*This is something I wrote almost a week before moving from Cannon Beach, Oregon. A reflection of sorts on the beachy adventure from beginning to end. And yes, tears may have been shed on the way home.
Life is beautiful.
It’s silly how often I forget that. I’m beyond blessed, overwhelmed to the point of tears threatening to fall. And that’s not something that happens often.
As this chapter comes to a close, I am blown away at how perfectly orchestrated it all was. Who knew I’d be calling this place home for two years, when all I had initially signed up for was a fun summer at the beach. Away from my parents, away from God.
How silly–foolish–of me to think that running away, overworking myself and rebelling in my heart would bring the freedom and peace I was so desperately searching for.
Yet God ran with me, even though I pushed him away. He packed and re-packed my things with me, moved from coast to coast (literally) with me. Guided me each step, each frequent flier mile. And throughout all that, orchestrated friendships, conversations, exchanged smiles and even three jobs (we won’t talk about the time I worked at a sushi restaurant for a week). It all had purpose whether or not I chose to acknowledge it.
That first summer in 2012, he used people to show me how broken I really was. That pretending to be fine wasn’t cutting it. And neither was blaspheming his name and living in guilt, shame, and unforgiveness.
I remember that first day so visibly. There I sat on the beach, having just taken my first picture on my disposable camera (trying to be cooler than I was), being proud of the fact that I was the one who got me there. So I better have picture proof of all my hard work and independence and defiance! But now whenever I look at that picture, all I see is how hard I tried to be cool in order to mask the pain and hurt. Pretending turns out to be faulty film.
The second time around (when I moved back after graduating college in January 2013), I learned the hard way that I didn’t have control. That life isn’t and shouldn’t be defined by my resume and accomplishments. Because if that were the case, I’d have scrubbing toilets and setting dinner tables to brag about.
One cold summer night, I found myself wandering to the beach–and nearly the same location as my first moment on the sand a year before–with nothing but a chorus from a worship song burned in my brain. “Bless the Lord, O my soul, worship His holy name.” I sat on a log, staring at the ocean through watery eyes and sprinkling rain. Where was I going in life? What was I doing? For the first time in too long, I called out to God, begging for answers.
Two months later, he gave me one: go to Bible school.
Not even two weeks ago, I graduated. And here I sit on the same beach as the first summer where I ran to avoid the questions. The same beach where I sat having nothing but questions, to the beach I relax on today, having even more questions but also answers.
The past few years have been an inexplainable journey of realizing my brokenness, of being continually wrecked in the most beautiful way possible. I’ve come to terms knowing I’m not perfect–and don’t have to be. So much beauty and promise is found in grace.
But the time has come for this wild ride to end. This place I’ve called home for the past two years is about to lose a member. A regular at the coffee shop, a frequenter of the daisy fields and sandy terrain (when the sun’s out, that is). I’m heartbroken knowing I must say leave behind such wonderful people in a beautiful piece of the world. But the fact that it’s so painful proves that this place truly was my home, the people I learned to love and care for my family. The God I first ran from, and now run to, faithful and sovereign. It all worked together: the plot twists, the ups and downs, the beginning only beginning because it would lead me to this ending.
It’s safe to say I’m in love with this place. But I’m more in love with the One who made it.
Thanks for it all, Cannon Beach. Take care of my family, and give ’em a little extra sun this summer.
xo, the albino sunbather
