Camp - How I love thee

It's hard to believe it's that time of year again. Time to load up my car with things I mostly don't need and head to camp. This time not to New York but to a camp called Mt. Hermon, near Santa Cruz, California. Instead of a counselor or program director, I'm going to be a camp nurse. Which seems fitting since my nursing degree cost close to $100,000, not to mention blood, sweat, and sleepless nights.

Camp has always had a special place in my heart. I can't think of anything I love doing more. I am so blessed to remember how much of my life had been spent at camp and so impacted. Winter camp in junior high, where I dedicated my life to the Lord. Living at the Christian Renewal Center where my parents fell in love over chocolate chip cookies and hand-written letters. Wildhorse Canyon - first as a camper, later as a leader. The summer I spent washing dishes at Breakaway in Gearheart, Oregon and learning stupid, but awesome, skits like, "People with shirts on their heads!" And of course, my beloved Good Tidings in the Catskills of New York. Where I truly fell in love with truth, with the Gospel.

My first year as a counselor at Good Tidings, I was seventeen, awkard, and shy. I overcompensated my shyness by being obnoxiously loud and sarcastic (yeah, unfortunately, I still tend to do that). I was the only girl on staff who had never been to Good Tidings before. It seemed that everyone else knew their way around, knew the rules, knew what their place was in this world. I didn't. That summer, Carolyne Hall, took me under her wing. She encouraged me, laughed with me, talked to me as an equal. She listened to me, prayed for me, prayed with me. She was a Spanish teacher from just outside of New York City and dedicated her summer to working at camp. At the time, I couldn't understand why a woman with a successful career would decide to spend her summer doing what she did. But it impacted my life more than I realized at the time.

I have so many hopes and prayers for the summer. My nurse heart hopes that I will remember what I need to know in emergency situations. That I will make medically sound decisions and not let my pride keep me from asking for help. And that the staff and campers will just stay healthy and injury free :).

But a huge part of my heart is for the staff, as they pour their lives out as ministers to the hundreds of campers that will come through this summer. I hope that I will be able to speak truth and life into their lives, encourage them, listen to them, pray with them. Just as Carolyne did for me once.

I pray that our purpose for being there will not get lost in the hustle and bustle that comes with a busy camp schedule. That we will remember our first love - Jesus Christ. That we will keep our eyes steadfast on Him and run this race set out before us with endurance.

Falling in love again

It’s amazing how alive I feel after pulling my head out of the toilet of despair and self-destructive thoughts. I don’t know why I let myself go to that place, like Anne of Green Gables, “the depths of despair.” But as wise Marilla Cuthbert would say, “to despair is to turn your back on God,” and I don’t want to return to a life of a back turned to God.

Would that I could count all the blessings in my life, past and present. But I could no sooner number the stars in the heavens.

I’ve lived alone for less than a year of my life. Other than that time, I’ve had amazing, God-loving roommates. Steph Rea in nursing school, who ended up introducing me to one of my best-friends, Kyla. Leah and Bryana – oh how I will always cherish our late night excursions to Lithia Park and the like. Michelle Boudreau in Benin, West Africa – crying to her about being lonely, making pudding for lunch, waking up to chase the African sunrise. Amy and Brook for one more week. Playing our guitars, making meals together, looking up words like “incubus” in the dictionary, and of course Maxi Christmas Slippers.

I am surrounded by true believers, people who love the Lord and love others. Who don’t just give lip service but live out their faith in the day to day. I am humbled that I should have the honor to have these people in my life. Family and friends and pastors who admonish my in the Lord, remind me to keep my eyes on the Lord, reach out a hand when I stumble.

Words can’t express how thankful I am for my family. For having so many beautiful nieces and nephews, to hold and cherish, rock and sing to, run and dance with. The best-friends I’ve found in my two amazing, older sisters – the listening ears they give me, the wisdom they share. My mom still tucking me in when I go home to visit and picking me a bouquet of flowers from her garden to place next to my bed. Dave changing my oil, filling my tank, or buying me apple cider donuts just because he knows I love them. My older brother, Daniel, giving me bear hugs and telling me I’m beautiful and that one day the man the Lord has for me will see that, too.

Having a job that I love. The privilege to be a part of the once-in-a-lifetime event of welcoming a new baby into the world. Holding the tiny babies in the NICU. Praying for and praying with patients who come in, hurting and scared. The honor of being the nurse to care for a mother who has just lost her baby, crying tears for the life that the Lord knit together, and trusting that He has a plan even though we are not skilled to understand.

What a mighty God we serve. Jehovah Jirah, my Provider, who provides above and beyond all that I could ask or imagine. The King of kings and the Creator who owns the cattle on a thousand hills. In Him we live and move and have our being. Let this be a challenge for you to examine your life and your heart and thank the Lord for all that He has freely given you.

Brown Boxes

Brown boxes. Packing tape. Empty, white walls. This is what my life is. A little over six months and it’s time to move on again. As I place my favorite books and photographs in boxes, I can’t help but feel it’s more than just objects I’m packing away. Recently certain dreams of my heart seem dead. But maybe they are just dormant for now. Maybe I’ll just put them in a box, tape it shut, and shove it in a storage unit. To be opened at a later date, unbeknownst to me. I’ll forget about the things in the boxes. I’ll forget what it was to live each day with them and feel that I couldn’t live without them. The dreams will fade away into the distant past of the way my life once was.

And then one day I will have a place to call home again. I will unpack the boxes. I will smell each book and cry or laugh as I remember the first time I read it. By the fireplace in my childhood home, with my legs tucked under me, listening to the rain on the windows. I will unpack the dreams and rejoice at the new ones that have replaced them. Or cry at how my heart still longs for that dream to be fulfilled. I don’t know what the new dreams will be, but I know that His mercies are new every morning. I know that there is the promise of a new dream in my heart. I know that a day will come when I will no longer have to pack these things away but I will be Home. But until that day comes...