It was a three hour drive to Isle of Palms from Charlotte, spent mostly dozing in the car and reading. Over the course of my ten-day vacation, I read five books: "The Fault in Our Stars" by John Green, "And the Mountains Echoed" by Khaled Hosseini, "Radical" by David Platt, "The Explicit Gospel" by Matt Chandler, and "Little Bee" by Chris Cleave. A relaxing vacation for me means having plenty of time to read (so this was a success).
During a stop in Columbia, we visited the oddest little pizza parlor called The Mellow Mushroom. Large glitzed-out statues of roosters and a giant pretend library filled the building. It was one of the more entertaining experiences of the trip.
Almost as soon as we arrived at our sweet little beach house, we headed straight for the ocean. Mom, Amy, and I took a golf cart, while Grandpa Frank, Ali, and Luke managed to find three rusty, creaking bikes. It was low tide, and the beach stretched far. They rode along the sandy shore, while the rest of us parked, removed our shoes, and began to walk.
I have no fears about walking ankle-deep in the ocean water. In fact, I enjoy the feeling of the waves lapping at my ankles while the sand hugs my feet. Little muscles and clams dove into the earth with each new wave. Tiny crabs were everywhere, invading our belongings and attempting to crawl up our legs when we sat down. Throughout the rest of my vacation, if I set down my bag, I'd ultimately find a rogue crab or two waiting for me later on. Vicious buggers.
The beach was beautiful. It had been two years since I'd seen the ocean (not since my cruise right after my high school graduation), so it was a refreshing thing to breathe the salty air and feel the waves and the sand and the pounding sun. It was funny, changing from a lake house to a beach house. The water activities were all a bit different. Lakes are gentle and soft, while the ocean is a lion everyone pretends they can tame.
Luke, in typical fashion, played in the waves for a bit, and then found this giant puddle of salt water left by the fleeing tide. Our first night in Isle of Palms, he spent probably an hour sitting in this puddle, quite satisfied as he played with the damp sand and stubborn little clams. I have the funniest brother.
Other days, my dad and Grandpa Frank would set out with wake boards and play with Luke in the actual ocean. They spent hours this trip riding the waves on their tummies. (And some of this time was spent attempting to bury Luke in the hard-packed South Carolina sand. It didn't work.)
The rest of us spent much of our time on the beach sitting beneath umbrellas or tanning under a grinning sun. I was the recipient of a wicked sunburn on day two of our vacation, so I kept a t-shirt on for most of this trip, unwilling to harm my skin any more than it already was.
Truly, one of my favorite parts of our beach house (and where I spent most of my afternoons there) was relaxing on the hammock placed on Ali's and my balcony. This spot was shady, comfortable, and perfect for reading and quiet times with Jesus.
Three years ago: Where is God's hatred?
One year ago: I almost forgot what rain was.
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