As a child, one of my most favorite things to do was to go to the ocean and climb the rocks along the jetty in Plymouth harbor, MA. My parents and my brother and I would descend from our home in the White Mountains of NH to visit our extended family on the South Shore, and in the summer, we’d all often end up at a restaurant called the Lobster Hut that’s settled right in downtown Plymouth overlooking the harbor. After dinner but before heading for ice cream at Peaceful Meadows, we’d always go for a walk along the jetty in the harbor there.

I can’t pinpoint exactly what it was—maybe it was having all my family gathered in one place; maybe it was the fact that the beauty of the ocean was so strikingly different than the beauty of the mountains to which I was accustomed; or maybe it was just that this place, Plymouth harbor, was in my blood, part of my heritage as a direct descendant of Mayflower passengers—but something about running along that jetty was like magic as I tried to find just the right place to put my foot to bring me to the end of the jetty as quickly as possible.

Today I climbed the rocks of a jetty at a beach near my home. I went all the way to the end, where I sat down, stared into the distance where no land was visible, and cried. There are so many things going on in my life, so many changes and new experiences, and sometimes I struggle with the old emotions that I can’t seem to scrub free from my soul. I felt stuck in that moment of life. So I cried, and I prayed, and I sang to God from my spot on that rock. And when I was done, I lied down and found shapes in the clouds in the sky: a duck, a giraffe, a broken heart. But here’s the thing: when you watch the clouds long enough, they metamorphose into other objects—a duck becomes a fish, a giraffe becomes the loch ness monster, a broken heart becomes whole again.

And all of a sudden, that moment wasn’t such a bad one to be stuck in. I may not have the perspective necessary to watch my life change the way I watched the clouds changed, but I know someone who does: my Father, my Mother—my God. The magical properties of the jetty still exist, but manifest themselves differently in my adulthood. Only instead of magic, it’s an intrinsic spiritual connection to God. And instead of inexplicable joy, I felt inexplicable peace.

Slowly, I stood up from my rock. I made my way back along the uneven jetty to the parking lot beyond, knowing that, while this moment of my life seems long and difficult, it will change with the wind into something different. Someday this moment will become beautiful and whole.

Read More 1 Comment | Posted by Jenna

1 Comment

1. Rebekah on October 29, 2009 at 4:53 PM

   Thank you for sharing this! I feel like I've been having similar experiences--both looking too far behind me a what I perceived to be the best times of my life, as well as a time that was the worst; a time full of negative emotion that sits a little closer to the surface at the moment than I would like to admit. But I think it's those times on the rocks which produce healing and evolution away from the negative, old emotions and memories. And I really feel that God has been apart of all that for me, too.
   
   Wonderful post, beautiful picture.