stories of travel, medical missions, and more
Walk on path at night
Flashlight glow
Nightlight tunnel of trees
Hanging low
Blue shines silver shadows
Dance in play (or perhaps)
Fight in battles
Of night things and ghouls
Ghost-y eyes like jewels
Flicker flashlight hand-torch
Scorch
The night awake
Scatter creatures and make them hide
From all light
And eyes
anthony forrest
Ah, London. How we adore you.
Traveling to the UK is something that I’ve wanted to do for some time. With an easily walkable city, eclectic food scene, and free museums, London has something for everybody.
But the one major problem is the public restroom. It doesn’t exist. And if you find a restroom, you’ll probably have to pay to use it. After trudging around London for hours on end with no restroom is sight, we finally found a map of the city. On that map was a little dot marking the presence of a restroom in St James Park, across from Buckingham Palace (a big shout out to Her Majesty for putting the only public toilet in London in the middle of a 57-acre park). My wife and I nearly ran through the sunny park, over wooden bridge covered streams to get to the tiny brick building. Upon arrival, we parted ways to our respective sides only to discover that the machine guarding the door required 20 pence for entry (and consequent relief).
We began shoving unknown sterling coins into the machine to no avail. Dancing and shuffling, I looked down—wrong coin. The restroom attendant (yes, it had a restroom attendant) glared at us and begrudgingly helped us find the correct change. But honestly, I probably would have crammed a 50-pound note into the machine just to find a little solace for my stressed urinary system.
Though the future EU membership of the UK is uncertain. One thing remains concretely sure, toilet trials continue across the Channel.
Few things about Europe frustrate me. Let’s be honest, they simply have travel figured out. Public transportation is a breeze. You can get anywhere on the train, and cheaply. I can land in Amsterdam and be in another country within the hour. It helps that each country is smaller. But there is so much infrastructure and money available for public transportation that getting around is simply easy. Money is also pretty simple. Every country (almost) uses the Euro. No exchanges to worry about! And with the European Union, most countries do not require a border security or passport control stop. Open borders make country to country travel realistic, cheap, and accessible. So many positive reasons to visit Europe come to my mind.
But what about that darn potty?
In nearly the same scenario we searched and searched for a restroom in Paris. This time, we lucked out. There, on the Parisian sidewalk, stood a sort of pod. Now, I would call it a public restroom, but it was more akin to an enormous egg, or an oval dumpster, or maybe an escape pod from a spaceship. We stood at the door and tried to read the French instructions. We pressed the button and the door slid open like a time machine from the future. I entered. The floor was soaked. After my business had been accomplished, I departed the escape pod. The door quietly closed before my wife could enter. I blue light flashed and the words Le Lessive appeared. It was a self-cleaning toilet pod from the future.
As much as I love Europe and the UK, American public restroom availability is a luxury without which I don’t want to live!
anthony forrest
Hear the leaves flicker and slap and toss
Cold September wind shakes the trees
Listen to the music of His Common Grace
Each sound turns every thought
Reaching, washing white-cap waves
Crash and splash inward then out
Water-washed pebbles click then clack
To the tunes of His Common Grace
Business unceasing of chipmunks and birds
Rattle and scratch in winters prep
Chirping and chiming of creatures talk
Of Common Grace and the truth of God’s Words
anthony forrest
Entertainment screens on the back of airplane seats are not a recent advent. My first experience with in-flight TVs were drop-down screens playing one, perhaps two films during the flight. This luxury came only to those willing to fork out absurd amounts of money for the accompanying headset. Now, most major airlines in the US have loads of in-flight entertainment. One major airline boasts over 3000 titles from which to choose.
And yet, on every flight longer than three hours, I can look over at my wife’s screen and see that she is watching the same movie she always watches on long flights, The Sound of Music. And I’m not much better. On flights longer than 6 hours, I gravitate toward Dances with Wolves. With new movies released monthly and tons of other options, you’d think we would branch out. But alas, no.
I so easily become engrossed with my movie that it can be easy to forget the goings on and the everyday business of the flight operations: passengers filtering in, pre-flight announcements, those safety messages that keep getting trendier, and finally, the beverage and snack service. I’m usually deep into my movie by then and forget to press pause on the screen. I fumble with my headphones and struggle to get the tray table down. I look at the attendant and they look back. I ask for what I always ask for: black coffee. I repeat myself because nobody can hear anything. Then, with coffee in hand, I get back to Lieutenant John Dunbar and his heartwarming efforts to understand the Lakota culture.
But some people aren’t so fortunate and forget to stay awake for the service. Or maybe they’re not paying attention at all. I was three rows back from a gentleman who did just that. I watched with interest as the attendant tried to get his attention and take his order. He could not be pried from the screen. She moved onto the next row. And as soon as she reached it, the guy awoke from his stupor and flung his arm back to try and catch her. Consequently, he grazed her with a backhand. She turned and agitatedly took his order. I could hear the attendant complain loudly to her coworker.
“Why don’t they just pay attention? They know that we are coming!”
On and on she went. When the attendant got to me, I tried as hard as I could to smile and cheer her up. I asked how her day went and she told me in no uncertain terms that the guy three rows up had hit her. She was clearly not having a good day before that, but this was the nail in the coffin—and we still had 11 hours.
If there is one thing to remember about a flight, it’s that the attendants work hard and it does not feel good to be ignored. You never know what kind of day somebody is having.
I’ve made it a point since that incident to be ready for my attendants, earbuds out and smiles on.
anthony forrest
Feet falling
Muffled crunching
Wooded trail up ahead
Rain falling
Branch dripping
Tangled wood—mossy bed
Twig snapping
Water rushing
Down a stream-like footpath
Sweet smelling
Needle dropping
Sticky White Pine wood-sap
Trail turning
Hill climbing
Up then down a Sawtooth ridge
Sun shining
Lake reaching
Come, find that stony shore and sit
anthony forrest
Help me Lord, when I fall,
to stand and begin again.
For if I stay crumbled and small
God will not be praised.
Yet if while down, I cry,
“Lord your will, your way,”
His strength to do what’s right
will fit me for a new day.
anthony forrest
My stomach dropped as my thumb scrolled over the screen on my phone. I read in horror about the 75-foot dive boat, the Conception, which caught fire and consequently sank to the bottom of the ocean. At first, details were sparse. But over the course of 2 days, clearer and clearer information was revealed. California and scuba diving communities throughout the US were shocked to hear 34 of the 39 passengers and crew members had died in the tragic accident that occurred September 2nd, 2019. On the ocean floor in the Channel Islands lies the remains of the Conception.
The Channel Islands off the coast of California are wild and windblown. Cold water and ethereal kelp forests make for a very unique diving experience. The Channel Islands are not a convenient place to visit. They are out of the way and nearly inaccessible. And maybe that’s what draws us. A couple of years ago my dad and I dove the Islands. We boarded the Truth—sister ship to the Conception. Truth Aquatics hosts many live-aboard dive experiences a year. There’s just something about being aboard a ship in a rural area.
We dragged our gear onto the deck as the sun set the distance. Each passenger boarded that evening and settled in for the three-day excursion. We hung around on the deck, excitedly. Everybody eyed each other’s gear and chatted about the upcoming dives. It may be cold in other areas of the country, but in Santa Barbara California, the sun always shines. Although it is a little cool, it’s still my kind of weather, shorts and a sweatshirt.
I can imagine what was going through the minds of the victims the night before the Conception caught fire. I laid there and excitedly waited for sleep to come as I thought about diving that beautiful piece of ocean. The waves rocked me to sleep and the gentle hum of the diesel engine lulled my mind into unconsciousness.
Before I opened my eyes to see my surroundings, I could hear and feel and smell my whereabouts. My sleeping bag was wrapped tight around my neck and shoulders. The three-inch pad on which I slept the night before provided shocking amounts of comfort. When we boarded the Truth, my dad said that we needed to pick out bunks close to the front of the boat. Not only would the boat’s listing and swaying feel gentler, but the nearby engine compartment would give off a drone that would muffle all other sound.
And he was not wrong.
From above, smells of coffee and bacon floated down the hatch. I opened my eyes and saw the California sunshine peeking into the boat. My watch read 6:30 a.m. I could tell that others were up and moving about. And from someplace, I heard music. The 69-foot Truth listed gently and the diesel engines continued to hum.
I swung my legs off the upper bunk, trying not to kick my dad in the face. Each step on the wooden stairs creaked under my dirty bare feet. As I climbed stairs to the top deck, the music wove into focus. The Red Hot Chili Peppers were singing about the various subcultures of a Southern California lifestyle. On the counter by the stereo sat a boxed-set CD anthology. Topside, I was met with smiling faces of neo-hippy dive masters and deck hands. They live for this.
“Coffee?” asked a 20-something with blonde dreadlocks.
“My people,” I thought.
I wrote my name with a dry erase marker onto an aluminum mug. Taking a sip, I looked out at the nearby Santa Cruz island. The sun was up and warm, but not hot. Small ocean swells promised lovely diving. And misting saltwater somehow made the black coffee taste even better. We would be diving for two days, all day. The crew of the Truth knew how to give their divers a good time.
Coffee anytime.
Tons of food.
Comfy bunks.
Hot showers.
Gear setup.
And bottomless tanks of all the air you could breathe.
This was going to be incredible. My dad had roused and breakfast was getting under way. This was the life. We love to dive together. We know how each other thinks and we are very comfortable as dive partners. We love the adventure. And we love the ocean.
The dive community is tight-knit and comes together for two things, for love of the ocean and to experience it together.
Nobody expects the worst to happen.
Nobody expects a fire to break out aboard your ship at 3 AM.
All the safety measures in the world can’t fight against unforeseen tragedy.
Because bad things happen.
The best we can do is to pray for the families, support the community, and remember the lost souls that sank that terrible night aboard the dive ship Conception.
Rest in peace, fellow lovers of the ocean.
anthony forrest
I cast a gaze past the rocks
And the pounding watery flow
I look beyond the dark red sky
And the setting sun below
I hear the song of the wind
And calm to me does bring
When knowing this that Jesus Christ
Is maker of all things
As the glowing sun begins to set
And its colors slowly change
The gull swoops low to find a home
And her nest to rearrange
Evening came but now is gone
Yet in my heart still rings
That Jesus Christ the Lord of all
Is maker of all things
anthony forrest
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