Posts from — July 2011

It’s only been one week since I finished Heaven Is For Real by Todd Burpo with Lynn Vincent, but I honestly believe it has, and will continue to change my life forever.  This book rocked me to my core.  Sent shivers down my spine, spoke to my soul.  Just one day, a few hours, one book changed my most steadfast beliefs.

Heaven Is For Real is “the true story of the four-year old son of a small town Nebraska pastor who during emergency surgery slips from consciousness and enters heaven.  The family didn’t know what to believe but soon the evidence was clear.  Told by the father, but often in Colton’s own words, the disarmingly simple message is heaven is a real place, Jesus really loves children, and be ready, there is a coming last battle.”

As a child I was raised in a family that didn’t talk about religion or spirituality, a family that attended church only for weddings and funerals.  My parents both believe in God, and spent their childhoods in religious households.  I on the other hand, having little guidance or bias from my parents, decided at an early age that I did not believe in God.  I didn’t want to follow the Catholic beliefs like many of my friends, and I didn’t believe in heaven, or hell.  I was, by high school, an outspoken and stubborn atheist.

So when I went to Boston College, a private, Jesuit university and decided to declare a Theology minor, my friends and family alike were a bit surprised.  I studied Theology to learn, to explore, to understand the world’s religions, the beliefs of others, the history of the world through the eyes of followers.  I studied Biblical Heritage, the history of Catholicism.  I studied eastern religions, religious conflicts, life and death, and spent much of my time examining faith, peace and justice.  I graduated Boston College a well read, well versed, nonjudgmental atheist.

And then I read this book, and now all of my most steadfast beliefs have been rocked.  Absolutely rocked.

It’s funny the impact that one $14.99 book and four hours of time can have on my life, an impact far greater than my four years and $100,000+ education.

But this book. Read it. Now.

This is the story of a stomach ache.  The story of of 90 degree and humid day in July.  The story of it being way too hot in this damn city.  I came home from work this evening to find our kitchen thermometer reading 87 degrees.  It got worse when I walked to my bedroom and found a thermometer reading 92 degrees cool.  The boyfriend came to pick me up, and I insisted on ice cream for dinner.  Two oversized scoops of brownie brownie batter and coffee oreo ice cream later, my apartment is still hot and my stomach is not happy.

Me being narcissistic with my iPhone.

Friday night at the bar with one of my oldest girlfriends, Samantha.

Saturday night with the boyfriend at a 30th anniversary party.

After another unbeatable weekend in Maine, the boyfriend and I found ourselves late Sunday evening sunkissed, tired, and wanting nothing more than to somehow avoid the bumper to bumper drive back to Boston.  We decided there was only one thing that could remedy this dreadful situation.  Well, that is besides quitting our jobs, subletting our apartments and moving permanently back to Maine.  Since that option is (currently) out of question, we settled for an at home lobster dinner for two.

Because we didn’t want to be driving until midnight, we decided to purchase the lobsters from the local Maine fish market, have them packed to travel, and dine after the drive.  The apartment was hot, and an at home lobster dinner in my 4th floor Boston walk up isn’t quite the same as an outdoor lobster bake along the rocky coast of Maine, but – we survived.

We had a cold beer, fresh corn on the cob and warm biscuits (courtesy of Gram at the farm).  All things considered, it was delightful.

This afternoon I spent a few hours on the beach, catching up with college roommates, soaking up the sun, wading in the cold, Maine ocean, and sipping cocktails on the porch of the Black Point Inn.

My roommate was in town for the weekend, staying with other college friends and when she told me they were at the beach by Black Point Inn, I couldn’t resist meeting them.  I worked at the Black Point Inn for 3 summers in college. It has been the one and only job that I ever really, really loved.  The only job that I looked forward to going to, every single day.  I made amazing friends, gained invaluable work experience and met individuals that continue to serve as my professional mentors to this day.

Professional nostalgia aside, I really did love that job.  I loved the gorgeous setting (Prouts Neck, Maine).  I loved the long drive down route 207.  I loved the silence at night, the waves crashing on the rocks around us.  I loved the locals, the summer families, the regulars.  I loved my coworkers and my bosses.  I just, freaking loved it.  So going back for a day was both amazing and bittersweet.  I loved recalling all of my cherished memories.  Small talking with the employees that still work there.

Sharing my favorite stories with my college friends.  But as the memories and stories of work resurfaced, I felt a tinge of jealousy.  Of sadness, regret.  Life was pretty sweet during those three summers.  Summer vacation.  Home from college.  Hard days of work followed by long nights with friends.  Long drives, long naps, long days at the country club.  Long breakfasts, long dinner parties, long nights by the fire.  Parties on the beach.  House parties.  So, much, fun.  Those were the summers that changed me.  The friends that made me feel wildly alive.

And naturally, with such freedom, with such excitement – came so, much, drama.  Regret. Gossip. Betrayals.  I want to go back to those summers and yet at the same time I wish to never have done and said and felt some of the things I did, said, felt.  Oh, the fun, the memories, the lessons.

But that’s a photo stream and blog post for later.  Until then, some photos from my afternoon spent on the beach, catching up with college roommates, soaking up the sun, wading in the cold, Maine ocean, and sipping cocktails on the porch of the Black Point Inn.

There are few things better in life than waking on a Saturday morning in Maine to the sound of birds chirping, to the smell of the hydrangea plant just outside your bedroom, to the warm summer breeze coming in through an open window.  It’s no secret that I love Maine, that I’m obsessed with my hometown of Portland, that I spend every possible weekend here, with my friends and family.

And this weekend is one of my favorites, so much so, that I’ve never spent the 4th of July anywhere but in Maine.  Growing up, the 4th of July meant a weekend at our camp on Wilson Lake, it meant traveling to downtown Farmington to attend the 4th of July parade, it meant being perched with cousins and family on my Aunt Aggie’s porch, right in the middle of Main St, the perfect spot to catch all of the action, to see all the clowns and floats and fire trucks pass by.

Now that we’re older, we no longer go up to camp for the weekend, and we no longer set up shop on Aggie’s porch to watch the parade.  Instead we stay in the city.  We drink beers on the wharfs, we stay out late at the bars, and we watch the fireworks from the islands.  Still not a bad deal, if I must say so myself.

So I’m thrilled to be home.  Despite the fact that my parents are in Paris for 2 weeks, I’m setting up shop at the house.  I’m excited to spend a few days with my girlfriends, followed by a few days at Little Diamond Island with the boyfriend.  We’ll have lobsters and corn on the cob, strawberry shortcake and cold beers.

This morning, I woke up before 7am, to the sound of birds chirping outside, to the smell of the hydrangea plant just outside my bedroom, to the warm summer breeze coming in through the open window.  I got my morning coffee and enjoyed a delicious raspberry scone, paired with fresh raspberries from a local market.  I sat on the back deck, enjoyed the hot morning sun and indulged in this week’s gossip magazines.  I read some of my book, and caught up on thank you notes and birthday cards.

It’s been a good, good day and it’s not even late afternoon.

Being in Maine on weekends such as this, really makes me question how I can possibly stand living anywhere else.