Beach Bums Return

What is it about the shore that makes you feel so ... so ... different? Changed? Rejuvenated? I love the shore, I truly do. Maybe part of it is in my blood, being a Jersey girl through and through and having spent my childhood summers at the beach. A summer was not complete without at least one visit to a particular beach. We were very fortunate to have a family member (my great-uncle and later his children) own a motel in Beach Haven, NJ on Long Beach Island, so for many years we made our summer trek there. Yes, it's in my blood. I love the beach.

Don and I had a two day getaway at Ocean Grove and just returned yesterday. It was a weekend of near-perfection. Saturday started out quite cool and breezy, only in the mid-70's, and at first I balked a this ironic turn of nature, thinking it would be far too cold to sit on the beach. Nevertheless, it was still bright and sunny, and we set out on our journey. Our first stroke of luck/providence was the fact that we missed all the shore traffic -- hallelujah! Then our second stroke was the gift of an early check-in, as soon as we arrived at the hotel (9:30 a.m.). We settled in, dropped off our stuff, changed into our bathing suits, and then hopped back in the car for a quick drive over to Ocean Grove. Third stroke: a parking spot on Main Avenue less than half a block from the beach.

It was quite chilly when we stepped out of the car, so we decided to go for a walk to warm up. We hit the boardwalk and walked for a very long time, crossing over into Asbury Park and then back again. By that point our bodies had acclimated and we were feeling very comfortable. We went back to the car, grabbed our beach gear, spent a small fortune for a two-day pass to go on the beach, and set up camp on the sand. I swear I was in a section of heaven, sitting in my beach chair, reading my book, neither too warm nor too cold, surrounded by beautifully restored Victorian homes, hearing the perfect sounds of seagulls and waves, smelling that unique beach smell. We were even able to swim, as the ocean temperature was about the same as the air and actually felt warm. I got a good laugh out of my choice of reading material -- from the outside, the title screams out the perfect beach novel: The Virgin's Lover. The content, however, is anything but beach novel material: historical fiction, with this particular author's take on Queen Elizabeth's I's relationship with her Master of Horse, Sir Robert Dudley, Earl of Leicester. What a complex character I am!

Ah, the perfection of the day continued, despite the fact that I slathered myself in SPF 45 and still got a nasty sunburn on my chest, although thankfully it didn't feel nearly as bad as it looked. We decided to have an early dinner at the only nice, rather "upscale" restaurant in town, and stroke number 4 came our way: as soon as we sat down, having had no wait at all, a huge line began to form. After a fabulous meal of seafood (potato encrusted cod with grilled asparagus for me, Maryland crab cakes for Don) we grabbed an Almond Joy latte from a local coffee house and walked around the town. Don and I are both passionate architecture freaks, so once again we felt like we were walking around in a bit of paradise. The focal point of Ocean Grove is the Great Auditorium, a 19th century architectural feat, around which the town had literally grown up as a Methodist campground. That night Air Supply was playing, and we had fun sipping our lattes and watching the odd assortment of concert-goers flock to the site.

Then something very, very strange and unexpected happened. I suddenly heard a very deep voice say, "Hello!" and as I turned, I saw a familiar face smiling back at me: one of our very good friends from our last church, the church that had turned into our personal nightmare. The very last thing I wanted to experience on our mini-vacation was something or someone who would remind us of our hellish experience. And yet ... here he was. In that strange moment -- an instant that lasted for an hour -- I felt the strangest mix of emotions: great happiness to see him again, great sadness that we don't see him anymore, great anger for the reason why we don't see him anymore ... you get the idea. We talked for a while -- he knows how we feel ("Don't forget to love your enemies," he said to us with a sarcastic smile. Yeah, we're working on that but not getting anywhere fast), although I doubt he knows even a tenth of the real story (spin doctors can weave a doozy of a web), and that was not the time nor place to fill him in on the grief-filled details. We talked about a lot of things, and we skirted around the 800-pound gorilla in a bikini (hey, we're at the beach, after all). It was all at once awkward yet so very, very good to see him. I felt like crying. It was just beyond strange.

We parted, and as Don and I continued walking, our conversation of course turned to That Church and That Man ... I could feel all of that anger, bitterness, sadness, and resentment bubbling up again; finally I had to put on the brakes and just stop talking about it. I refused to let that situation ruin our vacation, ruin the peace and restoration that we were just beginning to feel. No way. But what it did make me realize that I was far from being healed of that experience. So very, very far. One step forward, meet an old friend, ten steps back ...

After some ice cream by moonlight we headed back to our hotel, and despite that pleasant-yet-painful encounter with our friend, we were still amazed at the near-flawless day. We awoke the next morning to a cloudy but very comfortable day. We headed back to Ocean Grove, which was hopping as the throngs decked out in their Sunday finery made their way over to the Auditorium to hear their guest preacher, none other than Tony Campolo. Once again we walked along the boardwalk, this time having a very long and interesting conversation -- about where we are now, our future (not that we know what it holds). As we sat on a bench on the boardwalk, watching the crashing waves (believe it or not, the beach is closed until 12:30 p.m. -- an incentive to draw people to church pews rather than beach chairs), we tentatively took down our dusty box of dreams from the shelf, rummaged around inside for a while, talked about it. Then we put the lid back on and put the box of dreams back on the shelf. We're not ready for anything right now. It's a sad sort of feeling, like an ache; one of contentment on the surface but restlessness underneath, a feeling of frustration, of wandering in the desert without a compass, knowing that God is with us but having no idea what's in store. No matter how hard you try to smile, you still feel like your heart is breaking. It was OK, though, peeping into that box of dreams ... although our fledgling dreams now are nothing like our dreams of even a few years ago. Everything has changed; we have changed.

After a final walk on the beach, stopping to pick up some shells for the kids, we hopped into the car for our journey home as rain tumbled down on Ocean Grove in the afternoon. It was good to see our little ones again, but I was certainly blessed to have the opportunity for a short time away from them. They had a fantastic time with Miss Pam, but I'll save some of those tales and photographs for my next post. I do believe it's true that "absence makes the heart grow fonder," but what that adage doesn't say is that it only lasts for about an hour until reality sets back in. That's OK -- we were given a tremendous gift this weekend and I'll be remembering this for a while. Thank you, God, for giving us a mega-dose of grace at just the right time.