lists in my head. Well, maybe not lists--they're more like compartments.

ya. compartments.

Wikipedia told me it's my way of  splitting ideas and concepts into (sometimes more or less arbitrary) parts, and trying to enforce thought processes which are inhibiting attempts to allow these parts to mix together again.

Apparently, it's my meager attempt to simplify things (I say meager because I don't think it always works).

With this being said...a few of these compartments hold items that are more valuable than others. One such compartment includes all of the places I cherish--places that make my eyes water and my heart ache with a longing to return. They range anywhere from specific houses, to entire towns, to cars. These are the places I imagine myself in when I’m having a rough day or need a respite from the crowded city. They are the places my imagination takes me when I smell certain scents...

gasoline=me and grandpa sitting in the golf-kart
vanilla lotion=Pentwater
watermelon bubblicious=community park
etc.

I recently opened this compartment and added a new place--Venice, Florida.
When I revisit this place in my mind it will always come accompanied with a soundtrack of bob marley, taylor swift, the sound of midnight laughter, ocean water, and soulful tears.

The scent of "twighlight woods" lotion will never (ever) make me think of actual twighlight woods, but rather longboarding in the sun, eating pineapple, playing the harmonica, swinging on banyan trees, biking, peanut-butter and jelly sandwhiches, armadillos, canoes, mad-libs, drum circles, roof-top stargazing, and the jettys.

It will forever exist as a place that made me feel safe and loved.
It will forever exist as a place where i experienced true friendship.
It will forever exist as a place that marked a great moment in life.
It will forever exist in my compartment of cherished places.

rearview mirror

This is not the first time I have found myself leaving the warmth of my bed to break the silence of one a.m. with the sounds of my many thoughts pouring out onto my enduring keyboard. It seems my pillow possesses the power to awaken some of my most random wonder streams. Pillows are supposed to promote  rest and relaxation, right? Why is it that mine does the opposite? Maybe I'll start taking tests and doing homework with my pillow and sleeping on my books..

Somewhere in the past couple months, my bed at Moody that was once stiff and uncomfortable has become my favorite place to sleep. Even with Christmas, family, friends, and my freakin awesome dog waiting for me at home, my heart was heavy as the city grew smaller in my rearview mirror. A tear drop fell heavily on my ipod as I shuffled through my songs in an attempt to create the perfect soundtrack for my exodus from Chicago. I didn't want to leave.

Maybe its because there are things at home I am trying to run away from or things I am scared of running to? Maybe I have taken comfort in the many hiding places the city holds? Or maybe, in reality,  its just hard when something great comes to an end.  Huff...

I think I'll head back to bed. Maybe its still warm....

There are moments in life that beg to be put onto paper. They are moments saturated in honest realization and moments that eagerly wait to fall upon the ears and eyes of others. These moments are likely to leave such a large imprint on a person that they cannot be denied as being perfectly crafted by the hand of God. While standing on a street corner in the city of Chicago, I encountered such a moment as this in the most unpretentious of ways. It is a moment that will not quickly fade or be forgotten. On a brisk night in the city—I held hands with a killer.


In the years leading to this moment, I had unknowingly been building upon a foundation of pride that came crashing down through my meeting with a homeless man named Barry. Without even realizing it, I had been holding onto the notion that I was better than the homeless people I meet on the street. I would subconsciously elevate myself until I reached a height that would only allow me to look down on the people I would speak with. My mouth would constantly deny that I felt this way, but my heart eventually revealed the dark supposition encased within it. I have seen this to be true in the lives of others as well, which furthers my opinion that pride is a difficult sin to tame. It is a sin pattern that has the sneaky ability to disguise itself in an assortment of ways—leading to a multitude of sins. My interactions with various people living on the windy streets of Chicago have taught me so many important things in my faith journey, but the most important lesson learned came through a man named Barry.

My first introduction to Barry was a rather unfortunate event. I happened to cross paths with him when he was having a bad night and did not see the best side of him. Due to the alarming amount of anger in Barry’s words and demeanor, I made a silent vow to avoid him from that point on. I was given a lot of background information on the history of Barry’s life and his interactions with other students—none of which were very good. These stories only pushed me further away from wanting to build a relationship with him. I learned that he had been responsible for the death of two people within his lifetime and that he had spent over twenty years in the prison system. His story was full of violence. Never in my life have I met someone quite like the angry man that I met in Barry. However, God’s timing is always perfect and this was proven to be true on a particular Thursday night.

As I crossed the street with a group of friends, I noticed a man standing on the corner ahead of me. His head was turned toward his feet and his shoulders were slouched, giving off an appearance of defeat. When my legs had finally led me close enough to recognize the man as Barry, my heart sank. I did not want to see him. I did not want to speak with him. Against my will, I followed the pattern of the group I was with and gathered around Barry. Throughout our conversation, I noticed something different about him. His words were no longer filled with anger and his mannerisms were empty of hatred. Something inside of Barry had definitely shifted and he was no longer impossible or scary to speak with. We stood on the sidewalk and had a long and fearless conversation with him. At the end of our talk about things in Barry’s past and problems in the homeless community—we joined hands and prayed.

I felt the reality of love begin to unfold within my chest as my fingers intertwined with Barry’s. As various people around the circle began speaking to God, I am not afraid to admit that I did not hear a word of what was spoken. I could not audibly hear the prayers being offered before the Lord over the roaring voice of the Holy Spirit that was speaking to my soul. I could feel the effects that the cold weather and fist fights had taken on his hands and it was in that moment that I realized something profound. I realized that the hand that I was holding was the same hand that had taken the lives of two people. On the contrary, my hand had never even killed an animal. The fingers that were laced with mine were the same fingers that had spent over twenty years in prison. My fingers had never even entered a jail cell. However, I then noticed that the pulse that was beating in Barry’s hand was in tune with the pulse that was beating in mine.

A flood of humility filled my body at the impact of my hand with Barry’s. It was through this connection that the understanding of something great was gained. It was in this seemingly insignificant moment that I finally understood that I was no different than the man standing next to me. My initial thought was one of amazement at the fact that I was holding the hand of a murderer, but then God opened my eyes and allowed me to see the killer living inside of me. Although I have never physically destroyed a life, how many murders have I committed in my heart? I walked away from Barry hardly able to speak.

I took the stairs to my floor and fell to my knees in the darkness of my room. With hands opened in prayer, I asked God to do something rather strange. I asked God to be a murderer and kill the pride in me. I asked him to take away the thought that I was better and favored over Barry. I asked God to humble me and tear down my foundation of pride. I turned my face toward heaven and asked Jesus to hold my hand. Again, it was through this type of connection that I grasped a much larger concept. Jesus held hands with a murderer when he held hands with me.

The night that I prayed with Barry was the catalyst to my understanding of humility and pride. I am just as guilty and unworthy of Christ as a person that lived half their life in jail. Barry and I are both sinners. We are both children of a merciful Savior. We both move and breathe in the grace of God. We both stand on level ground at the foot of the cross.

shadows

The palm tree made a shadow on your face

As the sun peaked gently through the space

of leaves, and nests, and branches, and birds.

As Your sun blushed eyes rose to meet mine

With your cheeks and lips tinted the color of wine

the palm tree made a shadow on your face.

I watched as you left a trail in the sand

To stand beside me and hold my hand

And the palm tree made a shadow on my face

Im with you and you’re with me

Together we are an unbreakable team

We’ll hum to the rhythm and sway to the beat

As the palm trees make shadows on the beach

Candles of Heaven

The night is warm and the candles of heaven are burning brightly


With each brush of waves a clear, deep breeze stretches its wings to sweep the aggression off her face

Surrounded by the unrestricting night and voluminous wind

It collides with her body and entertains her soul.

She asked the waves, “is this how it’s supposed to be?”

Sometimes the pieces of life seem so awkward and out of place

Sometimes I feel like I’ve stepped out of bounds or played the wrong note

I’m a fish swimming in the opposite direction

“of course it is,” replied the waves

“There is no rule book to life

It’s different to you, and him, and her

There are no limits or wrong notes

Play freely young one and step where you desire

Let your feet be led by the yearnings of your heart

It is in this mess that beauty rests and lays her magnificent wings.

Now rest your sweet head on the tiny grains of sand and be

Ever consumed in the notion of being so small in such a gallant universe

That is guided by an Almighty hand.

James 3:9-12

(this is oooold)

READ JAMES 3:9-12


With the tongue we praise our Lord and Father, and with it we curse men, who have been made in God’s likeness. Out of the same mouth come praise and cursing. My brothers, this should no be. Can both fresh water and salt water flow from the same spring? My brothers, can a fig tree bear olives, or a grapevine bear figs? Neither can a salt spring produce fresh water.

As a way of celebrating the beginning of summer and no more exams or due dates, me and seven of my friends crammed our luggage and camping equipment into two sub-compact cars and drove south for a week of camping on the beaches of Florida. After 23 hours of being stuck in the backseat of a Honda Civic surrounded by a variety of camping equipment and random pieces of luggage, I wanted nothing more than to touch the ocean. After a two hour accidental detour and a near death experience with a ditch in Alabama, we arrived at our campsite well after dark. The first thing we did was flock to the beach.

The moon was the biggest I had ever seen it and seemed to light the entire beach which stretched for miles on either side. The waves spoke gently to the sky and the water seemed to reflect even the starlight that reached down. Everything about the beach that night praised God in its own way. I cannot remember a time when the ocean looked so beautiful. It was a moment so perfect that not even a picture from the best camera could have captured it.

The water appeared warm and inviting and we walked along the shore and let the ocean flow back and forth over our feet. I dipped low and slipped my hands beneath the surface just as a wave came crashing toward me. Not only did the water manage to soak my clothes, but it also found its way into my mouth. Having never swam in the ocean before; I was shocked by just how salty the ocean water was. Immediately something that I saw as being so beautiful was ruined by the saltiness of the water. The visions I saved in my mind of how handsome the ocean appeared were erased the second the salty water touched my tongue. It seemed so backwards that this gorgeous ocean was capable of tasting so badly. It completely changed everything I thought the ocean was.

After reading these verses, this exact memory came flooding back, much like the ocean water that soaked my clothes. Like James uses examples of nature to illustrate his point, the ocean water reminded me of how backwards we act sometimes. The words we speak have the strength to completely change the way outsiders might see us. How often is it that we go from praising the Creator of the universe to vocalizing ugly thoughts we have about our sibling, parent, spouse, or the guy who had 13 items in the 12 items only lane at the store? It’s completely backwards. Not only do the words we speak have the capabilities to hurt others, but they also pull us away from God. We cannot be freshwater springs if all that is flowing from us is salt water. We cannot praise God using dangerous words.

The first portion of these verses state that the tongue is capable of two things, praising God and cursing men. With the tongue we are all guilty of jumping from one end of the spectrum to the other. We are all guilty of praising our God one second and cursing someone who was made in God’s likeness the next. It seems ridiculous that we commend God for his creations, but then turn around only to put down something else that he has made.

If anyone speaks, he should do it as one speaking the very words of God. 1 Peter 4:11

We cannot be true witnesses of Christ if we are constantly vocalizing ugly thoughts and spewing salty water. As my mom (whom I have come to realize does actually know a thing or two) always says, “If you don’t have anything nice to say, don’t say anything at all.”