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
Page 21 of 26
Tragedy in the Channel Islands
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
The Holocaust, Pearl Harbor, and Meaningful Travel
I have said this before, many times. And I will, no doubt, say it again.
Traveling is different than vacationing.
Sometimes, after walking in work or church or upon meeting a friend for coffee, I will hear a question that I get a lot.
“Were you on vacation?”
It’s a good question. Friends and acquaintances see pictures of my wife and I on social media. Perhaps we’re standing near an old statue in another country, or eating barbeque in the deep south. We have smiles on our faces. We are indeed enjoying ourselves. But to say that we are always vacationing would not be accurate. But it’s unfair to drop into a philosophical discussion on the subtle (and not-so-subtle) differences between travel and vacation when having a five-minute chat. It’s more important than that.
While vacation may appear the same as travel, it is vastly different. But I’m not going to begin bashing vacation. Sometimes you just need to sit on the beach and take in the ocean breeze. Taking a break from the stresses of career and life in general helps to reset the mind and greatly benefits emotional and mental health.
Please, by all means, take a vacation.
But how does one travel? Most of the time, travel wears on you. Travel tends to be a lot of work. It involves less rest and relaxation. And when you get back, all you feel like doing is sleeping. But if it’s so much work, why travel at all? Because travel is growth. It informs your soul and changes your perspective on life and the lives of other people.
Mark Twain published Innocents Abroad in 1869, but I think his words cut deeply into today.
“Travel is fatal to prejudice, bigotry and narrow-mindedness, and many of our people need it sorely on these accounts. Broad, wholesome, charitable views of men and things cannot be acquired by vegetating in one little corner of the earth all one’s lifetime.”
June, 2017
We stepped off the train into the heat of the German summer. We had not planned on this. However, our flight out of Munich back to the US wasn’t scheduled to leave for 8 hours more. One of the biggest travel tips I give others is to not miss opportunities, especially when you have extra time. We had extra time. And not too far from Munich lies the small city of Dachau. If that name sounds familiar, it’s probably because you heard it in a history class. Atrocities happened here. It was the first of many concentration camps during WWII. Thousands of people suffered and died at the hands of an evil regime. Jews, Catholics, political prisoners, homosexuals, gypsies, and anybody else that didn’t fit rightly into the Third Reich’s false picture of utopia, were imprisoned here.
We carried our bags on our shoulders because we couldn’t find a luggage locker at the nearby train station. We payed our fee and entered the massive complex. Overhead a cast iron, barred sign read “Arbeit macht frei.” Work will set you free.
It never did.
Acre after acre of sprawling complex-turned-memorial displayed pictures, signs, statues, and artifacts of the evil capabilities of mankind.
This room was used for solitary confinement.
The poles over there are where the Nazis used to hang rulebreakers.
See that door? That leads to where the “doctors” performed medical experiments.
How fitting that we were stuck with hauling around our luggage for three hours. But the weight we felt that day couldn’t have been made worse by a couple of bags. We sweat and staggered around until we couldn’t take it anymore. We could have spent two days studying and viewing the Dachau Concentration Camp. But there was no way. We can only take so much death and dying in one day.
Come, follow me to Hawaii.
May, 2018
Our mothers joined us for a fantastic and relaxing adventure to Oahu. We drove the island, ate tons of great food, relaxed, and spent time by the ocean. Most of it was vacation. But it had one blemish, leaving a bitter (but important) taste.
We stood near the bay at Pearl Harbor. Thousands died here during a surprise attack from an exotic country with which we weren’t even at war. The Imperial Japanese military carried out one of the most iconic and deadly attacks of the 20th century. Their goal was to destroy US aircraft carriers, delaying or preventing any US involvement in a brewing Indo-Chinese and Pacific conflict. Though no carriers were destroyed, thousands of people lost their lives. The US entered into war with Japan the next day. Americans died. Japanese died. And though we tend to think about “who won” WWII, nobody really won. Everybody lost.
Our boat cruised the watery graveyard. We saw pieces of ships rising above the sea, as the guide spoke of bombs falling and fires starting. I imagine battleships, full of fuel oil, leaking into the ocean. An oil slick on the surface, six inches deep in some places, ignites into a black-smoke fire. Bombs drop onto ships. Seamen leap to avoid death, only to find it faster in the hellish, burning ocean.
The visit to Pearl Harbor was amazing, but not because it was fun. It was amazing in the truest sense. Loss of life should always amaze. The incident was not that long ago. And it was perpetuated by fellow humans. Pearl Harbor changes you; teaches you.
Not every traveling experience will brand sadness into your soul. But sometimes it will. Neither Dachau nor Pearl Harbor are good places to vacation. But they are excellent places to travel. Taking the time to travel is soul-instructing and character-changing.
Travel if you dare to better yourself. Gather your bags and make a personal journey. Grow yourself and become more human. Release the prejudice in your grasp. But take caution, traveling is not for the faint of heart.
For travel can be fatal to preconceptions.
And it is much different than going on vacation.
anthony forrest
Silence broken
Interrupted by bird’s cries
Morning seen
Igniting dark skies
Slow rousing
Fog-bogged mind
Waking
Step outside
Breathe in
Breathe out
Clouds forming from the mouth
Cool dewy air
Take coffee in hand
And sit in chair
By fireside
And ease into the day
anthony forrest
Limestone Mourning
Wednesday, February 20, 2019
We stood on a cobblestone walkway in front of the ancient building. The Spring had yet to grow warm, so we huddled together and braced ourselves with coffee and miles of walking. But we were now stopped at one of the most iconic places in all of Europe—the Cathedral of Notre Dame. The sister-towers loomed over Paris like silent secret-keepers. The gothic construction gives a feeling of mystery. It makes you feel like you don’t know everything. Gargoyles and other creatures of fictitious wariness stand eternal guard, hanging off the limestone façade. If it wasn’t a church, and there were no sounds, and every person around me were suddenly gone, the cathedral would frighten me.
Over 800 years old, Notre Dame has stood like this, guarding Paris. It has not stood unwaveringly. The structure went through a reckless youth and horrific mid-life crisis. Originally a place of worship, the cathedral has been used for everything from a storehouse to a revolutionary headquarters. It’s fallen, broken, burned, and collapsed in the earlier days. From rebuilding to revolution to restoration and renovation, Notre Dame is now an icon of traditional Catholicism, artistic freedom, Gothic beauty, and outright French Nationalism.
Notre Dame is France.
Monday, April 15, 2019
One month later, we sat in our living room watching Sky News out of the UK. They were playing continuous coverage of the burning of Notre Dame. During a renovation, the building caught fire and ignited the buttresses and vaults and frames and trusses. Miles of hundreds year old oak burned like a tinder box. France stood in horror.
Soon the social media stories circled. Ideas and opinions surfaced.
Should the world care so much about some building?
There are people starving and we’re going to spend how much on rebuilding?
Is this a picture of the declination of French nationalism?
Perhaps the destruction of Notre Dame is symbolic of a crumbling religious foundation in Europe?
I can’t say the truth of the matter. But I do know that the world is a little emptier without Notre Dame. Our world is often polarized, ugly, uncertain, and fear-filled. Places like Notre Dame stand as a reminder of days past. It teaches us the history of mankind. Helps us not to make the same mistakes. It fights for peace. It keeps the mystery alive. It reminds us that there are things we just don’t and may never know.
But most of all, it reminds us of beauty.
Notre Dame is France.
Notre Dame is us.
anthony forrest
I know, I know...summer isn't over. But Fall is coming. (It was 48 degrees at my house this morning)
Autumn morning cool and gray
Sunless clouded sky
Leaves shiver though chilled
On trees that sway
Awakening from an even colder night
Rust-colored remnants lay about
Not discarded willfully
But torn of wind
Hastily thrown to the ground
Scattered thoughtlessly
Tree and wind act of their own accord
Autumn comes—slow, at first
Building upon itself
Layers of cold and color and mirth
The world to engulf
In the retelling of this tale once again
anthony forrest
Connection
My eyes opened. Turning over in the bed, I picked up my cell phone and checked the time. The bright screen showed 3:00 a.m. I was not surprised.
“Sweetheart,” I whispered, “are you awake?”
“Yep,” came the very awake-sounding voice of sleep-deprived wife.
Ah, jet lag, you enemy of travel. You unwanted companion of every trip. We turned on the light and rolled out of bed. This was our first night in Salzburg, Austria. The next few nights would go easier, but the jet lag would have its grip on us until the end of our trip. After we ate a snack, I looked at the top bar on the screen of my cell phone. It was connected to the free internet provided by the tiny inn.
Over the past decade, internet connection and connective communication has changed more than anything else in travel. Wireless internet is now readily available in almost every café, hotel, gift shop, and even city. Most of the time we travel we simply wait to use our phone until we connect to one of those free sources. And when we want constant connection, we always have the option to rent a wireless internet device.
In Tokyo, for example, one simply has to walk through the airport to see booths renting hotspots for a reasonable price. For 20 bucks, I can throw a little device into my backpack. Everybody traveling with me can then connect to the internet. It’s brilliant. The more technical connective option is to use a different SIM card. But that’s a deeper level of geek than I’m willing to get into right now.
Twenty years ago, many places across the world had spotty (if any) land-line telephone service. Running lines and poles and making physical space for the telephone is more involved than you may think—and unreliable. At some point in the past couple of decades, technology jumped from not being able to have a land-line telephone, directly to crystal clear cell phone service. It’s mind-blowing.
“Should we call my parents?” I said.
“What time is it there?”
“Oh, about 6 p.m. yesterday.”
I tapped the free app on my phone and it began to ring. Soon, the smiling faces of my mom and dad in California popped onto the screen.
Worldwide connection has not made travel less interesting or less valuable. It has made travel more accessible, doable. Connectivity allows the traveler to share experiences and keep in touch with loved ones.
Easy worldwide connectivity is one of the most positive aspects of modern travel.
anthony forrest
Turn and stare on the land at all the
Night-scenes that were once unseen
But now marked clean with the silver sheen
Of the rays of moon light and the night-sight
Guiding wandering feet on paths unhidden
By the white-grey moon-spray
Spraying down on a
Sleeping ground
Stop.
Turn around.
See secrets revealed and pealed
Back by the moon shining
Back the black
Of the night giving sight to all
Still.
Awake.
anthony forrest
Prologue to a Night Dive
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. And the gentle rocking back and forth had lulled me to sleep. 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. The 80-foot Truth listed gently and the diesel engines continued to hum. We boarded last night and shortly thereafter, made our way to the Channel Islands where we would be diving the cold kelp forests of the California coastal islands.
I swung my legs off the upper bunk, trying not to kick my dad in the face. Each step on the wooden ladder creaked under my dirty bare feet. 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 a nearby island. The sun was up and warm, but not hot. Smalls 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.
In fact, I would be going on my first night-dive tonight. And with the two of us indestructible dudes diving together, what could go wrong?
anthony forrest