Brace yourselves.
I don't know how to tell you this, but if you're like me, you could be in grave danger. You may think that you are a safe sort of chap or chappess, but you may be oblivious to the fact that you are setting yourself up for the perfect catastrophe. I consider it my personal responsibility to enlighten you.
My source? A twelve-year-old girl who happened to be in my cabin group the first week of camp.
She may have made a news breaking discovery.
I'll call her Betsy.
The news? You won't want to miss this.
Singing may seem like a harmless activity, and taking a shower may seem like a common (and rather necessary) practice, but I have to warn you.
Combining the two may be lethal.
Here's what I heard from my un--er, reliable source. I will quote exactly my paraphrase of her speech.
"There should be like a law against singing in the shower. I mean seriously! It's, like, really dangerous! When I sing in the shower, I can't help but dance, and once when I did that I fell and hurt myself! People could like break their necks that way if they're not super careful."
Oh boy. I mean, alas!!! What could this mean? Do I have to give up my beloved occupation of singing in the shower? I'm proceeding with extreme caution from now on. As soon as the foot starts tapping I'll turn my larynx to stone. It doesn't hurt to be wary.
I just thought you should know too so you can guard yourself from a deadly accident. You can never be too careful.
Just don't tell Betsy that I still sing in the shower.
Saturday, August 21, 2010
Thursday, August 19, 2010
A crash landing on the nose
I just posted a relatively lengthy report on my jam-packed two weeks of counseling at a camp. If you have any desire to hear about it, you should definitely at least skim it even though I'm immediately posting something else. However, in case my camp experience as a whole doesn't interest you and you'd rather hear about one single adventure (that you may have already gotten whiff of) that I had, this is probably what you'd better read.
I still can't quite believe I did it. I have always been a safe sort of girl. Skiing and snowboarding have never held much appeal for me so I haven't had the privilege of breaking a bone in that manner (did you know that while skiing every bone in the human body has been broken by somebody except a bone in the inner ear? So I've heard), I never played a regular sport, and even though I believe some aggressiveness is good in sports I've always been pretty careful to stay out of the way when there's a Shawn-Bobby-Dave-Ben collision inevitable in ultimate Frisbee. I've never had a bloody nose, and I've never been to the doctor for anything except ear infections and a physical. So if you're a cautious person who has never tasted an injury of any kind and is longing for the experience, let me instruct you in one easy lesson.
Have a thirteen year old kid who weighs more than you do make a crash landing on your nose with his elbow. Things should start to get interesting after that.
We were short handed that day. We had a lot of kids to get through the popular high ropes course and only so many leaders to supervise them. We divided our outdoor adventure group in half and told one half they could wait to go on the high ropes course. The other group could practice and kill time on the low ropes course. Oh wait. We don't have anybody to supervise the low ropes course. I volunteered--I didn't know how to be an "anchor" on the other course anyway, and I did know enough about the low course to instruct people. Besides, I've been pretty successful at catching people too. I suspect that I shouldn't have been the only "adult" present, but as circumstances would have it, we didn't have much choice. So I proceeded to make sure kids played safe at the edge of the woods about seventy-five yards or so away from everyone else. I should have exerted my authority more and had somebody else help me catch people, but it wouldn't have made much of a difference anyway.
So yes. I already told you what happened. One second I'm encouraging a boy through a tricky bit of rope about four feet off the ground, ready to steady him and snatch him if he should make good use of the law of gravity. He tottered, and I saw a flash of elbow or something hard (one boy watching told me he thought it was a foot but I doubt it) and then I heard a crunch. Oooh, what a musical crunch! Next thing I knew, blood started streaming out my nose. I couldn't remember what you were supposed to do with a bloody nose. Were you supposed to put your head forward or back? One guy (I think it was the KJB guy, for those of you who read my other post) told me to pinch my nose and keep my head straight. I obeyed and made a bee line for the main campus where the nurse was. I don't do well with blood, and I knew it was only a matter of time before I started to faint. I had to get to the nurse before then. Unfortunately, the nurse wasn't exactly in calling distance, and there weren't any other adults nearby to inform I was leaving. There wasn't time for that.
Down, down, down the long steep hill I went. Blood missed my cupped hands and splattered onto my beloved Fairwood Bible Institute shirt, but that was kind of low on my priority list of worries right then. By the time I reached the bottom of the hill (this is almost like a Catskill mountain we're talking about here) my hands were full to overflowing with bright red liquid, and I absently emptied one of them onto the grass and kept going, trying to remain calm. Through a clearing, past the whiffle ball field, past the volleyball court and soccer field, across the street, across the lawn to "the Ark" (this distance might have been comparable to walking from Fairview to the Main House). Thankfully one of the girl counselors, Jen (not the Belle one), was sitting on the porch visiting with her mother who had stopped by.
Speaking as casually as possible, I asked, "Um, what's the best way to get a hold of the nurse?" Considering that by now my hands and wrists were dripping, my shirt and shorts were pretty much smeared, and my legs and sneakers were considerably speckled, I must have been quite a sight. Jen practically leaped out of her rocking chair and said she'd get the nurse (who was in the middle of the building in the basement--not very accessible for a person in my condition) while her mother encouraged me to sit down.
I don't know how long I sat there. Gauze, wash cloths, and ice were brought as we waited for the blood to slow down. Soon after I sat down I recognized my fainting symptoms and gradually I watched the world get grayish black. People walked by or stood around but I couldn't see their faces. Some girl going by gasped and said, "OMG! Kayla, are you okay?" I didn't even know who it was. I held something to my nose and kept breathing, "Lord help me," while the words from Psalm 56:3 raced through my mind again and again, "When I am afraid, I will put my trust in God." I didn't think anything was seriously wrong with me, but it took willpower--no, trust to remain calm and maintain my sanity and poise. Somebody got me a cup of water and a large can so I could spit out all the blood that was in my mouth and that I had been swallowing. I waited. Things cleared up pretty soon, and at this point I think I was able to crack a feeble joke about my condition. Somebody told me that I'd make a great a Halloween character right then. No small wonder. I probably had blood coming from my nose and my mouth, not to mention that it was kind of all over the rest of me, even in my hair (it was fun to pick out the clots at the ends of my braids later). I was able to distinguish faces, including the nurse, Jen, her mom, a politely concerned life guard I had never officially met (but he kindly hosed down the porch after I left, so I'm told), and Will, a friend of the Reeds who has been to Fairwood and who also works there as a life guard.
The women helped me inside and downstairs to the infirmary where my bleeding resumed and I lay for awhile waiting for it to stop. After seeing that I was settled, Jen and her mother prepared to leave, and it was then that I remembered and felt some remorse for leaving kids unsupervised at the low ropes course. So I communicated that to Jen with my apologies, and it was at this point that I started to cry. Blast it! Oh well, I'm not so silly as to think crying is really stupid. A person's got to let loose some how, I guess, and God invented crying as the perfect avenue to vent. I told Jen I was fine though and didn't know why I was crying (I WAS fine; the worst was over, so why do tears have to kick in so late?) and she assured me that she would look into it.
So I waited. I waited for my bleeding to stop. I waited until I didn't cough up quite so much blood. I waited as the nurse gently cleaned me up like a baby who'd been caught playing the mud. This mud was even redder than Georgia's though, I'll tell ya. Fingers, hands, wrists, face, legs. Honestly, I've never seen so much blood in my life, but I realize that's not saying a whole lot. I lay alone for awhile and decided that singing was my best medicine. So I sang, or literally squeaked, out a number of songs: "He's Always Been Faithful," "Great is Thy Faithfulness," "Be Still and Know that I am God," "God is so Good," and the chorus to "Redemption," being a few of the pieces I tried. Faith and truth expressed in song is often the most beneficial. I had felt to resist the devil in our leaders meeting that morning and then this had happened. But I was not so easily defeated.
Eventually, I prepared to leave for the ER with my dad. The nurse had asked Sam, my co-counselor, to bring me some clothes to change into, and the dear girl had willingly done so. The only thing was that the shirt she brought me was actually my night shirt and I didn't have the heart to tell her. Besides, when it came right down to it, there was a certain appeal to going to the ER in my bloody clothes. I mean, come on! What's the point of going to the ER if you don't look like you have a reason for being there? My clothes certainly made me look legit, so I decided to keep them on. I was going to wear my stained FBI shirt with honor. I will admit though that when my dad wanted to stop at the grocery store to pick up medications I refused to go in. It's one thing to arrive at the hospital looking like a battle-scarred warrior, but at a grocery store I would look just plain unappetizing.
To sum it all up, I found out that my nose is broken. I had x-rays taken, and when the doctor came in to ask me if I wanted to see them he didn't even tell me that my nose was broken. All he said was, "Do you want to see a picture of your broken nose?" He didn't try to "break" it to me. Ahh, great. Sure! At least with it broken I have a reason for bleeding so much and seeming wimpy.
As I headed back to camp (there was no way I was going home to give up and recover!), I prayed that God would use the accident, hopefully to affect my ministry at the camp. I can say that it certainly helped me to trust God (now I know that I know how to look to Him in the midst of my first mini medical crisis!), and though I'm not actually aware it affected my ministry, it certainly was a good conversation starter. Either people saw me with ice on my nose or word had spread that I had had a bloody nose that morning, and I was able to cheerfully tell them that I had broken my nose! Once the worst was over I found ways to be happy about it. Of course, there were unpleasant aspects of it besides the obvious pain: I felt like I had a headache only it was on my face (I'll be honest--I don't remember the initial break actually being very painful--the blood was way more distracting), I had to do things like chew, smile, and scratch itches very gingerly, and then there was the fact that I had kind of had to walk all the way to the nurse's building all by myself feeling like nobody really noticed or cared. Most people had no idea what had happened; not that it really mattered. I reminded myself over and over again that God was good. I believed it, but it did take some faith. And then that night I got about nine or ten texts from friends who all encouraged me and told me they were praying for me! I don't even have a phone; I had my mom's, so it was especially neat that they were all texting me (Craig was behind telling people, as I suspected and later found out). Believing that God was good got a whole lot easier then.
That being said, I got a lot of support from people at camp as well as away from camp. One lady counselor (from the Bible Church), prayed for me right as we were heading to chapel. Another girl counselor right afterwards walked up and gave me a hug even though she had no idea what had happened that day. People, campers and counselors alike, asked me how I was and sometimes told me they had prayed for me. Many asked me how it had happened. One of my campers told me that she had heard that I'd run into a tree. Haha. Wow . . . talk about rumors. I asked her who had told her that and she insisted that one of the other girls in our cabin had told her, and they in turn insisted that she had made it up. Anyway, I don't really know if my broken nose affected my ministry or not, but at least I was able to talk a little more with some people and communicate some of my joy and faith in God's goodness in spite of it all.
Oh, and the boy who fell on me is just fine, and I'm very glad for it. I would have felt a lot worse if HE had broken his nose when I was the one responsible for him.
Some of you may be wondering if you can tell if I broke my nose. Well, actually, you probably can't. For a few days I was a little swollen; my glasses didn't fit me right, and I was pretty sore (though the constant pain was gone after the first day). After a day or two I bruised under both my eyes and some on my eye lids. Other than that, most people when they look at me are surprised when I tell them that my nose is broken, and I have to tell them that the x-rays proved it. The doctor told me that perhaps the only sign will be that a part of my nose might get a tiny bit more prominent, and probably only people who know me well MIGHT be able to tell.
I also had a follow up appointment yesterday with the nose, ears, and mouth specialist. And I gotta tell ya, I felt blessedly out of place as I sat in that waiting room! One man had a huge bandage on his neck while one guy had a huge bandage on his face over his nose (he got taken in almost right away, accompanied by two people who presumably were both his parents), and my mom even thought she saw somebody missing an ear but she wasn't sure. After peering at my face, kneading my nose for a bit (some of which was quite painful, even though overall I'm not quite so tender as I was), and finally looking UP my nose with a special tool, the doctor told me I was "very lucky." Apparently it's not always common for one's nose to straighten itself out without being set, and my nose had done just that. He said all we had to do was let "Mother Nature" do her thing. I should have told him that a lot of people had been praying for me. Let him put that in his pipe and smoke it.
So yes, that's my pretty much my adventure of the month! And adventure indeed it was. It was my first bloody nose, first broken bone, and first trip to the ER! A little traumatic, but relatively unscathing. And God was faithful through it all. I am very thankful.
I still can't quite believe I did it. I have always been a safe sort of girl. Skiing and snowboarding have never held much appeal for me so I haven't had the privilege of breaking a bone in that manner (did you know that while skiing every bone in the human body has been broken by somebody except a bone in the inner ear? So I've heard), I never played a regular sport, and even though I believe some aggressiveness is good in sports I've always been pretty careful to stay out of the way when there's a Shawn-Bobby-Dave-Ben collision inevitable in ultimate Frisbee. I've never had a bloody nose, and I've never been to the doctor for anything except ear infections and a physical. So if you're a cautious person who has never tasted an injury of any kind and is longing for the experience, let me instruct you in one easy lesson.
Have a thirteen year old kid who weighs more than you do make a crash landing on your nose with his elbow. Things should start to get interesting after that.
We were short handed that day. We had a lot of kids to get through the popular high ropes course and only so many leaders to supervise them. We divided our outdoor adventure group in half and told one half they could wait to go on the high ropes course. The other group could practice and kill time on the low ropes course. Oh wait. We don't have anybody to supervise the low ropes course. I volunteered--I didn't know how to be an "anchor" on the other course anyway, and I did know enough about the low course to instruct people. Besides, I've been pretty successful at catching people too. I suspect that I shouldn't have been the only "adult" present, but as circumstances would have it, we didn't have much choice. So I proceeded to make sure kids played safe at the edge of the woods about seventy-five yards or so away from everyone else. I should have exerted my authority more and had somebody else help me catch people, but it wouldn't have made much of a difference anyway.
So yes. I already told you what happened. One second I'm encouraging a boy through a tricky bit of rope about four feet off the ground, ready to steady him and snatch him if he should make good use of the law of gravity. He tottered, and I saw a flash of elbow or something hard (one boy watching told me he thought it was a foot but I doubt it) and then I heard a crunch. Oooh, what a musical crunch! Next thing I knew, blood started streaming out my nose. I couldn't remember what you were supposed to do with a bloody nose. Were you supposed to put your head forward or back? One guy (I think it was the KJB guy, for those of you who read my other post) told me to pinch my nose and keep my head straight. I obeyed and made a bee line for the main campus where the nurse was. I don't do well with blood, and I knew it was only a matter of time before I started to faint. I had to get to the nurse before then. Unfortunately, the nurse wasn't exactly in calling distance, and there weren't any other adults nearby to inform I was leaving. There wasn't time for that.
Down, down, down the long steep hill I went. Blood missed my cupped hands and splattered onto my beloved Fairwood Bible Institute shirt, but that was kind of low on my priority list of worries right then. By the time I reached the bottom of the hill (this is almost like a Catskill mountain we're talking about here) my hands were full to overflowing with bright red liquid, and I absently emptied one of them onto the grass and kept going, trying to remain calm. Through a clearing, past the whiffle ball field, past the volleyball court and soccer field, across the street, across the lawn to "the Ark" (this distance might have been comparable to walking from Fairview to the Main House). Thankfully one of the girl counselors, Jen (not the Belle one), was sitting on the porch visiting with her mother who had stopped by.
Speaking as casually as possible, I asked, "Um, what's the best way to get a hold of the nurse?" Considering that by now my hands and wrists were dripping, my shirt and shorts were pretty much smeared, and my legs and sneakers were considerably speckled, I must have been quite a sight. Jen practically leaped out of her rocking chair and said she'd get the nurse (who was in the middle of the building in the basement--not very accessible for a person in my condition) while her mother encouraged me to sit down.
I don't know how long I sat there. Gauze, wash cloths, and ice were brought as we waited for the blood to slow down. Soon after I sat down I recognized my fainting symptoms and gradually I watched the world get grayish black. People walked by or stood around but I couldn't see their faces. Some girl going by gasped and said, "OMG! Kayla, are you okay?" I didn't even know who it was. I held something to my nose and kept breathing, "Lord help me," while the words from Psalm 56:3 raced through my mind again and again, "When I am afraid, I will put my trust in God." I didn't think anything was seriously wrong with me, but it took willpower--no, trust to remain calm and maintain my sanity and poise. Somebody got me a cup of water and a large can so I could spit out all the blood that was in my mouth and that I had been swallowing. I waited. Things cleared up pretty soon, and at this point I think I was able to crack a feeble joke about my condition. Somebody told me that I'd make a great a Halloween character right then. No small wonder. I probably had blood coming from my nose and my mouth, not to mention that it was kind of all over the rest of me, even in my hair (it was fun to pick out the clots at the ends of my braids later). I was able to distinguish faces, including the nurse, Jen, her mom, a politely concerned life guard I had never officially met (but he kindly hosed down the porch after I left, so I'm told), and Will, a friend of the Reeds who has been to Fairwood and who also works there as a life guard.
The women helped me inside and downstairs to the infirmary where my bleeding resumed and I lay for awhile waiting for it to stop. After seeing that I was settled, Jen and her mother prepared to leave, and it was then that I remembered and felt some remorse for leaving kids unsupervised at the low ropes course. So I communicated that to Jen with my apologies, and it was at this point that I started to cry. Blast it! Oh well, I'm not so silly as to think crying is really stupid. A person's got to let loose some how, I guess, and God invented crying as the perfect avenue to vent. I told Jen I was fine though and didn't know why I was crying (I WAS fine; the worst was over, so why do tears have to kick in so late?) and she assured me that she would look into it.
So I waited. I waited for my bleeding to stop. I waited until I didn't cough up quite so much blood. I waited as the nurse gently cleaned me up like a baby who'd been caught playing the mud. This mud was even redder than Georgia's though, I'll tell ya. Fingers, hands, wrists, face, legs. Honestly, I've never seen so much blood in my life, but I realize that's not saying a whole lot. I lay alone for awhile and decided that singing was my best medicine. So I sang, or literally squeaked, out a number of songs: "He's Always Been Faithful," "Great is Thy Faithfulness," "Be Still and Know that I am God," "God is so Good," and the chorus to "Redemption," being a few of the pieces I tried. Faith and truth expressed in song is often the most beneficial. I had felt to resist the devil in our leaders meeting that morning and then this had happened. But I was not so easily defeated.
Eventually, I prepared to leave for the ER with my dad. The nurse had asked Sam, my co-counselor, to bring me some clothes to change into, and the dear girl had willingly done so. The only thing was that the shirt she brought me was actually my night shirt and I didn't have the heart to tell her. Besides, when it came right down to it, there was a certain appeal to going to the ER in my bloody clothes. I mean, come on! What's the point of going to the ER if you don't look like you have a reason for being there? My clothes certainly made me look legit, so I decided to keep them on. I was going to wear my stained FBI shirt with honor. I will admit though that when my dad wanted to stop at the grocery store to pick up medications I refused to go in. It's one thing to arrive at the hospital looking like a battle-scarred warrior, but at a grocery store I would look just plain unappetizing.
To sum it all up, I found out that my nose is broken. I had x-rays taken, and when the doctor came in to ask me if I wanted to see them he didn't even tell me that my nose was broken. All he said was, "Do you want to see a picture of your broken nose?" He didn't try to "break" it to me. Ahh, great. Sure! At least with it broken I have a reason for bleeding so much and seeming wimpy.
As I headed back to camp (there was no way I was going home to give up and recover!), I prayed that God would use the accident, hopefully to affect my ministry at the camp. I can say that it certainly helped me to trust God (now I know that I know how to look to Him in the midst of my first mini medical crisis!), and though I'm not actually aware it affected my ministry, it certainly was a good conversation starter. Either people saw me with ice on my nose or word had spread that I had had a bloody nose that morning, and I was able to cheerfully tell them that I had broken my nose! Once the worst was over I found ways to be happy about it. Of course, there were unpleasant aspects of it besides the obvious pain: I felt like I had a headache only it was on my face (I'll be honest--I don't remember the initial break actually being very painful--the blood was way more distracting), I had to do things like chew, smile, and scratch itches very gingerly, and then there was the fact that I had kind of had to walk all the way to the nurse's building all by myself feeling like nobody really noticed or cared. Most people had no idea what had happened; not that it really mattered. I reminded myself over and over again that God was good. I believed it, but it did take some faith. And then that night I got about nine or ten texts from friends who all encouraged me and told me they were praying for me! I don't even have a phone; I had my mom's, so it was especially neat that they were all texting me (Craig was behind telling people, as I suspected and later found out). Believing that God was good got a whole lot easier then.
That being said, I got a lot of support from people at camp as well as away from camp. One lady counselor (from the Bible Church), prayed for me right as we were heading to chapel. Another girl counselor right afterwards walked up and gave me a hug even though she had no idea what had happened that day. People, campers and counselors alike, asked me how I was and sometimes told me they had prayed for me. Many asked me how it had happened. One of my campers told me that she had heard that I'd run into a tree. Haha. Wow . . . talk about rumors. I asked her who had told her that and she insisted that one of the other girls in our cabin had told her, and they in turn insisted that she had made it up. Anyway, I don't really know if my broken nose affected my ministry or not, but at least I was able to talk a little more with some people and communicate some of my joy and faith in God's goodness in spite of it all.
Oh, and the boy who fell on me is just fine, and I'm very glad for it. I would have felt a lot worse if HE had broken his nose when I was the one responsible for him.
Some of you may be wondering if you can tell if I broke my nose. Well, actually, you probably can't. For a few days I was a little swollen; my glasses didn't fit me right, and I was pretty sore (though the constant pain was gone after the first day). After a day or two I bruised under both my eyes and some on my eye lids. Other than that, most people when they look at me are surprised when I tell them that my nose is broken, and I have to tell them that the x-rays proved it. The doctor told me that perhaps the only sign will be that a part of my nose might get a tiny bit more prominent, and probably only people who know me well MIGHT be able to tell.
I also had a follow up appointment yesterday with the nose, ears, and mouth specialist. And I gotta tell ya, I felt blessedly out of place as I sat in that waiting room! One man had a huge bandage on his neck while one guy had a huge bandage on his face over his nose (he got taken in almost right away, accompanied by two people who presumably were both his parents), and my mom even thought she saw somebody missing an ear but she wasn't sure. After peering at my face, kneading my nose for a bit (some of which was quite painful, even though overall I'm not quite so tender as I was), and finally looking UP my nose with a special tool, the doctor told me I was "very lucky." Apparently it's not always common for one's nose to straighten itself out without being set, and my nose had done just that. He said all we had to do was let "Mother Nature" do her thing. I should have told him that a lot of people had been praying for me. Let him put that in his pipe and smoke it.
So yes, that's my pretty much my adventure of the month! And adventure indeed it was. It was my first bloody nose, first broken bone, and first trip to the ER! A little traumatic, but relatively unscathing. And God was faithful through it all. I am very thankful.
Adventures on the waves
Oh what I would do to have
The kind of faith it takes to climb out of this boat I'm in
Onto the crashing waves
To step out of my comfort zone
Into the realm of the unknown
Where Jesus is
And He's holding out His hand.
The kind of faith it takes to climb out of this boat I'm in
Onto the crashing waves
To step out of my comfort zone
Into the realm of the unknown
Where Jesus is
And He's holding out His hand.
I stood at the side of the boat, trembling. What am I getting myself into? I've never done this sort of thing before, I've never left my boat for this destination before, and I know absolutely nobody else at the place where I am going. Except Jesus. He'd be with me wherever I went, and He always seems closest when I'm out of the boat. And besides, adventure awaits outside the edges of my own little vessel. And with that, I swung my legs over the edge, took one long look, and took the plunge. I was a camp counselor.
"And how did it go?" you may ask. Hmmm. Wondrously well. Superifically well. Not that I always did a great job and everything was smooth sailing, but the experience was both expanding and fun, and I'm very glad I did it. Some of it was hard. It was hard the first week because some of my girls were young and seemed to have no interest in talking about spiritual things in our group discussion and I had to constantly steer the conversation in the right direction. After the first night or two I went out in the dark and literally cried out to God because I felt like a failure and I was afraid I would go insane if I couldn't have a meaningful conversation with my girls.
I learned something: I'm not God. It's not my job to convict or work in somebody's heart. That's God's job. And He does His job better than anyone else can. Even better than I. Once I realized that, my work was much easier the rest of the week. I focused just on being a friend to my girls and planting seeds where I could. I was ready to listen when they needed someone, and I was ready to give my advice. During discussion time I shared what God had done in my life and encouraged them to realize God's incredible love for them and to strive to know Him better. And I let God do the rest.
I was still challenged though. One girl in particular seemed to delight in asking me the most random, difficult questions she could imagine. Things like, "Do Muslims go to heaven?" And "What would happen if a Christian and a devil worshiper wanted to get married?" God, give me wisdom! I had to plead silently when situations like these as well as others arose during both weeks. Somehow I survived.
My favorite time with my girls the first week was our final extended discussion time. We got a pizza to ourselves and I took them to a little bridge that stretched over a peaceful little stream. We lounged on the bridge's bench and I asked them questions. And they asked me questions. The discussion went differently than I would have expected. One girl asked me to tell her what the Lord's Prayer meant since she said that they prayed it in church and she had no idea what she was saying. So, with a quick prayer and an extreme thankfulness for my ATI and Bible school training, I launched into a line by line explanation. I wished I could remember more, but all the girls seemed very attentive to what I said as I attempted to dig into rich truths that could be found in simple words like "hallowed by Thy name." At the end of the time I told them that I was going to pray and any of them could if they wanted. And for the first time, they all did! I may not have done a perfect job as a counselor, but that time seemed special and I trust that God was working. I finally let the girls go, late for the next event. I am my father's daughter after all. :)
The second week was easier in some ways and harder in other ways. It was easier because I was co-counseling and my girls were older, and it was harder because I was co-counseling and my girls were older (and therefore more independent). That being said, my co-counselor, Sam, is a dear and I couldn't have asked for a more fun or capable co-leader; it only was tricky knowing what my role was at times, and I learned how to play second fiddle even though I was older. However, this was excellent for me as well because that week God taught me that it's not all about me, it's about pointing others to Jesus. And even if I didn't get to say all I would have liked to say, or be noticed as much as I would have liked to be noticed, as long as my girls noticed Jesus it was fine with me.
I just gave you a brief overview of how counseling in my "cabin" went for me both weeks, but that doesn't give you an inkling of how interesting or how fun everything was. Every morning we had leaders meeting at 7:30. In some ways, the leaders meetings were my favorite part of the day. This was a time to come together with other mature Christians, go over the schedule, share what had been going on with our campers, and pray together. Sometimes the meeting was very lighthearted, with plenty of bantering and laughter going on. Most of the time I was a quiet onlooker (Craig pointed out that I probably felt the same way some people must feel when they first come to Fairwood), but I enjoyed the jokes and people observation anyway. Sometimes I'd sit next to somebody that I could chat with beforehand, and I got to get a glimpse into the lives of other believers, whether it was discussing colleges (Moody, Gordon, Ohio, etc.), or finding out how somebody from TN heard about Monadnock, or getting excited about the Perspectives course with another girl. In our first meeting I introduced myself as coming from "the better side of the mountain," and that remark haunted me in jest a few times ("Better be careful everyone comes down the right trail on the mountain. We wouldn't want them going down the D Trail. I hear there are some strange people who live down there," said our leader, Kevin with a mischievous glance at me). But even though parts of the meeting were lighthearted, some of it was far from it. Serious issues were brought up and serious prayers were uttered, but in some ways it was kind of refreshing because we all were serious about God. I hadn't even known these people, but it didn't matter. We were seeking God together. And that was fun.
Moving on. Our morning meetings generally didn't go more than half an hour, so I would go back to my room and make sure that my girls were awake. At eight thirty the breakfast bell was rung, and somehow we'd get through a sleepy first meal followed by a half hour of "time with God" (aka personal devotions where you can fill out a sheet of questions). At nine-thirty was the morning gathering which included worship, a slide show or brief video clip, announcements, a "cheesy camp song" (complete with hand motions), and a message from our main speaker for the week. Depending on the speaker, we might even hear him rap a gospel message for us!
After the morning meeting, we dispersed to our tracks. These were divided mainly into sports, creative arts (including hip hop, photography, and more), and outdoor adventure. And what track did I help with? Surely they would have assigned me to something I had experience with, wouldn't they? Um, lo. That is, no. I was blessed with the role of supervising outdoor adventure, including rock climbing, tubing, and high ropes which I know nothing about! Oh joy. I felt pretty useless, but I busied myself with trying to hang out with the kids who didn't want to do the activity of the day, and I trust that wasn't wasted. At times I was able to lend a hand though, whether it was in taking pictures of people tubing for the slide show, leading groups back to the camp when they were done early, talking people through the low ropes course (which I had to learn myself), or spotting people in the tube or catching them on the ropes.
Usually I didn't bother to do any of the activities myself to make sure all the campers got their fill, but I did once try the zip line. What is a zip line? Well, first of all, you put on a helmet and harness and get hooked up to a rope. Then you climb spokes sticking out of a huge pine tree. Up, up, up, you go until you arrive at a small platform. Here Wally, the hardy handyman of MBC, gets you ready for the next step: hooking you up to a line so you can literally step off the platform and go for a ride on an electric line--or something that looks like one.
As I waited for my turn on the swaying platform, a boy ahead of me was sweating before his leap. Wally, seemingly gruff but kind to the core, offered to pray for him and he did. When my turn came, Wally asked me if I was okay, gave me my instructions, and then he said, "You're homeschooled, aren't you?"
I was surprised. Nobody had asked me that question before (I didn't do the zip line until the first week was over half over), so I figured that it wasn't that obvious. Not many people seemed to have been homeschooled, so I decided not to advertise it. Somehow I don't feel like public schoolers have quite the same appreciation for homeschoolers as I do.
In reply, I said, "Yeah, how can you tell?"
Wally didn't say much. "It's a beautiful thing," he said, and told me to jump.
Huh. Whatever that means . . .
I jumped. Sure, I had some minor qualms about stepping out into air from a sickening height, but I trusted God and the people who were taking care of me so I really wasn't very worried. I whizzed through the air and before I knew it I was climbing down. I had conquered the zip line.
After lunch at twelve thirty we usually commenced with a group field game for everyone. We were divided by cabin groups into the blue and green teams, and a fearsome rivalry raged between them all week. Team spirit was encouraged and provoked especially by other counselors, and there was plenty of yelling, huddles, and chants to keep everybody pumped on both sides. One of the most brutal games we played was tube tug-of-war. Basically the two teams spread out on two adjacent sides with guys and girls on each side, facing those of the same gender on the other team. We lined up by height and every two people were given a number, and when your number was called you ran to the middle and grabbed one of the three tubes and dragged it back over your line. Girls against girls, guys against guys (thankfully). It sounds easy, only the fact is that several numbers were usually called at once, and sixteen or so people fighting for three tubes is not always a pretty sight. Frequently people fell down on top of each other in the midst of the brawl, and cuts and bruises as well as other demonstrations of violence were not uncommon. As for me, I usually just grabbed a tube and held on, feeling almost too caught up in the chaos to apply my brain and pull effectively. And although I don't remember ever pulling a tube back over our line, I don't remember ever losing either. In my case the girls on our tube ended up in a deadlock. Mindless brutality, I'll tell ya! Mindless fun.
Another game we played involved getting signature cards from counselors who were spaced out around the field without getting hit by another counselor with a flour sock. The first week I got to play, the second week I got to be a signer. There's another catch though: the counselor signing cards can require each player to perform any little task that the signer conjures up. I had a lot of fun doing this. Some of the athletic guys I had do push-ups (some of the guys thought I was pretty harsh when I had a six foot seven guy do ten, but I figured he looked like the kind of guy who could handle it--I can do 10 push ups without any problem, for Pete's sake!), others did jumping jacks. Some did somersaults, others told jokes. Some sang songs, others just spontaneously offered me their talent. For example, one kid just came up to me and started doing break dance moves. I was duly impressed.
"Okay, should I do a front flip or a back flip?" one guy asked me right away. Whoah.
"Um, a front flip. Wait, you're not going to hurt yourself, are you?" I asked. Other guys in line assured me that this kid knew what he was doing.
One kid wasn't sure he knew how to do a somersault. I felt bad for him and reduced his sentence to one try instead of three. Another girl (from my cabin) sang Twinkle Twinkle Little Star for me as if she were on Broadway (I already knew she'd been to Europe on national tour choir and that she possessed an amazing voice). Another guy tried to tell me a knock knock joke.
"Knock knock."
"Who's there?"
"KJB."
"KJB who?"
Long pause. "Um, I forgot," he smiled sheepishly. He may have remembered shortly thereafter, but he got a card anyway for making me laugh.
"Okay, why didn't the skeleton cross the road?" one boy asked me. "Cause he didn't have the guts!"
Ha ha ha. That was probably my favorite.
Then, "Do you have anything against blond jokes? Okay, good. Santa Claus, the Easter bunny, the tooth fairy, a smart blond, and a dumb blond are walking down the street when they see a five dollar bill. Who picks it up? The dumb blond because all the others don't exist!"
The funny thing is that a few minutes later another kid came up to me with the same joke or some variation thereof. For a second I was afraid he had just heard the guy in front of him tell it (lame!), but when I told him I had just heard it and he seemed genuinely disappointed I gave him a card even though he hadn't finished. His joke may have been a little different, but I wasn't really up to hearing it again. And besides, I was helping him out by letting him leave with his card anyway.
As for the songs, I was in such a rush that the only universal ones that came to my head to request were Twinkle, The Star-Spangled Banner, and I'm a Little Teapot (I should have used Old MacDonald Had a Farm). So when I got tired of hearing those, I told them they could sing me any song they wanted. Ironically enough, pretty much everybody that I gave that option floundered about and then settled on I'm A Little Teapot. I guess it must really be a favorite.
Another task I tried was having them say the Pledge of Allegiance, or at least part of it. One girl started with the Pledge of Allegiance and ended with the Lord's Prayer (hey, it wouldn't hurt if we combined them like that, I suppose), but I gave it to her anyway.
The afternoon was usually filled with plenty of free time options. Tubing, sailing, snorkeling, rock climbing, swimming, laser tagging, high ropes, dodge ball, ultimate frisbee, ga ga (a variation of dodge ball where you play in a hexagon court and try to get people out below their knees), bookstore, ice cream, and pick-up board games were some of the options available on some though not all of the afternoons. Usually I just chilled and tried to keep my campers company. The first week this included going swimming with them a number of times, but sometimes they were all off doing their own thing so I just participated in whatever was going on, whether it was watching ga ga, playing dodge ball, playing Mad Gab or Apples to Apples, or just trying to befriend people. I didn't always do a good job at this. I'm often happy to just sit and watch people and not bother to go right up to people and introduce myself, but if there was a girl sitting by herself I often took it upon myself to get to know her a little bit.
In the late afternoon we had another counselors meeting.
The evenings after dinner included the evening gathering (more worship, and more good stuff from our main speaker), followed by a group discussion time as a cabin group and then something special like a Theme Night. Monday was 70's night, Tuesday Celebrity Impersonation night, Wednesday coffee shop (aka talent show), and Thursday Sports night. Basically the theme nights were a fun time to dress up and play some games as blue and green teams again. I didn't know about the theme nights enough ahead of time to really plan for them so I didn't do much except spontaneously decide to go to Impersonation night as Pippi Longstocking. I didn't have time to braid my hair around a hanger, Kim, but at least I had freckles, striped knee socks, braids, and makeshift suspenders. I was afraid that the younger generation of teenagers wouldn't know who Pippi was, but I was impressed at how many people knew who I was supposed to be!
Some of my favorite costumes throughout both weeks included Sam and one of the guy counselors going as the Dugger family (the family with like 19 kids) with nineteen campers up there as each of the kids. It was hilarious, especially since I knew who the Duggers are and I've seen them live playing their violins and everything. Also I saw Taylor Swift (alias: Kevin, the head guy), four girls as the Green Monster wall, Beauty and the Beast (my counselor friend Jen and another guy), Snow White and the Seven Dwarves, Darth Vader and Obi Wan, Waldo, and on sports night a guy wearing a dress and pig tails with the label "Manning" on his back (FUNNIEST thing ever!That's right, Peyton!). Oh yes, and also I saw a Saleena Gomez lookalike in one of my campers, only she didn't have to do anything to make herself look like her. Seriously. She said she gets comments almost every day.
Finally, the day usually ended with people going to their rooms at eleven (welcome to teen camp!). Sometimes I was on zone defense which basically meant I walked around part of the campus with a flash light and another counselor as we made sure that nobody was hiding out in the dark doing bad stuff. I actually enjoyed this job because it meant taking in the night air and getting better acquainted one on one with another counselor. In this way I got to know Jackie, calm and cool with blond dreadlocks, and fun to be around. She reminded me a leetle bit of Kimberly, actually (maybe you should try a new style with those long locks of yours, KJ:). I found out that she plays the euphonium and used to major in music therapy. We didn't just exchange information about ourselves, sometimes we had good conversations about our campers and how things were going. Jackie also would suggest we turn out our flash lights when we were in the field and look up at the mouthwatering stars. She didn't call them mouthwatering. I just felt like calling them that at this moment.
I also got to know another guy named Chris. Interestingly enough, he's an English major interested in creative writing just like I am, so we had fun talking about writing and later music. He kind of reminded me of my cousin Aaron in more ways than one. I should say (I think Kendra or somebody asked), we did NOT turn out our flash lights and look up at the stars together. That would have been just too weird.
And I'll say right here that I met many other amazing and fascinating people who would possibly be very intriguing to describe, but it would only make this frightfully long post aproximately twice as long so I don't think it's worth it right now. Besides, I'm probably already boring you.
Lights out was usually between 11:30 and 12. And then I got up at 6:35 a.m. and did many of the same things all over again.
I don't suppose I've mentioned that I dressed a little differently from anybody else at camp. They did have a dress code in place (not Fairwood's, haha), but I will admit that there were times when I felt like I stuck out like a sore thumb. That is, all the girls around never seemed to catch on to the idea that knee-length shorts are remarkably becoming and fashionable. *sigh* Some people don't know how to move with the times. But the sore thumb feeling existed mostly just at the beginning, and nobody ever said anything (Sam only commented that she loved how I wore so much "flowy clothing") or made me feel in the slightest bit weird, and by the end of the time I almost had to remind myself of the time when I didn't feel like I fit in wearing my culottes. Fitting in is definitely over-rated, as I can imagine my friend Erinn saying. In my mind though, a little extra modesty isn't. So I wore my culottes with joy and a small measure of pride. Not pride as in "I'm better than you," but pride as in, "I don't mind being different." And thankfully, most of the time I don't.
Some of the music was different than I'm accustomed to as well. Notice I don't say it was bad, just different. Though I will admit that I was a little grieved to walk into my first chapel service and feel like I was walking into a high school basketball gym that's warming up before a game. Same style of music. Same volume. Can't hear the words to tell the difference that I'm sure was there. The band (DIFFERENT from the hip hop style played on the speakers ahead of time) was talented and sincere though, and I liked many of the songs I learned and appreciated the expressive lyrics. I think we can worship God with many kinds of music, and I was able to do so while at camp with their music. Some music just takes a little more concentration to focus on the One you're worshiping.
One thing I can't neglect to mention: Mountain Climbing Day! On both Wednesdays of each week, hiking is a mandatory activity after the morning gathering. If you're lazy you can go in the Leisurely group and not go up the mountain, but everyone is hiking whether they like it or not. Unless they're medically unfit. Or dead.
So we divided ourselves up into four groups: Extreme (where experienced hikers take a longer trail and half run up the mountain), Adventurous (steady/quick, few breaks), Diligent (steadier, more numerous and longer breaks), and Leisurely. I went with the Diligent group the first week and helped encourage people up the mountain, and the second week I went with the Adventurous group and mostly concentrated on getting up the mountain (1 hour 25 minutes, I believe, but that may have included walking to the park from the camp). Getting to know people a little along the way was entertaining too, and the camaraderie we built as fellow sufferers--er, hikers, was great. I even found out that the boy hiking alongside me was from my town! That was very exciting, especially since he was the only one I ever met, AND he lives only a couple miles down the road from where I live.
I also had a lot of fun showing people my house from the top. The second week was especially cool because I texted my family that I was looking at our house and my dad started flashing a mirror. Suddenly a bunch of kids were all commenting on the blinking house and I was able to tell them excitedly that it was my house and that my daddy loves me. Everyone acknowledged the wicked coolness of it all.
Coming down the mountain, in an effort as a counselor not to leave campers alone, I managed to end up with some of the stragglers of our smaller group. The first week it was two boys, one who talked almost the whole way largely of cartoons he'd seen, and another boy who whined more than any fourteen or fifteen year old I've heard in my life. The second week it was a girl who fell and thought she had sprained her toe. I didn't have anything with me to help her, but I offered to pray for her and when I asked her the next day how she was she told me her toe was fine! Perhaps her toe wasn't really injured, but I'd rather give God more credit rather than less.
Oh right, can't neglect a brief mention of the Bible Church! The second week a group came up from CT in a huge Peter Pan bus, bringing about fifty kids! Ay ay ay, we don't have a lot more than that in our entire church! Anyway, the group as a whole was loud yet lovable (some of them were African Americans), and I really enjoyed getting to know the leaders/counselors who came up with them, all of whom practically opened up their arms to me and everybody else. If the whole group had a quirk, it was their fanaticism for their church. They had a whole yelling rally cry that they frequently employed that went something like this:
Leader (rhythmic, singsong): I say "Bible," you say "Church!" "Bible!"
Everyone: "Church!"
"Bible!"
"Church!"
I came home and told Craig about it and we tried saying it with our church name.
Craig: I say "Fairwood" you say "Bible Chapel." "Fairwood!"
Me: "Bible Chapel."
"Fairwood!"
"Bible Chapel!"
It really doesn't have the same ring. :)
As I wind down my lengthy report (you may have stopped reading this long ago), I'll share a few special moments I had throughout my two long adventurous weeks. Two or three of them were one-on-one times with God where I had to cry to Him for help and strength. One of them was when I saw one of the "cool guys" outside on the porch reading his Bible an hour before breakfast. How exciting is that? Another time was when I sat on my bed on a Sabbath eve listening to 100 + young people singing Amazing Grace into the 11:30 darkness outside my window. We had been sent singing from our final meeting shortly after eleven. I went inside because I was cold, but most of the young people didn't want to leave the cross that stood outside the doorway, and they just stood and sang common worship songs on into the night for another thirty or forty minutes. It was awe-inspiring to hear.
So finally, last Saturday I climbed back into my boat. In other words, I came home. While out of my little ship I learned a lot about trusting God, about letting God be God, and about letting Him be the one who gets the attention. I was blessed by messages I heard and by hearts I saw touched. My prayer list has lengthened as I've seen many needy young people and have heard their stories. I met many Christians who are passionate about God like I am if not more so, and I think I gained some friends while I was at it.
It's never a waste to walk on water.
"And how did it go?" you may ask. Hmmm. Wondrously well. Superifically well. Not that I always did a great job and everything was smooth sailing, but the experience was both expanding and fun, and I'm very glad I did it. Some of it was hard. It was hard the first week because some of my girls were young and seemed to have no interest in talking about spiritual things in our group discussion and I had to constantly steer the conversation in the right direction. After the first night or two I went out in the dark and literally cried out to God because I felt like a failure and I was afraid I would go insane if I couldn't have a meaningful conversation with my girls.
I learned something: I'm not God. It's not my job to convict or work in somebody's heart. That's God's job. And He does His job better than anyone else can. Even better than I. Once I realized that, my work was much easier the rest of the week. I focused just on being a friend to my girls and planting seeds where I could. I was ready to listen when they needed someone, and I was ready to give my advice. During discussion time I shared what God had done in my life and encouraged them to realize God's incredible love for them and to strive to know Him better. And I let God do the rest.
I was still challenged though. One girl in particular seemed to delight in asking me the most random, difficult questions she could imagine. Things like, "Do Muslims go to heaven?" And "What would happen if a Christian and a devil worshiper wanted to get married?" God, give me wisdom! I had to plead silently when situations like these as well as others arose during both weeks. Somehow I survived.
My favorite time with my girls the first week was our final extended discussion time. We got a pizza to ourselves and I took them to a little bridge that stretched over a peaceful little stream. We lounged on the bridge's bench and I asked them questions. And they asked me questions. The discussion went differently than I would have expected. One girl asked me to tell her what the Lord's Prayer meant since she said that they prayed it in church and she had no idea what she was saying. So, with a quick prayer and an extreme thankfulness for my ATI and Bible school training, I launched into a line by line explanation. I wished I could remember more, but all the girls seemed very attentive to what I said as I attempted to dig into rich truths that could be found in simple words like "hallowed by Thy name." At the end of the time I told them that I was going to pray and any of them could if they wanted. And for the first time, they all did! I may not have done a perfect job as a counselor, but that time seemed special and I trust that God was working. I finally let the girls go, late for the next event. I am my father's daughter after all. :)
The second week was easier in some ways and harder in other ways. It was easier because I was co-counseling and my girls were older, and it was harder because I was co-counseling and my girls were older (and therefore more independent). That being said, my co-counselor, Sam, is a dear and I couldn't have asked for a more fun or capable co-leader; it only was tricky knowing what my role was at times, and I learned how to play second fiddle even though I was older. However, this was excellent for me as well because that week God taught me that it's not all about me, it's about pointing others to Jesus. And even if I didn't get to say all I would have liked to say, or be noticed as much as I would have liked to be noticed, as long as my girls noticed Jesus it was fine with me.
I just gave you a brief overview of how counseling in my "cabin" went for me both weeks, but that doesn't give you an inkling of how interesting or how fun everything was. Every morning we had leaders meeting at 7:30. In some ways, the leaders meetings were my favorite part of the day. This was a time to come together with other mature Christians, go over the schedule, share what had been going on with our campers, and pray together. Sometimes the meeting was very lighthearted, with plenty of bantering and laughter going on. Most of the time I was a quiet onlooker (Craig pointed out that I probably felt the same way some people must feel when they first come to Fairwood), but I enjoyed the jokes and people observation anyway. Sometimes I'd sit next to somebody that I could chat with beforehand, and I got to get a glimpse into the lives of other believers, whether it was discussing colleges (Moody, Gordon, Ohio, etc.), or finding out how somebody from TN heard about Monadnock, or getting excited about the Perspectives course with another girl. In our first meeting I introduced myself as coming from "the better side of the mountain," and that remark haunted me in jest a few times ("Better be careful everyone comes down the right trail on the mountain. We wouldn't want them going down the D Trail. I hear there are some strange people who live down there," said our leader, Kevin with a mischievous glance at me). But even though parts of the meeting were lighthearted, some of it was far from it. Serious issues were brought up and serious prayers were uttered, but in some ways it was kind of refreshing because we all were serious about God. I hadn't even known these people, but it didn't matter. We were seeking God together. And that was fun.
Moving on. Our morning meetings generally didn't go more than half an hour, so I would go back to my room and make sure that my girls were awake. At eight thirty the breakfast bell was rung, and somehow we'd get through a sleepy first meal followed by a half hour of "time with God" (aka personal devotions where you can fill out a sheet of questions). At nine-thirty was the morning gathering which included worship, a slide show or brief video clip, announcements, a "cheesy camp song" (complete with hand motions), and a message from our main speaker for the week. Depending on the speaker, we might even hear him rap a gospel message for us!
After the morning meeting, we dispersed to our tracks. These were divided mainly into sports, creative arts (including hip hop, photography, and more), and outdoor adventure. And what track did I help with? Surely they would have assigned me to something I had experience with, wouldn't they? Um, lo. That is, no. I was blessed with the role of supervising outdoor adventure, including rock climbing, tubing, and high ropes which I know nothing about! Oh joy. I felt pretty useless, but I busied myself with trying to hang out with the kids who didn't want to do the activity of the day, and I trust that wasn't wasted. At times I was able to lend a hand though, whether it was in taking pictures of people tubing for the slide show, leading groups back to the camp when they were done early, talking people through the low ropes course (which I had to learn myself), or spotting people in the tube or catching them on the ropes.
Usually I didn't bother to do any of the activities myself to make sure all the campers got their fill, but I did once try the zip line. What is a zip line? Well, first of all, you put on a helmet and harness and get hooked up to a rope. Then you climb spokes sticking out of a huge pine tree. Up, up, up, you go until you arrive at a small platform. Here Wally, the hardy handyman of MBC, gets you ready for the next step: hooking you up to a line so you can literally step off the platform and go for a ride on an electric line--or something that looks like one.
As I waited for my turn on the swaying platform, a boy ahead of me was sweating before his leap. Wally, seemingly gruff but kind to the core, offered to pray for him and he did. When my turn came, Wally asked me if I was okay, gave me my instructions, and then he said, "You're homeschooled, aren't you?"
I was surprised. Nobody had asked me that question before (I didn't do the zip line until the first week was over half over), so I figured that it wasn't that obvious. Not many people seemed to have been homeschooled, so I decided not to advertise it. Somehow I don't feel like public schoolers have quite the same appreciation for homeschoolers as I do.
In reply, I said, "Yeah, how can you tell?"
Wally didn't say much. "It's a beautiful thing," he said, and told me to jump.
Huh. Whatever that means . . .
I jumped. Sure, I had some minor qualms about stepping out into air from a sickening height, but I trusted God and the people who were taking care of me so I really wasn't very worried. I whizzed through the air and before I knew it I was climbing down. I had conquered the zip line.
After lunch at twelve thirty we usually commenced with a group field game for everyone. We were divided by cabin groups into the blue and green teams, and a fearsome rivalry raged between them all week. Team spirit was encouraged and provoked especially by other counselors, and there was plenty of yelling, huddles, and chants to keep everybody pumped on both sides. One of the most brutal games we played was tube tug-of-war. Basically the two teams spread out on two adjacent sides with guys and girls on each side, facing those of the same gender on the other team. We lined up by height and every two people were given a number, and when your number was called you ran to the middle and grabbed one of the three tubes and dragged it back over your line. Girls against girls, guys against guys (thankfully). It sounds easy, only the fact is that several numbers were usually called at once, and sixteen or so people fighting for three tubes is not always a pretty sight. Frequently people fell down on top of each other in the midst of the brawl, and cuts and bruises as well as other demonstrations of violence were not uncommon. As for me, I usually just grabbed a tube and held on, feeling almost too caught up in the chaos to apply my brain and pull effectively. And although I don't remember ever pulling a tube back over our line, I don't remember ever losing either. In my case the girls on our tube ended up in a deadlock. Mindless brutality, I'll tell ya! Mindless fun.
Another game we played involved getting signature cards from counselors who were spaced out around the field without getting hit by another counselor with a flour sock. The first week I got to play, the second week I got to be a signer. There's another catch though: the counselor signing cards can require each player to perform any little task that the signer conjures up. I had a lot of fun doing this. Some of the athletic guys I had do push-ups (some of the guys thought I was pretty harsh when I had a six foot seven guy do ten, but I figured he looked like the kind of guy who could handle it--I can do 10 push ups without any problem, for Pete's sake!), others did jumping jacks. Some did somersaults, others told jokes. Some sang songs, others just spontaneously offered me their talent. For example, one kid just came up to me and started doing break dance moves. I was duly impressed.
"Okay, should I do a front flip or a back flip?" one guy asked me right away. Whoah.
"Um, a front flip. Wait, you're not going to hurt yourself, are you?" I asked. Other guys in line assured me that this kid knew what he was doing.
One kid wasn't sure he knew how to do a somersault. I felt bad for him and reduced his sentence to one try instead of three. Another girl (from my cabin) sang Twinkle Twinkle Little Star for me as if she were on Broadway (I already knew she'd been to Europe on national tour choir and that she possessed an amazing voice). Another guy tried to tell me a knock knock joke.
"Knock knock."
"Who's there?"
"KJB."
"KJB who?"
Long pause. "Um, I forgot," he smiled sheepishly. He may have remembered shortly thereafter, but he got a card anyway for making me laugh.
"Okay, why didn't the skeleton cross the road?" one boy asked me. "Cause he didn't have the guts!"
Ha ha ha. That was probably my favorite.
Then, "Do you have anything against blond jokes? Okay, good. Santa Claus, the Easter bunny, the tooth fairy, a smart blond, and a dumb blond are walking down the street when they see a five dollar bill. Who picks it up? The dumb blond because all the others don't exist!"
The funny thing is that a few minutes later another kid came up to me with the same joke or some variation thereof. For a second I was afraid he had just heard the guy in front of him tell it (lame!), but when I told him I had just heard it and he seemed genuinely disappointed I gave him a card even though he hadn't finished. His joke may have been a little different, but I wasn't really up to hearing it again. And besides, I was helping him out by letting him leave with his card anyway.
As for the songs, I was in such a rush that the only universal ones that came to my head to request were Twinkle, The Star-Spangled Banner, and I'm a Little Teapot (I should have used Old MacDonald Had a Farm). So when I got tired of hearing those, I told them they could sing me any song they wanted. Ironically enough, pretty much everybody that I gave that option floundered about and then settled on I'm A Little Teapot. I guess it must really be a favorite.
Another task I tried was having them say the Pledge of Allegiance, or at least part of it. One girl started with the Pledge of Allegiance and ended with the Lord's Prayer (hey, it wouldn't hurt if we combined them like that, I suppose), but I gave it to her anyway.
The afternoon was usually filled with plenty of free time options. Tubing, sailing, snorkeling, rock climbing, swimming, laser tagging, high ropes, dodge ball, ultimate frisbee, ga ga (a variation of dodge ball where you play in a hexagon court and try to get people out below their knees), bookstore, ice cream, and pick-up board games were some of the options available on some though not all of the afternoons. Usually I just chilled and tried to keep my campers company. The first week this included going swimming with them a number of times, but sometimes they were all off doing their own thing so I just participated in whatever was going on, whether it was watching ga ga, playing dodge ball, playing Mad Gab or Apples to Apples, or just trying to befriend people. I didn't always do a good job at this. I'm often happy to just sit and watch people and not bother to go right up to people and introduce myself, but if there was a girl sitting by herself I often took it upon myself to get to know her a little bit.
In the late afternoon we had another counselors meeting.
The evenings after dinner included the evening gathering (more worship, and more good stuff from our main speaker), followed by a group discussion time as a cabin group and then something special like a Theme Night. Monday was 70's night, Tuesday Celebrity Impersonation night, Wednesday coffee shop (aka talent show), and Thursday Sports night. Basically the theme nights were a fun time to dress up and play some games as blue and green teams again. I didn't know about the theme nights enough ahead of time to really plan for them so I didn't do much except spontaneously decide to go to Impersonation night as Pippi Longstocking. I didn't have time to braid my hair around a hanger, Kim, but at least I had freckles, striped knee socks, braids, and makeshift suspenders. I was afraid that the younger generation of teenagers wouldn't know who Pippi was, but I was impressed at how many people knew who I was supposed to be!
Some of my favorite costumes throughout both weeks included Sam and one of the guy counselors going as the Dugger family (the family with like 19 kids) with nineteen campers up there as each of the kids. It was hilarious, especially since I knew who the Duggers are and I've seen them live playing their violins and everything. Also I saw Taylor Swift (alias: Kevin, the head guy), four girls as the Green Monster wall, Beauty and the Beast (my counselor friend Jen and another guy), Snow White and the Seven Dwarves, Darth Vader and Obi Wan, Waldo, and on sports night a guy wearing a dress and pig tails with the label "Manning" on his back (FUNNIEST thing ever!That's right, Peyton!). Oh yes, and also I saw a Saleena Gomez lookalike in one of my campers, only she didn't have to do anything to make herself look like her. Seriously. She said she gets comments almost every day.
Finally, the day usually ended with people going to their rooms at eleven (welcome to teen camp!). Sometimes I was on zone defense which basically meant I walked around part of the campus with a flash light and another counselor as we made sure that nobody was hiding out in the dark doing bad stuff. I actually enjoyed this job because it meant taking in the night air and getting better acquainted one on one with another counselor. In this way I got to know Jackie, calm and cool with blond dreadlocks, and fun to be around. She reminded me a leetle bit of Kimberly, actually (maybe you should try a new style with those long locks of yours, KJ:). I found out that she plays the euphonium and used to major in music therapy. We didn't just exchange information about ourselves, sometimes we had good conversations about our campers and how things were going. Jackie also would suggest we turn out our flash lights when we were in the field and look up at the mouthwatering stars. She didn't call them mouthwatering. I just felt like calling them that at this moment.
I also got to know another guy named Chris. Interestingly enough, he's an English major interested in creative writing just like I am, so we had fun talking about writing and later music. He kind of reminded me of my cousin Aaron in more ways than one. I should say (I think Kendra or somebody asked), we did NOT turn out our flash lights and look up at the stars together. That would have been just too weird.
And I'll say right here that I met many other amazing and fascinating people who would possibly be very intriguing to describe, but it would only make this frightfully long post aproximately twice as long so I don't think it's worth it right now. Besides, I'm probably already boring you.
Lights out was usually between 11:30 and 12. And then I got up at 6:35 a.m. and did many of the same things all over again.
I don't suppose I've mentioned that I dressed a little differently from anybody else at camp. They did have a dress code in place (not Fairwood's, haha), but I will admit that there were times when I felt like I stuck out like a sore thumb. That is, all the girls around never seemed to catch on to the idea that knee-length shorts are remarkably becoming and fashionable. *sigh* Some people don't know how to move with the times. But the sore thumb feeling existed mostly just at the beginning, and nobody ever said anything (Sam only commented that she loved how I wore so much "flowy clothing") or made me feel in the slightest bit weird, and by the end of the time I almost had to remind myself of the time when I didn't feel like I fit in wearing my culottes. Fitting in is definitely over-rated, as I can imagine my friend Erinn saying. In my mind though, a little extra modesty isn't. So I wore my culottes with joy and a small measure of pride. Not pride as in "I'm better than you," but pride as in, "I don't mind being different." And thankfully, most of the time I don't.
Some of the music was different than I'm accustomed to as well. Notice I don't say it was bad, just different. Though I will admit that I was a little grieved to walk into my first chapel service and feel like I was walking into a high school basketball gym that's warming up before a game. Same style of music. Same volume. Can't hear the words to tell the difference that I'm sure was there. The band (DIFFERENT from the hip hop style played on the speakers ahead of time) was talented and sincere though, and I liked many of the songs I learned and appreciated the expressive lyrics. I think we can worship God with many kinds of music, and I was able to do so while at camp with their music. Some music just takes a little more concentration to focus on the One you're worshiping.
One thing I can't neglect to mention: Mountain Climbing Day! On both Wednesdays of each week, hiking is a mandatory activity after the morning gathering. If you're lazy you can go in the Leisurely group and not go up the mountain, but everyone is hiking whether they like it or not. Unless they're medically unfit. Or dead.
So we divided ourselves up into four groups: Extreme (where experienced hikers take a longer trail and half run up the mountain), Adventurous (steady/quick, few breaks), Diligent (steadier, more numerous and longer breaks), and Leisurely. I went with the Diligent group the first week and helped encourage people up the mountain, and the second week I went with the Adventurous group and mostly concentrated on getting up the mountain (1 hour 25 minutes, I believe, but that may have included walking to the park from the camp). Getting to know people a little along the way was entertaining too, and the camaraderie we built as fellow sufferers--er, hikers, was great. I even found out that the boy hiking alongside me was from my town! That was very exciting, especially since he was the only one I ever met, AND he lives only a couple miles down the road from where I live.
I also had a lot of fun showing people my house from the top. The second week was especially cool because I texted my family that I was looking at our house and my dad started flashing a mirror. Suddenly a bunch of kids were all commenting on the blinking house and I was able to tell them excitedly that it was my house and that my daddy loves me. Everyone acknowledged the wicked coolness of it all.
Coming down the mountain, in an effort as a counselor not to leave campers alone, I managed to end up with some of the stragglers of our smaller group. The first week it was two boys, one who talked almost the whole way largely of cartoons he'd seen, and another boy who whined more than any fourteen or fifteen year old I've heard in my life. The second week it was a girl who fell and thought she had sprained her toe. I didn't have anything with me to help her, but I offered to pray for her and when I asked her the next day how she was she told me her toe was fine! Perhaps her toe wasn't really injured, but I'd rather give God more credit rather than less.
Oh right, can't neglect a brief mention of the Bible Church! The second week a group came up from CT in a huge Peter Pan bus, bringing about fifty kids! Ay ay ay, we don't have a lot more than that in our entire church! Anyway, the group as a whole was loud yet lovable (some of them were African Americans), and I really enjoyed getting to know the leaders/counselors who came up with them, all of whom practically opened up their arms to me and everybody else. If the whole group had a quirk, it was their fanaticism for their church. They had a whole yelling rally cry that they frequently employed that went something like this:
Leader (rhythmic, singsong): I say "Bible," you say "Church!" "Bible!"
Everyone: "Church!"
"Bible!"
"Church!"
I came home and told Craig about it and we tried saying it with our church name.
Craig: I say "Fairwood" you say "Bible Chapel." "Fairwood!"
Me: "Bible Chapel."
"Fairwood!"
"Bible Chapel!"
It really doesn't have the same ring. :)
As I wind down my lengthy report (you may have stopped reading this long ago), I'll share a few special moments I had throughout my two long adventurous weeks. Two or three of them were one-on-one times with God where I had to cry to Him for help and strength. One of them was when I saw one of the "cool guys" outside on the porch reading his Bible an hour before breakfast. How exciting is that? Another time was when I sat on my bed on a Sabbath eve listening to 100 + young people singing Amazing Grace into the 11:30 darkness outside my window. We had been sent singing from our final meeting shortly after eleven. I went inside because I was cold, but most of the young people didn't want to leave the cross that stood outside the doorway, and they just stood and sang common worship songs on into the night for another thirty or forty minutes. It was awe-inspiring to hear.
So finally, last Saturday I climbed back into my boat. In other words, I came home. While out of my little ship I learned a lot about trusting God, about letting God be God, and about letting Him be the one who gets the attention. I was blessed by messages I heard and by hearts I saw touched. My prayer list has lengthened as I've seen many needy young people and have heard their stories. I met many Christians who are passionate about God like I am if not more so, and I think I gained some friends while I was at it.
It's never a waste to walk on water.
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