What I Love About Camp

Another great summer at West Central has come to its conclusion, a full week and a half earlier this year than last. The last few days have been filled with a thorough cleaning of the dorms and time well spent with Jessica and Duonna. The kitchen was filled with milk, delicious smells, more milk, and laughter. There were eight gallons of milk in the fridge Friday night. Duonna took one home and Jessica and I left just under two this morning. I would be content to never look at milk again.

Aside from recent dairy related nausea, it has been an incredible six weeks. I started this summer thinking that it would be my last at WCCSC. Now I am not so sure that next summer will not find me watching the pool at West Central. I love camp. And thinking that I may not return really cemented that fact. I love to watch the campers play in the pool (they are so goofy), I love to listen to their absurd conversations while they swim, I love to put food on their plates and greet them with a smile as they struggle to wake up enough to ask for more bacon. I love the kids. I love getting to know the faculty and finding myself looking forward to seeing them again. I love that Tom adopted Jess and I this year - a fact that he revealed of his own volition. I love that Duonna promised me today before we left that I could use her daughter's wedding decorations "when my time comes." I love that I have history at that camp and that I know the standard of Godliness (and cleanliness) to expect. I love watching the campers wrestle with the things they are learning and come to love Jesus more.

I love that an eleven year old camper begged me almost daily for french silk pie because he knew that I was a pushover, and had I had any leftover, it would've been his. I even love that the faculty teased me about the two popsicles and piece of pie I did give him to the point of getting him to ask me out on a date ("lifeguard, if you guess what I have in my hands I'll take you out on a date tonight....close enough! pick you up at 7, we're riding bikes!). I love to get in the water during pool time and splash the kids and to hear them chant "Lifeguard, lifeguard, lifeguard" as I go down the slide during their five minute break. I even thought it was mildly amusing when a mischievous high schooler asked me if I'd ever seen the Sandlot, and proceeded to attempt to act out the scene which he was referencing (fortunately the pool is only five feet deep and short of diving in headfirst, there was no way that could happen).

I love running on the gravel roads surrounding the camp and making mid-week Starbucks runs for appreciative faculty (and staff) members. I love to sit outside and listen to the campers sing late at night around the campfire, proclaiming their love for Jesus under bright stars and often a clear moon. I love that being at camp is a retreat for me. I love to sit and read and reflect and wrestle with the things that challenge me most. I love long talks with the nurse and celebrating crazy holidays and cooking together (which inevitably ends with her realizing just how stupid I truly am).

I feel so at home at camp. I love to do crazy things to make Tom shake his head while a smile creeps across his face. I love to say crazy things to which Duonna will invariably reply "You should. I want you to. I know you don't have morals." I love to sit with Jessica and read ridiculous books about Mennonites wearing little black dresses.

The time I spend at camp is without a doubt exhausting. There is simply no question. Yet somehow in the rigid routine and the mornings which come too early there is joy and peace. Even in the chaotic and dramatic events that plagued the kitchen for a few weeks, I wouldn't have traded the summer for anything. Camp is where I relax. Camp is what makes the rest of the year worth it. It is probably the busiest vacation in existence, but I find myself debating the possibility of saying goodbye to it as I pursue other opportunities. I know that Tom and Duonna will be proud of me no matter what and that God will provide both for the camp and for my future, but it is hard to look objectively at the idea of saying goodbye to West Central this close to being there constantly. The next few months will be filled with prayer and waiting on God, but I know that my heart belongs to West Central. And it always will, no matter where I am. Perhaps that is what makes the decision so difficult.

Even with such a difficult decision glaring back at me, I can look back on an untarnished summer of crazy tan lines and constant Starbucks, dropped calls and spotty cell phone service, knowing Jesus more and living in wonderful community. Oh, how I love camp.

Our last night of Duonna lovin'

Home is Whenever I'm with You

Sarah's flight is probably preparing to take off as I write this.

As you may have guessed by the cheesy title, this post will take a turn for the sentimental. It may even become downright sappy. Don't say I didn't warn you. I've spent the past week with my best friend, a girl I've known since before I can remember. In our earlier years, our days were filled with office playdates (her mom worked at the church with my dad) and Thursday afternoon outings (our parents got so tired of our constant begging that they finally established a set day for Sarah to come over or for me to go to Sarah's; while that helped, I still remember asking my dad if Sarah could come over nearly everyday). We'd drink half of our Dunkin' Donuts chocolate milk (to the chagrin of my mother) and eat our donuts as we chatted away. Between the two of us, there was never a quiet moment. Ever. We'd run wild through the church building as our parents worked, getting into everything and having grand adventures. There is no one that I remember having so much fun with, except perhaps Tina (since we lived together).

Then one day, a car carried her away to Remsen, NY - a place about which I had never heard. Though we promised faithful correspondence, our barely passable writing skills never quite lived up. We were, after all, only in first grade. The summer after she moved (the summer after second grade), my parents agreed to detour to her farm on our traditional vacation to Kansas. I remember feeling something beyond excited. Despite our failed attempt to keep in touch, I had entered a story about her in my school writing contest. I hardly remember it now, though she swears its somewhere (I gave it to her on that trip). I wrote, illustrated, and published (sewed the binding on) this little story for which I was recognized in front of the entire elementary school I attended (it won 'Best Best Friends Story' - I was a good writer even then). We spent an afternoon together, but had to move on far too quickly. I remember flashes of that day, mostly memories jogged by a few photos we have.

After third grade, my family moved to Missouri. I was devastated to learn that, instead of visiting Sarah, we'd be spending a few days in New York City. Few girls are as disappointed as I at spending time in the Big Apple.

From there, we kept in touch spottily. A few letters here and there, an occasional phone call. Around seventh grade we became very faithful about our Saturday afternoon conversations. That was before texting and before everyone had internet. I'd count the minutes to when I knew she'd be available. We'd talk for an hour or so - until we got kicked off. Even in middle school - even now - there's always something to talk about.

The summer after eighth grade was the first time we saw each other face to face. She flew to Kansas City for a week. We were so excited. It was a very fun week but we didn't account for how much adjusting to each other we'd have to do. As a farm girl, she found it physically impossible to sleep past eight. As a city girl, I found it physically impossible to wake up before eight. She was (and still is) very extroverted. I am very introverted. Despite our differences, the week was practically unforgettable.

The next summer I flew to New York. I am not a farm girl - I learned that real quickly. But I got up before seven to milk cows - until I got horribly sick. The last few days I was there I caught some terrible virus that knocked me out for a while. But I did get out of chores.

The following summer, Sarah returned to Missouri. I could drive now, and we relished the thought of the keys and the open road.

Next year I found myself back on the farm, faithfully (and healthily) doing chores. We went to Water Safari that year, a water park that we drove through the Adirondacks (the mountain range she lives so close to) to find. We also visited her grandparents in Massachusetts and went to a family reunion in Connecticut. It was so much fun! I took pictures with "my" cows - the cow Sarah named after me and its babies - whom I got to name (Penelope and Sherlock, if you're wondering).

The next summer, we had graduated high school and Sarah flew to Missouri to celebrate. We had professional pictures done by a friend of mine, we drove to Kansas and stayed at my grandparents' for a few days (she met the whole fam), we drove to Joplin and I showed her my school and Precious Moments - it was a wonderful trip.

The next summer neither of us had time to travel - or money. Which brings us to this year. After two years apart, it was wonderful to be reunited. Honestly, it was a chill trip. We did some shopping, we did some henna, we went to Joplin and spent a morning volunteering. She got to meet some of my friends, we rode bikes and took walks and laid out, watched movies, cooked delicious food, and spend lots of time talking. All in all the trip was a smashing success.

The thing that I treasure most about Sarah is that I can tell her when I need space. We are nearly opposite in everything which makes us an odd pair to be so close. We've both said that if we hadn't grown up together, we would not be friends with each other. I'm way too type A, organized, and driven and she is way too relationally driven and extroverted. After a week together, we tend to get a little rough around the edges.

Perhaps that is why I always feel surprised at the profound sense of loss I feel as we arrive at the airport, check in, and one of us goes into security while the other watches - knowing that the amount of time between our next reunion is never set in stone. As I walked away from the gate this evening, I was moved nearly to tears as I reflected on our friendship. Sarah and I don't always see eye to eye. She drives me crazy sometimes. But I know beyond a shadow of a doubt that I love her more dearly than I could ever think possible. I treasure her so deeply that I know that our friendship could never really end. I don't know why God put us together, but He did and for that I am grateful. Sitting beside her, I almost lose track of where she ends and I begin. There are very few people who have an unlimited license to hug me but she is one of them.

Saying all of this, it dawns on me that it is almost like a romance or like being in love. While I can assure all of you that it is entirely platonic (we are both too boy crazy for our own good), she is one of the few people in the entire world that I am not sure that I could love a boy more than. I trust her with everything. Literally. I wish that I could be there when things are going badly, but I am relegated to being the friend on the phone. I wish we could celebrate the little victories, but I can only send my congratulations via technology. Still, I know that we have something special. We've been friends for twenty years - a bond not easily shaken. There may come a day where the chaotic push and pull of life forces us to fall out of touch but I have a strong conviction deep within me that even in that circumstance we won't stop loving each other, we won't stop thinking of each other, and we'll make it work. Because we always have. We are pros at the long-distance thing.

A few letters I dug up:



The summer after we graduated:



















































The summer of '08 (the last of the cow days):

Urgency

Repent for the kingdom of heaven is near.
-Matthew 4:17

Urgency is more or less the buzzword of our generation. Vocalized or implied, this three syllable word seems to motivate nearly everything we have or do. "Now! Now! Now!" chants the class of twenty-somethings taking their place in society. "Give me the nicest, newest toy now!" "Give me the best job now!" Urgency is an undeniable theme by which we are governed.

Yet how often am I urgent when I preach the Gospel? How oten do I speak such a simple message of truth? How often will I leave my daily tasks - my livlihood, my social agenda, my all - for Jesus?

Far too rarely, I fear. I so admire the twelve for their immediate reaction to the Christ Incarnate. They knew less than I, yet were far more willing to respond to the call of discipleship. After the crucifixion, resurrection, and ascension, they earnestly proclaimed the kingdom. I wish that I would step up with the same boldness for Jesus - to proclaim the Gospel instead of sneaking it into some care package of social justice and missionary support. I wish that I was less often a cheapener of grace and more often a proclaimer of the true, costly grace that I have received.

But in a society turned off by the explicit statement of any one religion, how can one do that? Paul gives us some help in Acts 17, but I still feel more or less lost. Is it a lack of courage that stills my tongue or is the Holy Spirit preventing a fumble? For now I am still wrestling with that discernment.

But the kingdom is near and millions have not heard.