At camp a few weeks ago our whole group learned the armor of God verses from Ephesians 6. As a counselor, I was working with the junior high girls to learn and understand their verses. (Praise for teamwork; other people were on the job, too, including the 'Bible hour' teacher and some of the other staff and counselors.) The language of the Bible is sometimes more grammatically complex than everyday usage, so breaking the verses down phrase by phrase and discussing the meaning can help the kids keep the verses in their heads and hearts, as well as legitimizing their inflection. So I was helping one of the girls with verse 17: "And take the helmet of salvation, and the sword of the Spirit, which is the word of God:" and started explaining the sword of the spirit part. I don't even remember what I told her, but I know that since that day I have been trying to figure out what it means.
A few questions:
How significant is the comma after "salvation"? Since "take" is not repeated, are we to equate the term "helmet of salvation" with the term "sword of the spirit"? Or is there any way to "take" one without the other?
Does the sword belong to the spirit, depend on the spirit, or consist of the spirit? Cross references usually lead to Hebrews 4:12, whose subject is also the word of God, which seems to cut things, including soul from spirit. But the Greek for "word" is different in Ephesians from Hebrews.
Back from camp, catching up with a friend, she reported that her small group is going through Ephesians, and that one of the teachers was excited to get to the armor of God and the sword Jesus uses to kill the wicked. (See Revelation 19:15, 21) Is that the image here? Earlier in Revelation the sword seemed to be more of a tool for discipline, discerning the spirits of the churches. The Revelation sword proceeds from the mouth of Jesus.
Is spirit supposed to be capitalized? Are we talking about the Holy Spirit, my spirit, or things spiritual? Or should the sword be used against the spirit?
When Paul says, "which is the word of God," is the antecedent the sword or the spirit?
I looked up the Greek for this verse. My use for Greek extends to definitions, but I'm helpless when I come to grammar and tenses. But I did notice that the Greek for "word" is an utterance, not something written (in the Greek, rhema). Usually I hear teachers explaining the sword of the spirit and (ignoring that little phrase, 'of the spirit') holding a Bible above their heads telling their students that they have to know the word of God, and to study it, to use it like Jesus did when he was tempted in the wilderness. Except the next thing teachers say is that the sword is the offensive weapon in the armor list (some add prayer, from verse 18). I don't see how resisting temptation is an offensive act in the spiritual war we're fighting.
So what is "word of God"? Are we talking about words God has spoken, or words God is speaking? Ephesians 6:19 includes Paul's prayer request that words (different Greek than verse 17: here it is logos) be given him. Given him? By whom? Whose words are they if they were given? What did Paul want to do with words? This is one of the first times in this whole article where the biblical context answers the question, because Paul says he wants to use the words to preach the gospel boldly (which seems rather offensive).
Finally, verse 18, about prayer, rather than being a new sentence, is presented as a continuation of the thought in verse 17. But what does prayer have to do with the "word of God" or "sword of the spirit"?
How exactly ought we to apply this verse, then?
To God be all glory.
Showing posts with label camp. Show all posts
Showing posts with label camp. Show all posts
Wednesday, August 05, 2009
Wednesday, July 23, 2008
S'mores
One practical thing I learned at Camp is how to make s'mores without a fire. Since I got home I've tried it twice, mastered the recipe, and decided to share it with you.
- Preheat oven to 350 degrees Farenheit.
- Tear off strips of aluminum foil about twice as wide as a graham cracker square.
- Put two graham cracker squares side by side on each strip.
- Add enough milk chocolate (Hershey's bars) to mostly cover one graham cracker square.
- Put a large marshmallow on top of the chocolate.
- Finish the sandwich by placing the other graham cracker square on top of the marshmallow.
- Fold over the foil and roll the edges together so the s'more is completely enclosed.
- Place a bunch on a cookie sheet and bake for 8-10 minutes, until marshmallow is soft enough to squish.
- Remove from oven and off of pan. Open to cool for a few minutes before eating.
- Enjoy.
To God be all glory.
Friday, July 18, 2008
Ultimate Octopus
There is a game which I have never played, but for which I am an excellent cheerleader with approximately two games’ experience. Often I get it confused with Frisbee Golf, which is considerably more difficult. It is called Ultimate Frisbee. Those who practice this game have some nice moves and are excellent athletes. Amateurs can apparently have fun. Rules are not difficult to learn. By the end of the first game I watched, I had grasped the majority.
The object (about now you’re wondering what this has to do with an octopus, but let me tell this in my own good time) of the game is to throw the Frisbee across your goal to a teammate who must catch it behind the goal. In fact catching is pretty important in this game. If you drop the Frisbee, the other team receives possession. In sports this is called a turn over. (If my audience was less male, it would be impressed.) If the other team catches a Frisbee, this interception is also a turn over.
When you have the Frisbee, your feet cannot move. You must throw it. The idea is to transfer the Frisbee to one of your teammates, but there is no additional penalty if you fail, beyond a turnover. Defense is to discourage the player with the Frisbee from throwing it to the player nearest you. If they do, make the player fail in his attempt to catch it, or catch it yourself. Remember this.
In Awana there are three or four teams playing the standard games. Teams are laid out on a square or triangle surrounding a circle. As a Game Director for Awana last year, I appreciate the hilarious fun of turning a two-team game into one for three or four teams. Such was also the adventure the Game Directors at Camp undertook with their version of Ultimate Frisbee. At Camp there are three teams (unless Purple wants to play, but they are usually busy photographing, making rules, and tending sprains and scrapes). So the wonderful invention was a triangular field for Ultimate Frisbee, in which each team’s goal was one cut-off corner of the triangle. In case of a dropped “Frisbee,” possession advanced to the next team in a cycle of three, which got a little confusing and I’m not sure – perhaps dishonest. It was definitely a possibility.
As amazing an innovation as turning this simple game into a three-sided carnival was compounded by the substitution of a real dead Octopus for a Frisbee. Let’s review rules. No kicking. No batting. No one person moving the object down the field in their hands. Generally a Frisbee glides gracefully through the air over heads to the next player, occasionally sent off course by a gentle breeze. With an Octopus, its rather different. It is hurled from one player to another, draping tentacles and slimy arms over heads, and covering the face and shoulders of any player unfortunate enough to catch the beast.
I was a junior high counselor at camp. A girl counselor for girl campers. In general girls don’t like dead things, or slimy, or fishy, or smelly. For example, several girls upon finding an Octopus in their hands stood there, staring at the blob, and screaming. They did not throw the mess into the air like a hot potato, or drop it on the ground and run. I think there is a poison in Octopus that takes away rational escape instinct. There was one of my girls who, while she may feel that way, had no trouble setting aside her doubts and attempting to win the game. One of my girls was more hesitant. And the third of my girls did not want to touch the Octopus. A responsibility of being a counselor is to encourage campers to participate in games. Apparently the tactic employed by my male co-counselors was to excel at the game and occasionally allow campers to participate. Don’t get me wrong. To a certain extent this is highly effective. Once proven that Octopus guts do not kill you if you touch them, campers are bolder to try. I had a different gift in encouraging kids to participate. It involved corralling, coaching, and taking them literally by the hand with the reassuring comment, “I don’t want to touch it either. We won’t have to. We’ll play defense.”
Here’s what you do. It is sort of like meeting an angry grizzly bear in a forest. You stand up tall and make yourself as big as possible by waving your arms. In this way you intercept sight lines between team players and you give the impression that whoever is behind you is off limits. An important thing to remember is position. You want to be between the possessor of the *deep breath* Octopus and their teammates or goal. You cannot stand far from the goal. One danger in playing defense is that if the possessor of the Octopus happens to, in spite of all your deterrence, throw the Octopus your way, you might get hit. You might have to move. I recommend moving.
So the game was going great and I had dragged my more reluctant clubbers into a defensive position when the Game Directors changed the rules. Girls got to sit out for a while. Watching, I had to observe that the campers had the hang of the game, and most of them were reluctantly becoming willing to handle the Octopus. But counselors, who in most cases were ten times faster and ten inches taller than campers, were monopolizing the game. Interrupting his enthusiastic refereeing of the game, I pointed this out to a Game Director. At which point the game changed and I rescued myself from further participation. See how smart I am?
By the time only girls were participating in this unique game, all but two or three of those in my charge were eagerly chasing and tossing the Octopus. Still my defensive buddy seemed to have forgotten the importance of position. She wandered in the middle of the field, distant from the action. There’s something to be said for staying far away from the horrible stench of dead Octopus. When you are out of the crowd, though, you are much more vulnerable to detection. In a few years she’ll learn to blend in a little. This year, the Game Director caught her. He had located a wayward bit of Octopus limb, and stuffed it into her hand. Again, the paralyzing of escape instincts took over, and she merely stared at the mushy tissue in her hand. Then she threw it down and ran towards the game, all fear surrendered.
And so my job was accomplished with help from the Game Director, with whom I was prepared to be quite indignant if there were bad results from his tortuous methods. He is a devious man, who will not disappoint in driving you to desperate things. His next move was to call for “only counselors” to play the horrific game, Ultimate Octopus.
You have to understand. There were only four on each team, and the field was huge. We were playing against fast people, real athletes, aggressive people. And I can usually catch, but I can’t throw. Not when surrounded by people. Not some soft, stringy object. But mere defense was no longer an option. Fortunately I’d already mastered a plan for defense when the other team had the Octopus. (Actually to be quite honest, another team, Green, swelled their ranks with high school counselors who were supposed to be elsewhere, and so in the counselor score, Red looked rather bad.) When we had possession, though, we had to score. I postured for the Octopus, trying to communicate that I was open and hesitantly willing. I’m sure my body language was like raising your hand but with a mostly bent elbow, so that if the teacher doesn’t really want to think you have something to say, she doesn’t have to call on you. Then it happened.
My teammates (I did not pay sufficient attention to which teammate that I could futurely attack him/her) threw me the Octopus. And I touched it. I caught it. And I threw it to another teammate, who didn’t catch it because actually I threw it in the direction of all sorts of counselors and caused a turnover in their favor. To be quite honest, at this stage the Octopus had been dropped enough that the only substance actually touching my skin was dirt. But I was brave, and so unsuccessful in my possession that I rid myself of the need to ever touch it again.
The end.
To God be all glory.
The object (about now you’re wondering what this has to do with an octopus, but let me tell this in my own good time) of the game is to throw the Frisbee across your goal to a teammate who must catch it behind the goal. In fact catching is pretty important in this game. If you drop the Frisbee, the other team receives possession. In sports this is called a turn over. (If my audience was less male, it would be impressed.) If the other team catches a Frisbee, this interception is also a turn over.
When you have the Frisbee, your feet cannot move. You must throw it. The idea is to transfer the Frisbee to one of your teammates, but there is no additional penalty if you fail, beyond a turnover. Defense is to discourage the player with the Frisbee from throwing it to the player nearest you. If they do, make the player fail in his attempt to catch it, or catch it yourself. Remember this.
In Awana there are three or four teams playing the standard games. Teams are laid out on a square or triangle surrounding a circle. As a Game Director for Awana last year, I appreciate the hilarious fun of turning a two-team game into one for three or four teams. Such was also the adventure the Game Directors at Camp undertook with their version of Ultimate Frisbee. At Camp there are three teams (unless Purple wants to play, but they are usually busy photographing, making rules, and tending sprains and scrapes). So the wonderful invention was a triangular field for Ultimate Frisbee, in which each team’s goal was one cut-off corner of the triangle. In case of a dropped “Frisbee,” possession advanced to the next team in a cycle of three, which got a little confusing and I’m not sure – perhaps dishonest. It was definitely a possibility.
As amazing an innovation as turning this simple game into a three-sided carnival was compounded by the substitution of a real dead Octopus for a Frisbee. Let’s review rules. No kicking. No batting. No one person moving the object down the field in their hands. Generally a Frisbee glides gracefully through the air over heads to the next player, occasionally sent off course by a gentle breeze. With an Octopus, its rather different. It is hurled from one player to another, draping tentacles and slimy arms over heads, and covering the face and shoulders of any player unfortunate enough to catch the beast.
I was a junior high counselor at camp. A girl counselor for girl campers. In general girls don’t like dead things, or slimy, or fishy, or smelly. For example, several girls upon finding an Octopus in their hands stood there, staring at the blob, and screaming. They did not throw the mess into the air like a hot potato, or drop it on the ground and run. I think there is a poison in Octopus that takes away rational escape instinct. There was one of my girls who, while she may feel that way, had no trouble setting aside her doubts and attempting to win the game. One of my girls was more hesitant. And the third of my girls did not want to touch the Octopus. A responsibility of being a counselor is to encourage campers to participate in games. Apparently the tactic employed by my male co-counselors was to excel at the game and occasionally allow campers to participate. Don’t get me wrong. To a certain extent this is highly effective. Once proven that Octopus guts do not kill you if you touch them, campers are bolder to try. I had a different gift in encouraging kids to participate. It involved corralling, coaching, and taking them literally by the hand with the reassuring comment, “I don’t want to touch it either. We won’t have to. We’ll play defense.”
Here’s what you do. It is sort of like meeting an angry grizzly bear in a forest. You stand up tall and make yourself as big as possible by waving your arms. In this way you intercept sight lines between team players and you give the impression that whoever is behind you is off limits. An important thing to remember is position. You want to be between the possessor of the *deep breath* Octopus and their teammates or goal. You cannot stand far from the goal. One danger in playing defense is that if the possessor of the Octopus happens to, in spite of all your deterrence, throw the Octopus your way, you might get hit. You might have to move. I recommend moving.
So the game was going great and I had dragged my more reluctant clubbers into a defensive position when the Game Directors changed the rules. Girls got to sit out for a while. Watching, I had to observe that the campers had the hang of the game, and most of them were reluctantly becoming willing to handle the Octopus. But counselors, who in most cases were ten times faster and ten inches taller than campers, were monopolizing the game. Interrupting his enthusiastic refereeing of the game, I pointed this out to a Game Director. At which point the game changed and I rescued myself from further participation. See how smart I am?
By the time only girls were participating in this unique game, all but two or three of those in my charge were eagerly chasing and tossing the Octopus. Still my defensive buddy seemed to have forgotten the importance of position. She wandered in the middle of the field, distant from the action. There’s something to be said for staying far away from the horrible stench of dead Octopus. When you are out of the crowd, though, you are much more vulnerable to detection. In a few years she’ll learn to blend in a little. This year, the Game Director caught her. He had located a wayward bit of Octopus limb, and stuffed it into her hand. Again, the paralyzing of escape instincts took over, and she merely stared at the mushy tissue in her hand. Then she threw it down and ran towards the game, all fear surrendered.
And so my job was accomplished with help from the Game Director, with whom I was prepared to be quite indignant if there were bad results from his tortuous methods. He is a devious man, who will not disappoint in driving you to desperate things. His next move was to call for “only counselors” to play the horrific game, Ultimate Octopus.
You have to understand. There were only four on each team, and the field was huge. We were playing against fast people, real athletes, aggressive people. And I can usually catch, but I can’t throw. Not when surrounded by people. Not some soft, stringy object. But mere defense was no longer an option. Fortunately I’d already mastered a plan for defense when the other team had the Octopus. (Actually to be quite honest, another team, Green, swelled their ranks with high school counselors who were supposed to be elsewhere, and so in the counselor score, Red looked rather bad.) When we had possession, though, we had to score. I postured for the Octopus, trying to communicate that I was open and hesitantly willing. I’m sure my body language was like raising your hand but with a mostly bent elbow, so that if the teacher doesn’t really want to think you have something to say, she doesn’t have to call on you. Then it happened.
My teammates (I did not pay sufficient attention to which teammate that I could futurely attack him/her) threw me the Octopus. And I touched it. I caught it. And I threw it to another teammate, who didn’t catch it because actually I threw it in the direction of all sorts of counselors and caused a turnover in their favor. To be quite honest, at this stage the Octopus had been dropped enough that the only substance actually touching my skin was dirt. But I was brave, and so unsuccessful in my possession that I rid myself of the need to ever touch it again.
The end.
To God be all glory.
Eclectic:
camp
Wednesday, July 09, 2008
Change
One of my friends said that at camp she learned "change isn't bad."
I'm a completely different person since camp.
I had friends praying that I would be more outgoing and enthusiastic at camp. God answered abundantly, and I could only sit back and marvel.
But the change is going to be permanent. I'm not saying I'll be good at volleyball, or that I'll cut my hair. But my toenails are red. On a serious note I'm looking at changing all the major points of my life, so be warned. I'm talking to God a lot about it, and mostly my prayers sound like "I don't know." God knows, and He'll clue me in on time.
Sunday I played soccer with friends from church. Tuesday I got up and ran. Confession: I predicted I would make it about two minutes. That was literal, but apparently my brother didn't expect me to really only make it two minutes. So I'm going to get into shape. And I ate a granola bar for the first time ever. I also decided I like spaghetti.
One other thing different is that I'm on camp schedule, which besides including eating breakfast and lots of prayer and Bible reading, also means bed time is at 10:30, which is almost now. Good night.
To God be all glory.
I'm a completely different person since camp.
I had friends praying that I would be more outgoing and enthusiastic at camp. God answered abundantly, and I could only sit back and marvel.
But the change is going to be permanent. I'm not saying I'll be good at volleyball, or that I'll cut my hair. But my toenails are red. On a serious note I'm looking at changing all the major points of my life, so be warned. I'm talking to God a lot about it, and mostly my prayers sound like "I don't know." God knows, and He'll clue me in on time.
Sunday I played soccer with friends from church. Tuesday I got up and ran. Confession: I predicted I would make it about two minutes. That was literal, but apparently my brother didn't expect me to really only make it two minutes. So I'm going to get into shape. And I ate a granola bar for the first time ever. I also decided I like spaghetti.
One other thing different is that I'm on camp schedule, which besides including eating breakfast and lots of prayer and Bible reading, also means bed time is at 10:30, which is almost now. Good night.
To God be all glory.
Eclectic:
camp
Camp Squares, Flag Poles, and Golf Carts
I've now told this story at least five times, so maybe I can write it.
At camp there is a square around a flag pole. Before each meal we gather at the square, and each team has a line. No one enters the square without permission from the square master. This is a well-guarded tradition. At no time during camp is the square to be violated. Even during free time when no square master is present, people walk around the square.
On Wednesday night, precisely one week ago, the staff fed the counselors ice cream sundaes and got us hyper on funny stories. Then they sent us out into the black night, with the square between us and our cabins. The counselors for the boys took off in one of the staff golf carts, shortening their walk.
And the counselors for the junior high girls, six of us: two from each of the teams, joined hands and stepped toward the square. And a voice behind us startled us. "What are you doing?"
It was just a counselor, left behind by the golf cart crowd. We invited him to join us, and he did, but mostly just on an observation mission. We took a step. We took happy steps. Into the middle of the square went our six-counselor team. And in the center we made a circle and played ring around the rosies.
All fall down. "Your light is on. They'll see you. Your light is on!" The counselor escorting us silly girls observed that my lantern had indeed turned on as we fell. We were all laughing hard, and my eyes were closed, but first I turned it brighter and then got it off. And we finished the run across the square, parted with our escort, and returned to our cabin.
At which point we told stories, laughed, and formed a confidence support group. All of us had been such good campers and we were so good that few of us had ever violated the square. As penance we thought we maybe ought to return the golf cart the guys stole. Or we could return it decorated. Or...
We were blessed with a scathingly brilliant idea. We could fetch the golf cart and leave it in the square for the following morning.
After some deliberation about whether we would be allowed to be counselors ever again, and deciding who ought to drive and whether we could leave our cabin, half of us stayed with the slumbering junior high girls and the other half found the golf cart. And almost drove it into the gazebo and then the flag pole, but we didn't. We parked it right inside the square and ducked under the cover of our cabins for the night.
It was the best adventure. We the support group of the ring around the rosies and golf carts definitely bonded, and all miss each other very much since we left camp on Saturday.
To God be all glory...
... so I don't even feel guilty about relocating a golf cart. In case you wanted to know.
At camp there is a square around a flag pole. Before each meal we gather at the square, and each team has a line. No one enters the square without permission from the square master. This is a well-guarded tradition. At no time during camp is the square to be violated. Even during free time when no square master is present, people walk around the square.
On Wednesday night, precisely one week ago, the staff fed the counselors ice cream sundaes and got us hyper on funny stories. Then they sent us out into the black night, with the square between us and our cabins. The counselors for the boys took off in one of the staff golf carts, shortening their walk.
And the counselors for the junior high girls, six of us: two from each of the teams, joined hands and stepped toward the square. And a voice behind us startled us. "What are you doing?"
It was just a counselor, left behind by the golf cart crowd. We invited him to join us, and he did, but mostly just on an observation mission. We took a step. We took happy steps. Into the middle of the square went our six-counselor team. And in the center we made a circle and played ring around the rosies.
All fall down. "Your light is on. They'll see you. Your light is on!" The counselor escorting us silly girls observed that my lantern had indeed turned on as we fell. We were all laughing hard, and my eyes were closed, but first I turned it brighter and then got it off. And we finished the run across the square, parted with our escort, and returned to our cabin.
At which point we told stories, laughed, and formed a confidence support group. All of us had been such good campers and we were so good that few of us had ever violated the square. As penance we thought we maybe ought to return the golf cart the guys stole. Or we could return it decorated. Or...
We were blessed with a scathingly brilliant idea. We could fetch the golf cart and leave it in the square for the following morning.
After some deliberation about whether we would be allowed to be counselors ever again, and deciding who ought to drive and whether we could leave our cabin, half of us stayed with the slumbering junior high girls and the other half found the golf cart. And almost drove it into the gazebo and then the flag pole, but we didn't. We parked it right inside the square and ducked under the cover of our cabins for the night.
It was the best adventure. We the support group of the ring around the rosies and golf carts definitely bonded, and all miss each other very much since we left camp on Saturday.
To God be all glory...
... so I don't even feel guilty about relocating a golf cart. In case you wanted to know.
Eclectic:
camp
Saturday, July 05, 2008
After Camp
I'm home from Rocky Mountain Honors Camp. God's work wasn't as smashing and poetic as last year, but I am suspecting it may have more lasting impact. So I'll write about the week later.
Meanwhile, I am dreadfully behind in my reading, and though I feel desperately the absence of my friends from camp, I think what I need more is my God. So I'm going to read the Bible and talk to Him a bit. Maybe outside. I'll turn into a camper yet.
To God be all glory.
Meanwhile, I am dreadfully behind in my reading, and though I feel desperately the absence of my friends from camp, I think what I need more is my God. So I'm going to read the Bible and talk to Him a bit. Maybe outside. I'll turn into a camper yet.
To God be all glory.
Eclectic:
camp
Saturday, June 28, 2008
Away
I will be away until July 5. Comment moderation is enabled. Any comments - you are encouraged to leave many - will appear after that.
Have a happy Independence Day in the USA.
I'll be attending Rocky Mountain Honors Camp as a counselor again. Read my series from last year here: Lady of Longbourn: Camp
To God be all glory.
Have a happy Independence Day in the USA.
I'll be attending Rocky Mountain Honors Camp as a counselor again. Read my series from last year here: Lady of Longbourn: Camp
To God be all glory.
Eclectic:
camp
Saturday, August 11, 2007
Lions, Logic, and Lepers
"Logic!" said the Professor half to himself. "Why don't they teach logic at these schools? There are only three possibilities. Either your sister is telling lies, or she is made, or she is telling the truth. You know she doesn't tell lies and it is obvious that she is not made. For the moment then and unless any further evidence turns up, we must assume that she is telling the truth." from The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe by C.S. Lewis
One of my favorite stories we studied during Bible Hour was one that I’m sure I’ve read, but never noticed. In 2 Kings 7, there is a story where the capital city of Israel was besieged by Syria. Outside the city gate lived four lepers, who were not allowed inside the city for the reason that they were “unclean” and might contaminate others with their horrible disease.
Eventually the city was in dire straits, starving for lack of access to food. That is the purpose of besieging a city. You close it up, and provisions run out.
So one day, the lepers had a council. If we stay here, they agreed, we will die of starvation. If we go into the city, where they don’t want us, and where there is still no food, we die of starvation. If we surrender to the Syrians, where they don’t want us, but they do have food, well, our chances look better over there. We won’t lose anything if they kill us.
I kept applying the sheer logic of the lepers to life at camp and afterwards. When we’re making decisions, it may do us good to consider our options. Too seldom do we consider that though one course looks good, another may be just as good or better. Though a situation looks desperate, and all courses may run ill, there may be one with hope. Captain Sparrow says the only rule you need to know is what a man can do and what a man can’t do. I think we ought to follow God’s rules and trust to divine intervention when necessary, not only to our own abilities. But it might do well to think through a situation like Captain Sparrow did (even when he appeared to be staggering about drunk or afraid or desperately greedy).
Four lepers trudged down the road to the camp of the Syrians and found it Syrian-less. The food and clothing, weapons, and riches were all still there, but no one was defending it. (This was an instance of divine intervention that the lepers had not counted on.) Samaria, the capital city of Israel, after a little convincing that the empty camp was really empty and not a trap, was saved.
To God be all glory.
One of my favorite stories we studied during Bible Hour was one that I’m sure I’ve read, but never noticed. In 2 Kings 7, there is a story where the capital city of Israel was besieged by Syria. Outside the city gate lived four lepers, who were not allowed inside the city for the reason that they were “unclean” and might contaminate others with their horrible disease.
Eventually the city was in dire straits, starving for lack of access to food. That is the purpose of besieging a city. You close it up, and provisions run out.
So one day, the lepers had a council. If we stay here, they agreed, we will die of starvation. If we go into the city, where they don’t want us, and where there is still no food, we die of starvation. If we surrender to the Syrians, where they don’t want us, but they do have food, well, our chances look better over there. We won’t lose anything if they kill us.
I kept applying the sheer logic of the lepers to life at camp and afterwards. When we’re making decisions, it may do us good to consider our options. Too seldom do we consider that though one course looks good, another may be just as good or better. Though a situation looks desperate, and all courses may run ill, there may be one with hope. Captain Sparrow says the only rule you need to know is what a man can do and what a man can’t do. I think we ought to follow God’s rules and trust to divine intervention when necessary, not only to our own abilities. But it might do well to think through a situation like Captain Sparrow did (even when he appeared to be staggering about drunk or afraid or desperately greedy).
Four lepers trudged down the road to the camp of the Syrians and found it Syrian-less. The food and clothing, weapons, and riches were all still there, but no one was defending it. (This was an instance of divine intervention that the lepers had not counted on.) Samaria, the capital city of Israel, after a little convincing that the empty camp was really empty and not a trap, was saved.
To God be all glory.
Eclectic:
Bible,
camp,
philosophy
Camp Mail
It is a camp tradition to focus most pranks on the mail system. (There was a bit of fun had with the cabin clean-up, pushing bunks against doors and crawling out the window; or emptying even the mirrors, mattresses, and shelves along with suitcases, etc. out of the room entirely.) If you got a package, or enough letters, you had to sing for it. If you got a postcard, they read it out loud. If something was written on the outside of an envelope, that got read, too. Then there was always the question of what was inside the letters and packages.
One year I sent twenty-four letters in a box to a friend whose birthday was during the week of camp, one for every hour. The same friend received seven random letters from denture ads to a page from the encyclopedia, with letters highlighted spelling Trouble, my nickname with her used for teasing and practical jokes. I sent a mysterious forged love letter. Almost everyone was consulted for speculations on authorship.
This year I limited my letters to ten, sent to various friends, family, and my cabin girls in sets of three. On the outside of some I wrote notes, like the promise not to include denture ads or pictures of girlfriends. Inside was a benign colored collage of the history of tools used for various purposes.
I myself was the recipient of a package of cookies from my mom, and a postcard written from a boy I do not know, so I am quite content of its being a prank. In it the young man, who did not know my age, confessed his secret love while describing my beauty. I don’t think I even blushed while it was read, but I was glad that I didn’t need to make a big point of my singleness to the present company. Later I discovered that my little sister thought I was the age recorded on the postcard. I find that suspicious.
Other jokes were to send rocks, balloons, a lot of fake mushy postcards sealed with a lipstick kiss and perfumed, and maybe even a few (stolen earlier in the week) hats. One of the counselors even sent her husband a postcard, which I believe mentioned packing a teddy-bear. As postcards were read at meal time, the recipients either feigned ignorance (that looking better than appearing to have expected a love letter), suffered blushingly under the stares of the entire room, or in a few cases, leapt for the letter and tackled the camp staff who was reading the post.
The guilty senders ranged from blatantly admitting the joke to hinting that they sent the letters (as I was unwilling to engage in guessing) to complete anonymity and poker-faces. All this dissolved as soon as we were safe in the girls’ lodge, where comparing of notes and laughter over puzzled, red faces of friends exploded.
Good mail was received, as well. The cookies were good. I got notes from home. And a friend worked hard to make me a postcard so I wouldn’t feel left out among the younger friends at camp.
To God be all glory.
One year I sent twenty-four letters in a box to a friend whose birthday was during the week of camp, one for every hour. The same friend received seven random letters from denture ads to a page from the encyclopedia, with letters highlighted spelling Trouble, my nickname with her used for teasing and practical jokes. I sent a mysterious forged love letter. Almost everyone was consulted for speculations on authorship.
This year I limited my letters to ten, sent to various friends, family, and my cabin girls in sets of three. On the outside of some I wrote notes, like the promise not to include denture ads or pictures of girlfriends. Inside was a benign colored collage of the history of tools used for various purposes.
I myself was the recipient of a package of cookies from my mom, and a postcard written from a boy I do not know, so I am quite content of its being a prank. In it the young man, who did not know my age, confessed his secret love while describing my beauty. I don’t think I even blushed while it was read, but I was glad that I didn’t need to make a big point of my singleness to the present company. Later I discovered that my little sister thought I was the age recorded on the postcard. I find that suspicious.
Other jokes were to send rocks, balloons, a lot of fake mushy postcards sealed with a lipstick kiss and perfumed, and maybe even a few (stolen earlier in the week) hats. One of the counselors even sent her husband a postcard, which I believe mentioned packing a teddy-bear. As postcards were read at meal time, the recipients either feigned ignorance (that looking better than appearing to have expected a love letter), suffered blushingly under the stares of the entire room, or in a few cases, leapt for the letter and tackled the camp staff who was reading the post.
The guilty senders ranged from blatantly admitting the joke to hinting that they sent the letters (as I was unwilling to engage in guessing) to complete anonymity and poker-faces. All this dissolved as soon as we were safe in the girls’ lodge, where comparing of notes and laughter over puzzled, red faces of friends exploded.
Good mail was received, as well. The cookies were good. I got notes from home. And a friend worked hard to make me a postcard so I wouldn’t feel left out among the younger friends at camp.
To God be all glory.
"Overall" Impressions
One of the biggest struggles I had the first few days of camp was that I kept worrying what people thought of me. Parents dropping off kids, other camp staff, the kids themselves… my imagination gave all of them sinister doubts about my competence, my enthusiasm, my age, my beauty. It was all silly. And life is not about me. I always forget.
A relief to me during camp was that I had a Sunday school class full of women at home praying for my heart to be content and not worried about boys. Camp has historically been a great place of freedom and delivery in that respect, but I was concerned a little, and my friends at home knew. Prayer matters. It really helped. So I was glad there were no guys there whom I “needed” to impress. Sounds silly. Is silly.
Don’t take this as making excuses, but in any case I don’t really want to be trying to impress someone. I don’t want to care about anyone’s impression of me except for God’s. If something had been “meant” to happen as a result of camp, I still needed to be focused on pleasing God.
1 Peter 3:3-4 - "Do not let your adorning be external—the braiding of hair and the putting on of gold jewelry, or the clothing you wear— 4 but let your adorning be the hidden person of the heart with the imperishable beauty of a gentle and quiet spirit, which in God's sight is very precious."
There was a theme banquet the last night of camp, and the theme was Tool Time. I tried to think of something in my wardrobe that looked like Patricia Richardson from Home Improvement, but I really don’t like her style. It is so nineties-mom-tries-to-look-fashionable. So I brought overalls. I had a skirt, too, but I wanted to be a good sport. I also lost track of time and had not time to change, but did anyway. I had intended to find out what my girls were wearing. I remembered at the last second that I had agreed to do something just before the banquet that required me not to be in a skirt, so that was that. I was stuck.
Here’s the funny part: I got a lot of compliments on my theme-outfit. So I was getting attention, and it was positive. But I was so embarrassed, trying to act like a woman ought to act at a banquet, with good, elegant manners. Mixed with overalls and rolled flannel sleeves, that just looks ridiculous. I kept feeling the need to curtsey and remembering.
By the end of the night, the last thing about which I was thinking was my clothes. There were too many people to consider. And I wasn’t thinking about what others thought of me, either. There were much more important things on which to consider.
I wore a skirt the last morning.
To God be all glory.
A relief to me during camp was that I had a Sunday school class full of women at home praying for my heart to be content and not worried about boys. Camp has historically been a great place of freedom and delivery in that respect, but I was concerned a little, and my friends at home knew. Prayer matters. It really helped. So I was glad there were no guys there whom I “needed” to impress. Sounds silly. Is silly.
Don’t take this as making excuses, but in any case I don’t really want to be trying to impress someone. I don’t want to care about anyone’s impression of me except for God’s. If something had been “meant” to happen as a result of camp, I still needed to be focused on pleasing God.
1 Peter 3:3-4 - "Do not let your adorning be external—the braiding of hair and the putting on of gold jewelry, or the clothing you wear— 4 but let your adorning be the hidden person of the heart with the imperishable beauty of a gentle and quiet spirit, which in God's sight is very precious."
There was a theme banquet the last night of camp, and the theme was Tool Time. I tried to think of something in my wardrobe that looked like Patricia Richardson from Home Improvement, but I really don’t like her style. It is so nineties-mom-tries-to-look-fashionable. So I brought overalls. I had a skirt, too, but I wanted to be a good sport. I also lost track of time and had not time to change, but did anyway. I had intended to find out what my girls were wearing. I remembered at the last second that I had agreed to do something just before the banquet that required me not to be in a skirt, so that was that. I was stuck.
Here’s the funny part: I got a lot of compliments on my theme-outfit. So I was getting attention, and it was positive. But I was so embarrassed, trying to act like a woman ought to act at a banquet, with good, elegant manners. Mixed with overalls and rolled flannel sleeves, that just looks ridiculous. I kept feeling the need to curtsey and remembering.
By the end of the night, the last thing about which I was thinking was my clothes. There were too many people to consider. And I wasn’t thinking about what others thought of me, either. There were much more important things on which to consider.
I wore a skirt the last morning.
To God be all glory.
Eclectic:
camp,
life,
philosophy
Nine Girls, Five Directions, One Big God
There were 9 girls in my narrow cabin. We ranged in age from 14 to 22. The churches represented numbered at least 5. By the end of the week two of them had been at the emergency room and one had had an asthma attack. In fact, let me tell you about the last night.
At each activity, counselors were responsible to count, ensuring that all of their cabin was present. If they weren’t, of course, they had to be found. Something might be wrong. Right after chapel, I noticed on of my girls was missing. We discovered she and one of her close friends were counseling with the other girl’s counselor. I rejoiced that God was taking care of my girls, even if it wasn’t through me. All week I kept reminding myself, “It’s not about you.”
Then one of my girls, who sprained her ankle the second day, was needing to follow doctor’s orders, but I didn’t know what the orders were, and she didn’t like the doctor’s orders (see Authority). So that was stressful. I kept trying to figure out how God was going to use her sprained ankle to make the week about Him. As far as I could see, the only thing anyone talked to her about was her ankle.
Another girl had dislocated her shoulder during a game the day before, so she had her arm in a sling and was icing it, but it was still swollen.
In the middle of the last activity of the evening my girl with asthma had an attack, which I might add, I have never witnessed before. Another girl from our cabin, who was sitting next to her, looked up at me when I came to see why the girl with asthma was crying. “I think she needs the nurse,” the healthy girl said. Thank you very much. Um, then call a nurse! Fortunately the nurse was present, and knew she was needed before I had to find her, so she and I and the girl left for the infirmary, where after a breathing treatment, she was doing much better. Her older sister (also in my cabin) joined us early on.
Leaving the infirmary, I caught up with the girl who had been with the other counselor earlier, and we chatted for a while as we walked to our cabin. She said she had a headache and needed a pain reliever from the nurse. With the help of camp leadership, we persuaded her to drink water and get some sleep.
I was half ready for bed when a friend of the girl with the shoulder injury informed me that my injured charge was at the nurse, and would be going to the ER. They would probably want to see me, she said. So I pulled on a sweater, pushed my feet back into my shoes (we wore shoes all day, and I was really tired of them), and prepared to revisit the nurse, wondering what would happen to my cabin. No worries. Wherever I needed to be, there I would be.
I didn’t have to go back to the nurse. An emissary told me what was going on and that they didn’t need to see me.
My brothers and I love magnets. The idea of levitation using magnets fascinated us at one point to where we spent hours trying to get a staple to float between two magnets. If we could get the staple exactly to the point where the forces were equal from both directions, in theory the staple would go no where. We came close to accomplishing our goal. In life, however, I’ve experienced the fate of the staple many times. That night at camp was one. I was pulled in five directions, and just stood in a room, turning in circles, trying to decide where I should go. Finally I got a hug from one of the camp leaders, took a deep breath, and went out and on, looking for my next assignment.
The awesome thing about that night is that even though I was overwhelmed, even though for a large portion of the evening I was with two of my girls and the nurse, unable to know what else was going on, I knew that God, my ONE, big God, was able to (and actually did, as well) take care of each of us. He had other counselors, leadership, friends, sisters, and nurses ready to fill in not the blanks of my ability, but the perfectly fitted puzzle of His plan.
Ephesians 4:16 - "From whom the whole body, joined and held together by every joint with which it is equipped, when each part is working properly, makes the body grow so that it builds itself up in love."
To God be all glory.
At each activity, counselors were responsible to count, ensuring that all of their cabin was present. If they weren’t, of course, they had to be found. Something might be wrong. Right after chapel, I noticed on of my girls was missing. We discovered she and one of her close friends were counseling with the other girl’s counselor. I rejoiced that God was taking care of my girls, even if it wasn’t through me. All week I kept reminding myself, “It’s not about you.”
Then one of my girls, who sprained her ankle the second day, was needing to follow doctor’s orders, but I didn’t know what the orders were, and she didn’t like the doctor’s orders (see Authority). So that was stressful. I kept trying to figure out how God was going to use her sprained ankle to make the week about Him. As far as I could see, the only thing anyone talked to her about was her ankle.
Another girl had dislocated her shoulder during a game the day before, so she had her arm in a sling and was icing it, but it was still swollen.
In the middle of the last activity of the evening my girl with asthma had an attack, which I might add, I have never witnessed before. Another girl from our cabin, who was sitting next to her, looked up at me when I came to see why the girl with asthma was crying. “I think she needs the nurse,” the healthy girl said. Thank you very much. Um, then call a nurse! Fortunately the nurse was present, and knew she was needed before I had to find her, so she and I and the girl left for the infirmary, where after a breathing treatment, she was doing much better. Her older sister (also in my cabin) joined us early on.
Leaving the infirmary, I caught up with the girl who had been with the other counselor earlier, and we chatted for a while as we walked to our cabin. She said she had a headache and needed a pain reliever from the nurse. With the help of camp leadership, we persuaded her to drink water and get some sleep.
I was half ready for bed when a friend of the girl with the shoulder injury informed me that my injured charge was at the nurse, and would be going to the ER. They would probably want to see me, she said. So I pulled on a sweater, pushed my feet back into my shoes (we wore shoes all day, and I was really tired of them), and prepared to revisit the nurse, wondering what would happen to my cabin. No worries. Wherever I needed to be, there I would be.
I didn’t have to go back to the nurse. An emissary told me what was going on and that they didn’t need to see me.
My brothers and I love magnets. The idea of levitation using magnets fascinated us at one point to where we spent hours trying to get a staple to float between two magnets. If we could get the staple exactly to the point where the forces were equal from both directions, in theory the staple would go no where. We came close to accomplishing our goal. In life, however, I’ve experienced the fate of the staple many times. That night at camp was one. I was pulled in five directions, and just stood in a room, turning in circles, trying to decide where I should go. Finally I got a hug from one of the camp leaders, took a deep breath, and went out and on, looking for my next assignment.
The awesome thing about that night is that even though I was overwhelmed, even though for a large portion of the evening I was with two of my girls and the nurse, unable to know what else was going on, I knew that God, my ONE, big God, was able to (and actually did, as well) take care of each of us. He had other counselors, leadership, friends, sisters, and nurses ready to fill in not the blanks of my ability, but the perfectly fitted puzzle of His plan.
Ephesians 4:16 - "From whom the whole body, joined and held together by every joint with which it is equipped, when each part is working properly, makes the body grow so that it builds itself up in love."
To God be all glory.
It's Who You Are
Each camper filled out a questionnaire including checking off from a list of questions which they would most like to have discussed. Top results were how to be a better witness, how to deepen my relationship with God, and how to know God’s will for my life.
The last question stuck most in my head, and I was trying to figure out how I would answer it. I have chosen a non-conformist life by not going to college, moving out, or pursuing a career. My life goal is to fulfill Romans 12:2, as I’ve written before. And my dream is to be a wife and a mom. Whenever parents, therefore, entrust me with their kids, I get all unconfident about actually telling the kids what my choices have been lest their parents disapprove. (Most parents want their kids going to college.)
So the approach I took was definitely more how I made my decisions, and to direct them to the spiritual side. Ultimately my choices are justified by the command to trust God, and the call to do it radically. In provision for me and my family, and in waiting for a husband, as well as direction in all the ministries and ventures each day, its been a matter of submitting my anxieties and control-issues and demands to God.
Psalm 37:4-5 is precious to me: "Delight yourself in the Lord,and he will give you the desires of your heart. Commit your way to the Lord; trust in him, and he will act."
along with Psalm 32:8 and Isaiah 40:31.
Recently the part of the Sermon on the Mount where Jesus commands us not to worry, because our Heavenly Father knows that we need all these things, has been important to me.
Faith needs to be radical, all-out, nothing withheld.
The truth is that God didn’t leave us hanging without concrete instructions on His will for our lives. We just don’t like the advice we’re given.
"Christianity has not so much been tried and found wanting, as it has been found difficult and left untried." -- G.K. Chesterton
God tells us who we need to be, not always what to do. But that who we are determines what we do, when submitted to the parameters of God’s word. I find Romans 12 always helpful when I despair of knowing God’s will.
Romans 12:9-21 - 'Let love be genuine. Abhor what is evil; hold fast to what is good. Love one another with brotherly affection. Outdo one another in showing honor. Do not be slothful in zeal, be fervent in spirit, serve the Lord. Rejoice in hope, be patient in tribulation, be constant in prayer. Contribute to the needs of the saints and seek to show hospitality. Bless those who persecute you; bless and do not curse them. Rejoice with those who rejoice, weep with those who weep. Live in harmony with one another. Do not be haughty, but associate with the lowly. Never be wise in your own sight. Repay no one evil for evil, but give thought to do what is honorable in the sight of all. If possible, so far as it depends on you, live peaceably with all. Beloved, never avenge yourselves, but leave it to the wrath of God, for it is written, “Vengeance is mine, I will repay, says the Lord.” To the contrary, “if your enemy is hungry, feed him; if he is thirsty, give him something to drink; for by so doing you will heap burning coals on his head.” Do not be overcome by evil, but overcome evil with good.'
To God be all glory.
The last question stuck most in my head, and I was trying to figure out how I would answer it. I have chosen a non-conformist life by not going to college, moving out, or pursuing a career. My life goal is to fulfill Romans 12:2, as I’ve written before. And my dream is to be a wife and a mom. Whenever parents, therefore, entrust me with their kids, I get all unconfident about actually telling the kids what my choices have been lest their parents disapprove. (Most parents want their kids going to college.)
So the approach I took was definitely more how I made my decisions, and to direct them to the spiritual side. Ultimately my choices are justified by the command to trust God, and the call to do it radically. In provision for me and my family, and in waiting for a husband, as well as direction in all the ministries and ventures each day, its been a matter of submitting my anxieties and control-issues and demands to God.
Psalm 37:4-5 is precious to me: "Delight yourself in the Lord,and he will give you the desires of your heart. Commit your way to the Lord; trust in him, and he will act."
along with Psalm 32:8 and Isaiah 40:31.
Recently the part of the Sermon on the Mount where Jesus commands us not to worry, because our Heavenly Father knows that we need all these things, has been important to me.
Faith needs to be radical, all-out, nothing withheld.
The truth is that God didn’t leave us hanging without concrete instructions on His will for our lives. We just don’t like the advice we’re given.
"Christianity has not so much been tried and found wanting, as it has been found difficult and left untried." -- G.K. Chesterton
God tells us who we need to be, not always what to do. But that who we are determines what we do, when submitted to the parameters of God’s word. I find Romans 12 always helpful when I despair of knowing God’s will.
Romans 12:9-21 - 'Let love be genuine. Abhor what is evil; hold fast to what is good. Love one another with brotherly affection. Outdo one another in showing honor. Do not be slothful in zeal, be fervent in spirit, serve the Lord. Rejoice in hope, be patient in tribulation, be constant in prayer. Contribute to the needs of the saints and seek to show hospitality. Bless those who persecute you; bless and do not curse them. Rejoice with those who rejoice, weep with those who weep. Live in harmony with one another. Do not be haughty, but associate with the lowly. Never be wise in your own sight. Repay no one evil for evil, but give thought to do what is honorable in the sight of all. If possible, so far as it depends on you, live peaceably with all. Beloved, never avenge yourselves, but leave it to the wrath of God, for it is written, “Vengeance is mine, I will repay, says the Lord.” To the contrary, “if your enemy is hungry, feed him; if he is thirsty, give him something to drink; for by so doing you will heap burning coals on his head.” Do not be overcome by evil, but overcome evil with good.'
To God be all glory.
Eclectic:
camp,
philosophy,
theology
Clouds and Rain
Up in Estes Park where the camp was, the scenery and weather was so beautiful. There was a thunderstorm/downpour almost every day that turned the paths into rivers and the volleyball courts into ponds. One day we had hail right after lunch that still hadn’t melted by 10 that night. My favorite part was watching the clouds descend over the tops of the mountains into our bowl-like valley from all sides right before it rained. I wrote about one afternoon like that while I was there:
Thunder echoed between the mountains just as we stepped out of the chapel. Already a gentle rain was falling. We ran for our cabins and watched the grey ceiling settle lower over our camp valley. From the porch we could see shreds of cloud pouring over the peaks on all sides. Slowly the cold fingers of the sky enclosed ranks of evergreens standing bold and tall like an army meeting an oncoming foe.
We went into the dim, quiet cabin, embraced by our pillows. Vision fluttered in and out of comprehension, whispered names vibrating us awake with their resonance. The half hour was passed with rest while outside the world was rinsed with an afternoon rain, renewed for more hours’ busy trampling.
To God be all glory.
Thunder echoed between the mountains just as we stepped out of the chapel. Already a gentle rain was falling. We ran for our cabins and watched the grey ceiling settle lower over our camp valley. From the porch we could see shreds of cloud pouring over the peaks on all sides. Slowly the cold fingers of the sky enclosed ranks of evergreens standing bold and tall like an army meeting an oncoming foe.
We went into the dim, quiet cabin, embraced by our pillows. Vision fluttered in and out of comprehension, whispered names vibrating us awake with their resonance. The half hour was passed with rest while outside the world was rinsed with an afternoon rain, renewed for more hours’ busy trampling.
To God be all glory.
Wearing a Hug
On the last day or two everyone is running around with a t-shirt and at least one Sharpee. People figure out odd ways to use trees, hands, backs, knees, posts, etc. as tables against which to write. The reason is: we all want a wearable hug, an autograph-shirt of memories from people at camp. Some things written can get silly. My brother can sign his name backwards and forwards. Another kid can do the same, except inverted or up-side-down (backwards every way imaginable).
I usually sign a verse that has been on my mind during the event. This year it was Romans 6:13, accompanied by an admonition to Yield Yourself and Trust God.
So many people signed my shirt, that I definitely have a keepsake there. On the last day you’ve built friendships, and you get a chance to, by reading your shirt on the way home, find out what people thought of you. I know it sounds a little self-centered, but when you’re thinking that maybe you didn’t connect enough with people, or were a bit too timid, or just not energetic enough to be considered cool at camp, it is reassuring.
So I’d like to thank everyone who signed my shirt – ever, because whenever I feel like I’m alone in the world, I have proof that I’m not.
To God be all glory.
I usually sign a verse that has been on my mind during the event. This year it was Romans 6:13, accompanied by an admonition to Yield Yourself and Trust God.
So many people signed my shirt, that I definitely have a keepsake there. On the last day you’ve built friendships, and you get a chance to, by reading your shirt on the way home, find out what people thought of you. I know it sounds a little self-centered, but when you’re thinking that maybe you didn’t connect enough with people, or were a bit too timid, or just not energetic enough to be considered cool at camp, it is reassuring.
So I’d like to thank everyone who signed my shirt – ever, because whenever I feel like I’m alone in the world, I have proof that I’m not.
To God be all glory.
Identity
One of the testimonies a high school camper gave the last night was about identity. He’d entered high school expecting to be known as the guy who plays football. But he didn’t get to play. So he switched to being the chem. kid, “chemistry whiz.” But he barely passed chemistry. And finally it was back to football. Only he got injured.
Finally, he said, he figured out that God didn’t want him to have an ego identity. God wants us to be His servants. And God should be known through us.
When I was in junior high and high school, I did Awana Bible Quizzing. And that was sort of my identity. If you wanted to hear me talk, ask with interest about quiz, and off I’d go. My fellow quizzers could talk over the same competitions for hours, time and time again. The days on which we competed were some of the best – and most vividly remembered – of my life.
It all started because all my friends were quizzing. So I joined the team, practiced, and our team screamed with excitement because we won. We were third and fourth graders, so I mean screamed. That became a sort of tradition. Each year as they announced places, our teams would squeeze each others’ hands and wait, saving up for the scream. Six years in a row, that is what happened to my team. The eighth grade year there was a three-way tie, and after several tie-breaker questions and only one team eliminated, we decided to share first place.
And then it happened. The next year my team lost. Well, we didn’t lose; we got third place. But to me anything except first place was an inky chasm that engulfed the miserable, bitter “honorable mentions.” I think I had a problem.
Fortunately the next year the best part of the first place team that beat us from the year before joined up with our team, and we soared to amazing, unexpected heights. Our coach was accused of having a ringer on her team, to which she replied, “I have four ringers.” (And four was a full team.)
During that year and the next, once again winning, I was nevertheless learning a lot about teamwork, prayer, humility. For one thing, I realized that in the higher rounds of the national competition, it wasn’t necessarily the team that buzzed in first or who knew all the answers that won. Something else had to be at work, and I realized it was God.
Prayer was the answer. But the prayers couldn’t be of the sort that demanded a win. The prayers my team ended up praying were for spiritual growth, God’s glory, His favor, for lasting friendships, for the Word of God to be proclaimed.
Finally my senior year came, and it was bittersweet knowing that after that I would graduate, and never do quizzing again. But priorities were different as a senior, and while I really wanted to do well and invest in Bible quiz, I couldn’t quite study so much as I had. I wanted so much to go out on top, and feared that people would think that I’d slacked off. So the pride and vanity were still there.
That spring was a spring filled with prayer and surrender. By the day of the quiz, I had such freedom knowing that God’s will would be done, and I could rejoice in it. And while everything went well, my team took second and a friend’s team took first. That team was so shocked and delighted, and deserving, that I couldn’t help but be so happy for them. And I smiled all day.
My last year as a camper, the big brother of the guy who gave the testimony above signed my shirt, addressing it to “Quizmaster,” but that’s not who I am. My identity isn’t Lisa, blogger or Lisa, quizzer or Lisa, anything else. Hopefully people see me and say God is Lord, or God is good, or God is able.
Romans 12:1-2 – I beseech you, therefore, brethren, by the mercies of God, to present your bodies a living sacrifice – holy, acceptable to God, which is your reasonable service. And do not be conformed to this world, but be transformed by the renewing of your mind; that you may prove what is that good, and acceptable, and perfect will of God.
But I am still a quizzer. At camp there is a song, No Mountain High Enough, which is famous for one line about strength at which everyone poses to show off their muscles. The camp teacher known as Russell the Muscle because of this song got up after we sang it and began, “I have a quiz question.” At which point I became tense, ready to spring. His question was from what passage of Scripture the song was taken (the point is that nothing is big, strong, dark, etc. enough to keep me from God). The correct answer was also one of the memory verses from junior high that week, so I expected my hand, which shot up, to be joined by a myriad of others. It wasn’t. All alone my hand sat, and of course I knew the answer, but I didn’t want him to call on me. Finally it all came out that I was a counselor, and the answer was dragged from a little junior high camper instead.
I just can’t help it. I’d have had to sit on my hands to keep from participating. = )
To God be all glory.
Finally, he said, he figured out that God didn’t want him to have an ego identity. God wants us to be His servants. And God should be known through us.
When I was in junior high and high school, I did Awana Bible Quizzing. And that was sort of my identity. If you wanted to hear me talk, ask with interest about quiz, and off I’d go. My fellow quizzers could talk over the same competitions for hours, time and time again. The days on which we competed were some of the best – and most vividly remembered – of my life.
It all started because all my friends were quizzing. So I joined the team, practiced, and our team screamed with excitement because we won. We were third and fourth graders, so I mean screamed. That became a sort of tradition. Each year as they announced places, our teams would squeeze each others’ hands and wait, saving up for the scream. Six years in a row, that is what happened to my team. The eighth grade year there was a three-way tie, and after several tie-breaker questions and only one team eliminated, we decided to share first place.
And then it happened. The next year my team lost. Well, we didn’t lose; we got third place. But to me anything except first place was an inky chasm that engulfed the miserable, bitter “honorable mentions.” I think I had a problem.
Fortunately the next year the best part of the first place team that beat us from the year before joined up with our team, and we soared to amazing, unexpected heights. Our coach was accused of having a ringer on her team, to which she replied, “I have four ringers.” (And four was a full team.)
During that year and the next, once again winning, I was nevertheless learning a lot about teamwork, prayer, humility. For one thing, I realized that in the higher rounds of the national competition, it wasn’t necessarily the team that buzzed in first or who knew all the answers that won. Something else had to be at work, and I realized it was God.
Prayer was the answer. But the prayers couldn’t be of the sort that demanded a win. The prayers my team ended up praying were for spiritual growth, God’s glory, His favor, for lasting friendships, for the Word of God to be proclaimed.
Finally my senior year came, and it was bittersweet knowing that after that I would graduate, and never do quizzing again. But priorities were different as a senior, and while I really wanted to do well and invest in Bible quiz, I couldn’t quite study so much as I had. I wanted so much to go out on top, and feared that people would think that I’d slacked off. So the pride and vanity were still there.
That spring was a spring filled with prayer and surrender. By the day of the quiz, I had such freedom knowing that God’s will would be done, and I could rejoice in it. And while everything went well, my team took second and a friend’s team took first. That team was so shocked and delighted, and deserving, that I couldn’t help but be so happy for them. And I smiled all day.
My last year as a camper, the big brother of the guy who gave the testimony above signed my shirt, addressing it to “Quizmaster,” but that’s not who I am. My identity isn’t Lisa, blogger or Lisa, quizzer or Lisa, anything else. Hopefully people see me and say God is Lord, or God is good, or God is able.
Romans 12:1-2 – I beseech you, therefore, brethren, by the mercies of God, to present your bodies a living sacrifice – holy, acceptable to God, which is your reasonable service. And do not be conformed to this world, but be transformed by the renewing of your mind; that you may prove what is that good, and acceptable, and perfect will of God.
But I am still a quizzer. At camp there is a song, No Mountain High Enough, which is famous for one line about strength at which everyone poses to show off their muscles. The camp teacher known as Russell the Muscle because of this song got up after we sang it and began, “I have a quiz question.” At which point I became tense, ready to spring. His question was from what passage of Scripture the song was taken (the point is that nothing is big, strong, dark, etc. enough to keep me from God). The correct answer was also one of the memory verses from junior high that week, so I expected my hand, which shot up, to be joined by a myriad of others. It wasn’t. All alone my hand sat, and of course I knew the answer, but I didn’t want him to call on me. Finally it all came out that I was a counselor, and the answer was dragged from a little junior high camper instead.
I just can’t help it. I’d have had to sit on my hands to keep from participating. = )
To God be all glory.
Authority at Camp
During the week of camp, one of the difficulties I had actually anticipated was dealing with authority. Mind you, the people running the camp, and most of the other sub-leaders and counselors, are my friends, and I’ve known them a long time. I know how they function, and typically understand them pretty well. But whenever you’re in a position of authority and also under authority, things can get confusing.
I don’t want to admit that I’m a leader. I prefer the timidity I described earlier, and decision making for other people is hard work. But if something isn’t being done well, I’d rather do it myself. And if my instructions go against what I think is best, you may imagine I have a struggle making the authoritative instructions preeminent. My personality is independent.
Nothing really big happened, but sufficient conflicts were visible that for the older girls in my cabin, I hoped they got a good example of what it means to be grown up, with your own rights and responsibilities, and to still submit. An almost-out-of-the-house teenager needs to learn these things. So it was nice to be a little transparent with the older girls, and tell them that I disagreed with some decisions, but then they could see I still followed them.
My only big issue was on devotions. Counselors were instructed to prepare a devotional time for each night. We were also encouraged to be connecting with those in our cabins and focusing on their spiritual growth. So when a couple nights the schedule got adjusted enough that I wasn’t doing devotions with my cabin, it was really hard to follow the new schedule. Every other time I had a chance to talk with my girls about spiritual things was just that – chance (well, in the Christian sort of sense). Evening devotions were the scheduled time where they all had to be listening, and they liked it, liked the discussions, I think. They needed to debrief from their day.
I wouldn’t say the authorities were wrong in changing the schedule. It wasn’t sinful, and they didn’t mean to make problems. They were doing as they thought was best, and since they were the leaders, that was their responsibility. I just chafed under different priorities. It doesn’t mean I’m not going back!
To God be all glory.
I don’t want to admit that I’m a leader. I prefer the timidity I described earlier, and decision making for other people is hard work. But if something isn’t being done well, I’d rather do it myself. And if my instructions go against what I think is best, you may imagine I have a struggle making the authoritative instructions preeminent. My personality is independent.
Nothing really big happened, but sufficient conflicts were visible that for the older girls in my cabin, I hoped they got a good example of what it means to be grown up, with your own rights and responsibilities, and to still submit. An almost-out-of-the-house teenager needs to learn these things. So it was nice to be a little transparent with the older girls, and tell them that I disagreed with some decisions, but then they could see I still followed them.
My only big issue was on devotions. Counselors were instructed to prepare a devotional time for each night. We were also encouraged to be connecting with those in our cabins and focusing on their spiritual growth. So when a couple nights the schedule got adjusted enough that I wasn’t doing devotions with my cabin, it was really hard to follow the new schedule. Every other time I had a chance to talk with my girls about spiritual things was just that – chance (well, in the Christian sort of sense). Evening devotions were the scheduled time where they all had to be listening, and they liked it, liked the discussions, I think. They needed to debrief from their day.
I wouldn’t say the authorities were wrong in changing the schedule. It wasn’t sinful, and they didn’t mean to make problems. They were doing as they thought was best, and since they were the leaders, that was their responsibility. I just chafed under different priorities. It doesn’t mean I’m not going back!
To God be all glory.
Thursday, August 09, 2007
I Could Do This Forever
The second morning of camp, Monday, after one and a half days of camp, I was up before dawn wondering how there could be four days left. My feet and eyelids were heavy, and I couldn’t remember a time before camp. So much had happened that it felt like a week.
Activities for every day included a counselor’s meeting at 6:30 AM, personal devotions, breakfast, cabin clean up, Bible hour, a morning activity or preparation for service, lunch, team spirit time, 30 minutes mandated by state law for us to be on our bunks (during which time we talked, did our lessons, and said our memory verses), two and a half hours free time, dinner, an activity (and the word active is in activity), free time, chapel, another activity, and cabin devotions with lights-out at 11 PM.
By Thursday morning, the dawn of the last full day, I was wishing it weren’t so close to over (even though the day stretched out with promise ahead of me). With a little more sleep worked into the schedule, I could have kept on forever.
“Why?”
The intentionality of every day was energizing. You always had somewhere to go, and it was hard to waste time. Days were spent fellowshipping with other Christians, with ministry thrown in naturally. I didn’t have to make decisions about what I should fix for lunch. There was a lot of prayer, Bible study, and worship going on.
“Why?” again
Why is that better than everyday life down from the literal mountaintop? Here I get distracted. There are things I did quite well without, like shopping and tv and even computers. I don’t have my day scheduled, so I waste time deciding what to do and getting motivated to do it. My friends and I have to work to spend time together. And God gets considerably less time and focus.
“How?”
How could things be different? I think life down here could be more like camp. For starters, we could have prayer/devotional meetings in the early mornings. And every evening we could rotate houses and do a mini, no-practice-necessary worship service where we share what God has taught us recently and what we anticipate for the next day or two. I can play worship music more often, and sing along. I can turn off the tv and follow a schedule. I can be intentional about looking for God’s ordained moments for ministry in the lives of others. I can care about what He’s doing in the lives of others.
To God be all glory.
PS: Amy of Humble Musing fame had a similar post this week.
Activities for every day included a counselor’s meeting at 6:30 AM, personal devotions, breakfast, cabin clean up, Bible hour, a morning activity or preparation for service, lunch, team spirit time, 30 minutes mandated by state law for us to be on our bunks (during which time we talked, did our lessons, and said our memory verses), two and a half hours free time, dinner, an activity (and the word active is in activity), free time, chapel, another activity, and cabin devotions with lights-out at 11 PM.
By Thursday morning, the dawn of the last full day, I was wishing it weren’t so close to over (even though the day stretched out with promise ahead of me). With a little more sleep worked into the schedule, I could have kept on forever.
“Why?”
The intentionality of every day was energizing. You always had somewhere to go, and it was hard to waste time. Days were spent fellowshipping with other Christians, with ministry thrown in naturally. I didn’t have to make decisions about what I should fix for lunch. There was a lot of prayer, Bible study, and worship going on.
“Why?” again
Why is that better than everyday life down from the literal mountaintop? Here I get distracted. There are things I did quite well without, like shopping and tv and even computers. I don’t have my day scheduled, so I waste time deciding what to do and getting motivated to do it. My friends and I have to work to spend time together. And God gets considerably less time and focus.
“How?”
How could things be different? I think life down here could be more like camp. For starters, we could have prayer/devotional meetings in the early mornings. And every evening we could rotate houses and do a mini, no-practice-necessary worship service where we share what God has taught us recently and what we anticipate for the next day or two. I can play worship music more often, and sing along. I can turn off the tv and follow a schedule. I can be intentional about looking for God’s ordained moments for ministry in the lives of others. I can care about what He’s doing in the lives of others.
To God be all glory.
PS: Amy of Humble Musing fame had a similar post this week.
That Kids Grow Up
I’ve been out of the camp scene for a few years. The last time I was there, those who just graduated this year were about to be freshmen. Adjusting to the fact that they’re all basically adults with plans and responsibility was hard. For one thing, some of them were still awkward and obnoxious adolescents when last I was at camp. Kids I thought were hopelessly irretrievable pests are still themselves, but now they’re leaders, self-controlled (relative to what they were), and considerate of others. The gifts that were puzzling them as freshmen are blooming into ministries and life-directions.
To God be all glory.
To God be all glory.
Providence
The last several months our Sunday school class has been going through a series on building Intimacy with God. My topics have been Isolation and Nothing Withheld, which when I looked over my journals at the beginning of the series, were the subjects that have most drawn me to God. Our series uses an acronym based on John 15’s vine and branches metaphor. It is ABIDING.
At our counselor orientation meeting they camp directors told us that the object of the week, the prayer the camp board had been praying, was that the kids would grow in intimacy with God. Our first counselor devotion was taken from John 15, and dealt with abiding in the branch, our source for bearing fruit. And finally one of the testimonies given by a Varsity camper on the last evening was all about burdens, giving them to God, and trusting God to get you through tough times.
The “coincidences” showed me how providentially God had been preparing my spirit to minister to the campers that week. And the further lessons refreshed and influenced my preparation for teaching Sunday school when I got back. There’s always the chance, too, that God is trying to get these truths into my life. Repetition is a powerful tool.
To God be all glory.
At our counselor orientation meeting they camp directors told us that the object of the week, the prayer the camp board had been praying, was that the kids would grow in intimacy with God. Our first counselor devotion was taken from John 15, and dealt with abiding in the branch, our source for bearing fruit. And finally one of the testimonies given by a Varsity camper on the last evening was all about burdens, giving them to God, and trusting God to get you through tough times.
The “coincidences” showed me how providentially God had been preparing my spirit to minister to the campers that week. And the further lessons refreshed and influenced my preparation for teaching Sunday school when I got back. There’s always the chance, too, that God is trying to get these truths into my life. Repetition is a powerful tool.
To God be all glory.
Providence
The last several months our Sunday school class has been going through a series on building Intimacy with God. My topics have been Isolation and Nothing Withheld, which when I looked over my journals at the beginning of the series, were the subjects that have most drawn me to God. Our series uses an acronym based on John 15’s vine and branches metaphor. It is ABIDING.
At our counselor orientation meeting they camp directors told us that the object of the week, the prayer the camp board had been praying, was that the kids would grow in intimacy with God. Our first counselor devotion was taken from John 15, and dealt with abiding in the branch, our source for bearing fruit. And finally one of the testimonies given by a Varsity camper on the last evening was all about burdens, giving them to God, and trusting God to get you through tough times.
The “coincidences” showed me how providentially God had been preparing my spirit to minister to the campers that week. And the further lessons refreshed and influenced my preparation for teaching Sunday school when I got back. There’s always the chance, too, that God is trying to get these truths into my life. Repetition is a powerful tool.
To God be all glory.
At our counselor orientation meeting they camp directors told us that the object of the week, the prayer the camp board had been praying, was that the kids would grow in intimacy with God. Our first counselor devotion was taken from John 15, and dealt with abiding in the branch, our source for bearing fruit. And finally one of the testimonies given by a Varsity camper on the last evening was all about burdens, giving them to God, and trusting God to get you through tough times.
The “coincidences” showed me how providentially God had been preparing my spirit to minister to the campers that week. And the further lessons refreshed and influenced my preparation for teaching Sunday school when I got back. There’s always the chance, too, that God is trying to get these truths into my life. Repetition is a powerful tool.
To God be all glory.
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