Why am I feeling so crafty?

I don't know the answer to that question. Since September 1st I have been creating all kinds of nifty things, and eagerly looking for more nifty things to create. Maybe it is because I have more time on my hands; maybe it is because I have pent up these crafty juices for too long and they are just bursting out. Go figure.

Anyhoo, I do not like wrapping Christmas presents or decorating for said holiday. It's so much work. Last year I didn't decorate at all because we were excitedly awaiting John & Katie's wedding on Dec 26!! Donna couldn't stand it however and did some decorating on her own (fine with me). But this year something came over me (craft juices) and I have been enjoying wrapping presents and look forward to decorating! Makes my head spin a bit.

So I thought I'd share some of my wrapped packages.

Nothing real special with this one. (Except I accidentally decorated the back of the package....):





I find that it is so much easier to use my kids' initials rather than full names, especially when texting. So JK is John & Katie:

The star was made from a cardboard toilet paper tube. Flatten it, cut in slices, glue together. I used paper clips to hold the centers until the glue dried. Then I spray painted them gold and silver:

Got a little "clashy" with the patterns on this one!



Donna & Tyler. Used pages from old hymnals (purchased from MCC Connections), Christmas hymns of course:

Now to show you how I made the bow on the above gift. First you get one of these doohickies:

Then get some more pages from the hymnal and cut into various size strips:

Stick them on the doohicky. Isn't the optical illusion fun--it looks like it is spinning:

This doohicky has a face:











CAREFULLY curl the strips. I ripped a few in my over-rambunctious curling efforts...

Add some curled ribbon and TADA! (scroll back up to the finished package).

And now for an adorable picture of my Sweet B:

Ain't he CUTE??!!

Segerstrom Piano

I am finally attacking the upright piano in our basement. I researched a little bit on how to take apart such a beast and thought, oh well what have I got to lose? So I grabbed some tools, a bucket of bleach water (to clean up mildew and who-knows-what), and the sweeper hose (for the who-knows-what).

I did some research on the Segerstrom piano (there is very little info on the web about this company) and discovered it has no real value. The company began in 1912 and went bankrupt by 1914!

It wasn't difficult and in about one hour I had it down to this:

Now comes the hard part...everything I've read about taking apart a piano says BE CAREFUL with the strings! They are under a lot of tension and if cut could easily cause injury. So I'm trying to find the correct tool to loosen the nuts (or whatever they are called) thus relieving the tension and solving the whole DANGER problem. Once I get that harp out they I'll be finished with the dismantling and can then try to figure out what kind of desk I'd like.

So do you want to know the who-knows-what that I found?
-Pencils
-A plastic hair pin like was used for rollers in the 60's (at least I remember my mom and sister using them)
-A mouse nest with a mummified baby mouse
-A key
-Mildew
-And this letter:

It was written by Bob's now deceased aunt Alice who was in 6th grade at the time it was written on September 20, 1957. Apparently when she folded it to mail it, it slipped into the piano (she talks about how tired she is of her music lessons) and has been in there for over 50 years!! I can't WAIT to give this to Bob's mother!!!

I'll post more pictures as I keep working on this!

Shabby Chic Makeover

Well, my crafty-ness continues. The last two days I have been working on a project that has been in my plans for years. We have an old upright piano in our basement. The piano man checked it out and said it would take at least $500 to make it playable but it would always sound awful and never hold a tune (and he told me that about 15 years ago). So I've been brainstorming ideas for this formidable wooden beast which really is just a high-rise spider apartment.

Here is one idea but I can't find anybody to do it and I'm afraid it would cost a lot of money: Piano desk But it would be whoa cool, eh?

I really hate just taking it to the dump; the thick oak wood is beautiful. What I decided to do was to take it apart, keep the large pieces of wood, maybe someone would want the keys and wire for crafts, and then trash the rest of it. Like I say, this has been in my head for years. And Hubby doesn't like the idea. He has never played this piano; he doesn't even know HOW to play a piano. But he has "known" this piano all his life...and he is attached to it. I don't get it.

 Earlier this year I tried to strip the finish but discovered that whatever nasty red stain that was originally used was IMPOSSIBLE to completely remove!! So even after many layers of stripper the lid was pink...PINK! So I got frustrated and set it aside. Anyhoo...since I have more time on my hands, I decided to finally figure out what to do with this thing. After a bit of research (which actually means scrolling through pictures on Pinterest) I chose to paint it give it a distressed finish. Here is the completion of two days' work:

Before:

After:

The paint I used was a cream color....but that foul red stain tinted the paint PINK!!! But it looks cool so I'm not too upset about it. And it goes with my decor so it's all good.

I had an old book I got from a used book store that was full of color pictures of religious Byzantine art. I modge-podged them inside the bench. I think it looks very interesting and if I were a child I'd spend hours just staring at these and trying to figure out the stories and the people!

I also have an assortment of old hymnals so I photocopied the hymn "Tread Softly" onto fancy tissue paper and then modge-podged (is podged a word??) it to the lid. My parents and Herman and Melba Myers used to sing this hymn as a quartet so it brings back good memories and I can hear them singing in my head.

Everything I used for this project I already had laying around the house...except the piano hinge. I had to spend $6.98 for that but it was worth it. The old hinges were yucky....and I can't remember where I put them...

So, there you have it! My Shabby Chic Piano Bench Makeover!!

No sermon. Pretend I'm sayin' something about God's Makeover of us...

Recycle, Repurpose, Reuse

I love visiting MCC Connections because I just never know what I will find!! I try to cruise through the whole store (except the men's department, unless Bob asks me to buy him something specific). The other day I was just looking around and I found this sweet little wooden box.

It smelled so good inside...I bet the tea was yummy! It was only $2 and it is a nice solid box so I bought it. I was thinking of a jewelry box or maybe storage for embroidery thread.

Today I was feeling crafty (which is really odd for me). I made a table runner (picture pending) and then thought I'd see what I could create with the box.

First I took out the inner dividers, which I will keep because they are a sturdy balsa wood. Then I dug through my fabric to see what inspired me. I found some beautiful silky embroidered fabric that I've had for awhile and decided to use that.

Then I busted out a can of spray adhesive and lightweight cardboard. I measured the inside of the box and cut the cardboard accordingly, then lightly sprayed it with the adhesive and pressed it on the fabric.

I carefully sprayed adhesive around the edges and folded the raw edge to the back of the cardboard. This was a sticky challenge and I had to clean my fingers with fingernail polish remover a couple of times!

This was the final result! It turned out beautifully I think!

Then I wanted to make a padded cover for the lid. And wouldn't you know...my spray adhesive ran out! So I had to use good old Elmer's for this:

The picture doesn't show the color very well (since it is so shiny it reflects the flash) but all the fabric backgrounds are dark choclate brown).

I do believe this turned into a jewelry box, eh?

And here is the table runner:

Inspired by this one fat quarter:

Wonky Quilt

Wonky-adjective. Askew, awry, cockeyed, lopsided.

Before you scroll to look at the pictures read this first! (You scrolled didn’t you? Shame, shame, shame, the courts know your name!)

I finally finished Brenan’s blanket, which I am calling the Wonky Quilt (my previous blog named it the Crooked Little Log Cabin Quilt, but I like Wonky better). Because of all the small pieces, I wanted the top to have more strength than just what knotting would provide and I didn’t want to hand quilt it (I know how to quilt but I just don’t enjoy it and this would have required a lot of stitch-in-the-ditch) so I decided to machine top-stitch:

The edges were a challenge because sewing a wonky block does not always give a uniform edge when said blocks are sewn together. I had to add a couple little edge strips because even though the blocks are wonky I wanted the edges to be straight for the border.

The only law of wonkiness is to not be straight; planned wonkiness is no wonkiness at all.

Then I found a pattern online for a teddy bear, which I have named Basil. I looked up Bulgarian “B” names, to go with Brenan, and think Basil is a fantastic name for a teddy bear! However, the blog from whence the pattern came had terrible directions and I spent hours trying to get the arms sewn onto the body! I finally read the comments and discovered that just about everyone else had trouble with the arms, too! So I started the arms over and actually had to redesign the pattern and finally got them to fit!

This was fun but was a challenge! I hope Brenan will love it!

Do you like the Wonky Quilt?

• Yes, of course! It’s the most wonkiest quilt I’ve ever seen and your grandson will love it!
• No, it makes me queasy.
• No! Have you been eating fermented apples like that Drunk Moose Found in a Tree in Sweden??!!
• Maybe. I’m not sure. Maybe if I squint when I look at it.

Cardinal Rule of the Kitchen

     I don’t know who taught me, my mother or my 8^th grade home ec teacher, that one of the cardinal rules of the kitchen is to always review the recipe before beginning to cook. That way you can check the ingredients and plan for any odd processes for which the recipe might require.

Today, I disobeyed that rule.

     My morning began by picking the last of the roma tomatoes from the garden (with the cooler temps this will be the last week for tomatoes) because I wanted to try making a new recipe for tomato paste, called estratto. I found the recipe here:

     I blanched, skinned, and chopped the tomatoes along with onions and green peppers. I got those in the pot and started cooking them down. The other day I had discovered a recipe called Acorn Squash and Honey Pies here so once the tomatoes were cooking I started on the acorn squash, which I had baked on Saturday. I had read through the recipe when I found it and knew that I had all the ingredients. Then. But I failed to double check today.

     First, the recipe does not specify the amount of squash needed (thanks Martha); it just says “3 small acorn squash, about 3 pounds.” Not very helpful. So I ran the squash through the blender and guestimated the total amount (putting the rest in the fridge) and then added the spices. Second, when I went to get the four eggs I discovered that I only had two eggs. Yesterday I hardboiled some so I could make red beet eggs but I left four in the refrigerator. Apparently Hubby made two eggs for breakfast. Hmmmm…I figured I would just decrease the other liquid amounts and keep an eye on the consistency so it wouldn’t look too “wet.” I got everything mixed together and set it aside so I could make the crust.

     Third, no cornmeal. I could have sworn I had cornmeal. And the recipe called for two egg yolks. No eggs. Humph. So I pulled out my favorite pie crust recipe and made that instead. Now the pie recipe instructs the baker to make little five-inch pies but I do not have those small pans. I wasn’t sure how the recipe would work in a regular size pie pan so decided to make tarts instead.

     By disobeying the cardinal rule I had prepared something that was not much like the recipe! However, these little suckers are delicious! I’m not sure I want to try a cornmeal crust!

     When those were cooking, I ran the tomato mixture through the food mill and put it back on the stove to begin cooking it down. Then I prepared the red beet egg liquid, peeled the eggs, and put that in the refrigerator to sit for a few days (if Hubby can keep out of them for that long).

     By this time it was 12:30 and I was hungry and sorely in need of a break (for my aching feet—I’ve been in quite a bit of pain from plantar faciitis). After a bit of a rest I went back to the tomato mixture and poured it into three cookie sheets to go in a low oven for the rest of the day. I finally finished with the estratto at 6 pm, when I pulled them out of the canner. Worked beautifully!

     You know, having to adjust the recipe as I went is a little like life. You think you know where you are going and what you are going to do, but then life throws little curve balls at you and suddenly you are having to make adjustments, changes, and additions and while the main recipe is still the same some of the ingredients are slightly different. I guess the lesson for me is, Don’t Panic. Think it through, make an adjustment, and keep moving. I could have made a mad dash to the store to get exactly what I needed but gas is expensive and we are on a tight budget right now. So I just continued with what I had on hand and the results are delicious. So it is with our current situation. I know God’s main “recipe” for me and right now there are some unexpected ingredients. But I will not panic nor rush around trying to mix things perfectly like I think they should be.

“Trust in the LORD with all your heart and lean not on your own understanding.” Proverbs 3:5

I hope the finished dish will be surprisingly delicious!

Crooked Little Log Cabin

     I am working on a quilt for my Sweet B (that's my grandson Brenan). I decided to use a log cabin design and work with a lot of small prints. I found a soft knobby green fabric for the back and used that as the basis for the color scheme. I wanted the blocks to be small so each strip is just 1 1/4" wide, which when sewed are only 3/4"--truly a small block!

     After sewing only a few blocks I realized I wanted to do something different, not just the straight-up-everything-is-square block. So, instead of pinning each strip and making sure all the corners and prints were straight, I just sewed and let the pieces move.
     This is hard for me! I want all my edges straight and all my corners square! What if someone looks at this quilt and thinks, "Sheesh, this woman doesn't know how to sew!" But I persist and ignore all the finger-wagging-sewing-experts-nagging voices in my head.
     I am liking the results! It is fun and is visually interesting. There is definietly movement because the lines are just slightly off kilter. It's like one of those optical illusion thingys that make you squint a little when you look at it.

    

     I decided to call it the "Crooked Little Log Cabin" quilt. And here is a poem I just wrote...

There was a crooked boy and he had a crooked quilt,
He took a crooked ruler and using it he built
A crooked log cabin with a mighty crooked floor,

And he always chased his meatballs as they rolled right out the door.

Reflections on my last day

              Cora, Rochelle and I have been washing windows all week. This is a huge project and it's gross in the fall due to all the dust and spiders. We did all the buildings (except the VS cabin, Oak & Hickory, and the cabins) in three days. I discovered that Cora likes climbing. We together discovered the poison ivy behind the Dining Hall. I like washing windows because there are obvious results which bring great satisfaction. The view is significantly improved!

                Today Central’s Middle School was there having their school day out. Cora remarked about how awesome it was that on my last day at camp there was the sound of kids and the bell ringing. I totally agreed that this was a wonderful sound to my ears! As I continued to wash windows I reflected (get it? Reflected…windows…?) on her words.

                I believe that much of my purpose in leadership was to re-found and reposition the camp on its vision and purpose. I also strongly believed that those who work at camp (year-round and summer staff) needed to have spiritual guidance and nourishment. Camp ministry is all about relationships; with God and with others. Camp is also a vital evangelistic arm of the Church. I am humbly confident that my leadership helped develop and strengthen all these areas. Really, just as I was washing away grime from windows to provide clearer vision, I believe my time at Luz helped wash away any “grime” to offer clearer vision for the future.

                These thoughts were confirmed by the sounds of laughter, fellowship, and the bell ringing to invite people to move and gather (see previous post on the bell). God planned that my final day would be blessed by joyful noise!

                I do not like long good-byes. So when we were finished with windows, I decided to leave. There just was not anything else for me to do. My soul and my heart were ready. Leaving my keys on the desk, notes for the staff, and with hugs (and some tears), I said my farewells.

                For over ten years when I would drive in the camp lane in the morning, I never stopped marveling at the amazing responsibility God had given me as the leader of such an amazing ministry as Camp Luz. As I drove out on this last day, I was thankful. Thankful for the memories, for the people with whom I’ve walked, thankful for the difficult experiences that rasped off my rough edges, thankful for the glimpses of the Divine, thankful for the powerful worship….just plain thankful.

                May God bless the camp physically and spiritually as those who lead continue to seek His vision and purpose!

Peace.

Delivering Children

I have physically delivered three children. There is a lot of preparation, anticipation and excitement prior to labor and delivery, and then there is a lot of waiting. But suddenly one day it is time for that baby to arrive. All the emotions intensify until pain takes over. Carol Burnett once described the pain of childbirth as taking your bottom lip and pulling it up over the top of your head. But just when you think you can not stand it anymore, delivery time arrives and with a wrenching, ripping moment your child is removed from your body. Mixed with joy and relief there is grief; grief that your body is not the cocoon anymore. Your child is now able to survive outside your body.

There are many “deliveries” for a mother. Oh, none are so dramatic or physically painful as the first, but they are deliveries none-the-less. For one of the roles of parenting is to prepare the child for independence; survival apart from the parents. So deliveries are a part of the process. Each developmental stage is a delivery to newness. All are emotionally thrilling yet also painful as that child relies less and less on you for nourishment and support (those toddler words, “I do it I-self!”)

I have delivered all three of my children through high-school and on to college. Exciting moments yet also painful. I have also delivered all three into marriage. The indescribable emotion of watching my children’s faces as the passionately gaze at their spouses caused emotional waves of motherhood to crash on my mind and heart. All three of these children and their spouses (and one grandson) have been delivered to colleges and jobs in three different states. I now have an “empty nest” and I am having to redefine the role that I have known as “mother.”

Mixed in with these personal experiences is also the “delivery” of camp ministry. This past spring God helped me see my last year of service here as a labor and delivery process. When I walk around camp I identify physical ways that I have nurtured life in this place. There are many notes and cards from staff and campers that tell me that there are lives I helped nurture (they call me “Boss Mom” for a reason). And I am sure there are myriad of things I know nothing about. These last few months of excitement, preparation, and anticipation have shifted as the reality of my leaving brings some overwhelming and painful moments. Yet I know it is time and that it must happen. For this “infant” (i.e., camp ministry) is ready for new life, new independence, first steps, new people, and fresh nourishment—independent from me. And as a mother it is hard to let go. Will others love and care for this baby as much as I have? At times it does feel like a wrenching, ripping emotional separation from me.

So while I am currently redefining “mother” in the physical and emotional sense with my familial empty nest, I also have to let go of the “boss mom” title and redefine who I am in the pastoral empty nest. My nest seems to echo with silence.

But for both of these roles there is also great joy and knowledge that my children (family and camp) are not left alone, for I have delivered them into the loving hands of the Father who has grand plans and adventures for them! While I have given much of my nurture, love, discipline, and joy to them, they were never mine to begin with. The earthly children of my flesh and the camp children of my heart have always belonged to God. And He has assured me that I have mothered faithfully, lovingly, prayerfully, and well. And He has assured me that while this final act of delivery will be painful, there will be the first breaths of new life, and the new hands of those who will give care and nourishment are blessed and empowered by God Himself!

So I continue to labor, to deliver, to breath. God is faithful.

“From the LORD comes deliverance. May your blessing be on your people.” Ps 3:8

Messages from God at 70 mph

The last eleven months have been a ponderous mix of life-changing events; job change for hubby, two weddings, a grandchild, kids moving in, kids moving out, empty nest, and very soon another job change. Any one of these events is enough to cause stress; all of these events in less than a year are enough to send me crawling to a counselor! But I haven’t, because God is good and faithful. My hubby and I are weathering all these changes well.

But all of these events have advanced into known new territory...except one; while my husband, three kids and their spouses, and grandchild have all shifted into their new roles, I am still waiting for what will happen for me after August 31. God has yet to show me what my new ministry role will be.

I realized the other day that if I wake up on September 1^st without a job it will be the first time since 1981 (the summer of my junior year in high school) that I will not have something I have to do. I have segued from school, to jobs, to homemaker, to job, to school again (with the "mom role" woven through)—and while all of these roles shaped me into who I am today, they are also all changing. September 1^st may bring a stillness to my life that I have not experienced in thirty years. And I am not sure what I will do in that motionlessness.

Friday, August 12, 4:20 PM, we were traveling south on I77. We had been on the road to Clinton, SC for seven hours with three more to go, moving our oldest son, his wife, and child to their new ministry assignment. I was staring out the window at the scenery letting my mind wander through its verdant mental pastures. We passed under a bridge and suddenly I was jolted back to reality; there on a concrete pillar someone had spray painted in blue, “TRUST JESUS.”

Then my mind had something upon which to ponder. I wondered who wrote that phrase. What prompted someone to grab a spraypaint can, go down to a random bridge on I77, and paint “TRUST JESUS”? Was it done in the middle of the night when traffic was safer and the cops maybe were not around? How do I feel about the fact that a bit of illegal graffiti gave me a message from God? Did God give this person a clear directive to (sing to the tune of “Go down, Moses”):

“Go down….to the highway….and paint, paint this message for me…go down…to the highway…and give my children a sign.”

Whatever the reason, it was certainly a gentle message for me and I thanked God for whomever had been illegally obedient.

Of course I have been praying about this job/ministry transition. And God continually gives me the message to trust Him. And right there, on a concrete bridge pillar in North Carolina He reminded me again. Odd, isn’t it? God can use the oddest things to comfort our discombobulated souls.

On Monday I prayed and asked God for a clear message; am I to seek temporary employment (to help with the bills) or am I to continue to wait and trust Him? It wasn’t an hour later that a friend posted this verse on her Facebook wall: "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." Psalm 37. Then later that day, another dear friend gave me a gift; a small plaque with Jeremiah 29:11 printed on it. Okay God, these messages were about as clear as blue paint on concrete at 70 mph!

So, I wait. And I am working on trust. And if I do wake up on September 1^st with nothing to do, I will rest in the care of my loving Father. Maybe I'll grab some spray paint and head on down to Rt 30...

Beginning the End

     I haven’t blogged at all this summer. I had intended to record my thoughts during this last summer but I discovered that I was mentally exhausted. And physically busy. So it just never happened. But I want to pick this up again during my last 25 days of ministry in the land of Luz.

     While I have been fully aware that this is my last summer, it has not really impacted me deeply until this last Sunday evening. Almost every Sunday night during the summer I give a message to the staff. As soon as Andrew started leading the first song, I realized, “This is it. The last Sunday night message. Will I ever find another place where worship is this pure and free?” And I started crying. You must understand that I am not a cry-er. It takes quite a bit to cause tears to flow so when I do cry, it means something deep is goin’ on and I better let it happen. So I did. And every song we sang seemed to remind me to trust in God’s loving care, which only made me cry some more. So by the time I got up to speak, I was rather emotional. I chucked what I had planned to say and just went with my heart.

     The week went well. The campers had a great time, the staff was awesome, and the weather was cooler than it has been in quite awhile. There was a lot of laughter. Danae was in a giant box. And I finally learned how to knit. I was able to get away a couple of times to spend time with family. I figured the Sunday-cry had served me well.

Then there was Thursday campfire in Pine Cove.

     Once again, as soon as the singing started, my tear ducts went into production. I really have loved worshipping with kids, especially the youngest ones. They are so uninhibited and free and it is a privilege to be a part of their worship. I am going to miss that a whole bunch. And then the pastor stood and talked about Jesus and the love of God. He had everyone bow their heads and close their eyes and gave an invitation to invite Jesus into their lives. This prayer time also caused me to cry, for it was in Pine Cove that I gave my life to Christ when I was nine years old. I thought of all the people whose lives were changed by that decision in that very place…and I just wept.

     I do not yet know what God has for me after Wednesday, August 31, 2011. But I am confident in my call to pastoral ministry. I am confident that it is indeed time for me to leave camp and that I have faithfully completed this part of my faith journey. I am even more confident in God’s loving care; for me and my family, and for Camp Luz and those who remain and will yet come.

So, I begin the end of this part of my journey. I’ll probably cry some more.

Who do you say that I am?

     On Monday mornings of camp I handle the registrations and payments.  One Monday a father and son arrived late after registration was over. I met them in the driveway and the father and I finalized the paperwork. He handed me the balance of the registration fee—a crisp $100 bill. Since I was in a hurry to get elsewhere, I folded the bill and tucked it into my back pocket. Then we said goodbye and I took the son to meet his counselors and cabin mates.

    On Tuesday evenings while the campers and staff are at recreation I make a hot fire, hang a large black kettle over it and make “fish eyes and whale blubber” for everyone. This particular day, when I finished building the fire and had it blazing nice and hot, I stood watching it and waiting for the campers to arrive. As I stood there I slowly began emptying my pockets of all the litter I had picked up that day.

     The dialogue in Luke 9:18-27 happened between Jesus and his disciples early in his Galilean ministry. In chapters 6-8 we read that Jesus chose his disciples, delivered the Sermon on the Plain, encountered people with questions and with great needs, displayed power over sickness, death, and nature. In 9:1-2 Jesus gave his disciples power and they engaged in the same ministry, then Jesus fed the 5,000. Immediately following 9:27 Luke recorded the Transfiguration event. Sandwiched between all these displays of power Jesus paused and had a conversation with his disciples. “Disciples? What’s the word on the street? Who do the people say I am?” And then, “Disciples? What’s the word among you? Who do you say I am?” Can you picture impulsive Peter practically bursting to say, “You are the Christ of God!”

     Then Jesus told them not to tell anyone and said that he was going to suffer, be rejected, killed, and raised to life. Well, that must have sounded absolutely ridiculous! The messiah was supposed to ride into town and run the enemies of Israel out and restore the kingdom of God as in the days of David; to establish freedom, righteousness, and justice! The word messiah just sparked with HOPE! But these descriptions that Jesus offered were not hopeful! This was not in their understanding of messiah!

     But before they could protest Jesus continued with even more ridiculous ideas. “You want to follow me? Give up your own ideas; deny yourself. You want to take up my cause? My cause will be a cross; take up yours as well every day! You want to save your life? Lose it and give up the world.” Crazy.

     But really, the disciples shouldn’t have been shocked because Jesus had been showing them his agenda all along. “Soon afterward Jesus began a tour of the nearby towns and villages, preaching and announcing the Good News about the Kingdom of God” Lk 8:1. And then empowered them so they had the same kingdom agenda, 9:1, 6! These guys must have been ready to follow Jesus anywhere! But when Jesus paused in the midst of the action, challenged their understanding of his mission and said, “If any of you wants to be my follower, you must turn from your selfish ways, take up your cross daily, and follow me” 9:23, he was redefining their understanding of “Christ of God” and his kingdom agenda.

    I stood watching the hot fire, waiting for the campers to arrive, slowly emptying my pockets of all the litter I had picked up that day. Without thinking I reached in my back pocket, pulled out a folded piece of paper and threw it into the heart of the fire. As it left my hand I saw that it was the $100 bill! I reacted instantly and without thought for my personal safety, I thrust my hand into the flames and down to the coals to rescue a piece of paper that the world says is valuable. I pulled it out and quickly blew out the flames. As I stared at the singed bill I noticed that all the hair on my hand and forearm was gone! The I heard the campers’ voices as they came running to the campfire for the evening snack.

     And just that quick, God broke into my understanding. I realized that I am more willing to thrust my arm into the hot flames to rescue money that I am to thrust myself into Christ’s passion to heal a lost and hopeless world. My mind cried out for forgiveness! “Forgive me for trying to make my agenda yours! Forgive me for hesitating and refusing, with all thoughts of my social, economic, and personal safety, to thrust myself into the flames of another person’s pain, sorrow, poverty, oppression, illness, injustice, greed, fear, racism…even into the flames of affluence and comfort—to rescue a human life that God has declared is valuable to HIM!”

     The Messiah did come to bring justice, righteousness, peace, and mercy. But he did it on a cross and the resurrection light shines hope to a lost and hurting world. Just as the disciples had to stop and encounter a radical new understanding of the Messiah, so we need to know that the Risen Jesus stands before us now, and every day, and asks, “But what about you? Who do you say that I am?”

     The Kingdom of God arrived in Jesus Christ and the Kingdom of God is perpetuated by the power of the Holy Spirit blowing through us as we embody the passion, compassion, and humility of Jesus and unashamedly go into the flames of the world to take the Good News of Jesus Christ to a lost and hurting world.

     Who do YOU say that Jesus is?

http://www.campluz.com/summercamp.htm 

Wafting Memories

     It is May 13, 2011and I am sitting in my office with the window open because it feels like August; hot and humid. I am not complaining, mind you. One of my pet peeves (and I have many such pets) is people who complain in the winter when it is cold and then complain in the summer because it is hot. Make up your minds, folks. Anyhoo, it is Spring and it feels like late Summer. No problem, says I. I like heat.

     Adding to the seasonal confusion is the fact that wafting through my open window is the glorious smell of wood smoke. This smell creates an emotional response within my being; the smell of campfire smoke is a reminder of summer campfires! (I use the word wafting, rather than drifting or blowing, because waft not only sounds much more educated, but it means "a gentle blowing through the air." When I looked the word up online one of the sample sentences was “the smell of stale fat wafted out from the restaurant.” Gross. Not the gentle or comforting sense I wish to convey). To those of us who have worked at or attended summer camp the smell of campfire smoke is both amazingly comforting and incredibly exciting. Why?

“Importantly, the olfactory cortex is embedded within the brain’s limbic system and amygdala, where emotions are born and emotional memories stored. That’s why smells, feelings and memories become so easily and intimately entangled, and why the simple act of washing dishes recently made Dr. Herz’s cousin break down and cry. ‘The smell of the dish soap reminded her of her grandmother,’ said Dr. Herz, author of The Scent of Desire.’”[1]

     The summer camp environment is a vastly different culture than what our worldly society offers (at least it is so at our camp). What a summer staff person experiences is a 24/6 New Testament adventure of proclaiming the Good News of Jesus Christ to a particular and targeted group of youth. Everything we do orbits this nucleus of proclamation. Five days of morning and evening sermons and Bible studies (four times a day in the Word) provide more Christian education for a youth than a year of Sunday school—that’s incredible!

     For most of the staff, the culmination of each day (a day that is filled with activity, fun, community building, fellowship, learning, and fun) is the evening campfire. Here youth can worship in one of the fuller senses of that word. Singing, shouting, dancing, clapping, laughing, praying, listening, responding, engaging, reading, crying, hugging, being still and silent while staring into the fire; these movements and experiences are all completed in the gentle waft of campfire smoke. It encircles us worshippers like incense and rises up with our praises and outstretched arms. Fire and smoke are as much a part of our evening worship as the singing and preaching. Which is why the smell of campfire smoke evokes such an emotional response in us; the smell is “intimately entangled” with our spiritual beings. The smell is a reminder of the experience of worship.

     For me the smell takes me back to about age nine, sitting on the top seat of Pine Cove listening to the pastor talk about the enormous love of God and giving an invitation to accept Jesus Christ as Lord and Savior. The pastor said, “As a symbol of your decision come and put a stick on the fire.” In that moment, God broke into my awareness. I do not understand how he did, but I remember my mind suddenly expanded and I was keenly aware of the LOVE OF GOD. And I practically leaped off that seat to go place a stick on the fire; and there I was wrapped in the smell of smoke.

So here I sit, thirty-sevenish years later, enjoying the warmth of pseudo-summer and the spiritually emotional journey that wafts from my amygdala. Inhale deeply, oh my soul; my God of love is very near.

“May my prayer be set before you like incense; may the lifting up of my hands be like the evening sacrifice.”  Ps 141:2

Deb Horst

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            [1] Natalie Angier, “The Nose: An Emotional Time Machine,” The New York Times, August 5, 2008, Tuesday; http://www.nytimes.com/2008/08/05/science/05angier.html (accessed May 13, 2011).

The Bell

#1 Important information to tell the next Camp Director: Do not stand under the bell when you ring it if snow has accumulated on top of it.

     I’ve done this twice. The sound of the bell was accompanied by the sound of my squealing as snow fell on my head and down the back of my neck. Also, if it is very cold, the bell does not really ring; it just sort of makes a muffled dinging noise. And the Chapel bell is rather useless as an ingathering tool, unless people are standing on the Chapel lawn. Poor thing...it just hangs there looking important...but it isn’t...it is not the alpha bell.

#2 Important bell-ringing information to tell the next Camp Director: Before ringing the bell in the Spring make sure there is not a bird nest inside the bell.

     This happened one spring when we discovered that an industrious robin had somehow built a precarious nest; she probably thought it was an incredible real estate find; you know...location, location, location. So, nature lovers that we are, we waited until the babies fledged before we cleaned the nest out. Fortunately it was before camp started so we weren’t forced to evict.

#3 Important bell-ringing information to tell the next Camp Director: If you allow little children to ring the bell remember to tell them to let go of the chain...small children may experience some air.

     This happened to a summer staff person. He allowed a mini camper to ring the    bell and the child didn’t let go of the chain and was lifted off their feet, swinging gently out over the porch! The staffer quickly caught and lifted the child to safety! The child thought it was really cool. The staffer did not.

‎#4 Important bell-ringing information to tell the next Camp Director: The proper bell-ringing sound is ding/ding. Therefore grasp the chain high enough so that it causes the bell to swing strongly enough, so that the clapper strikes both sides of the bell with one pull. Otherwise you get a weak little ding....ding...ding. Bell-ringing novices get that sound and you, sir or madam, need to be a bell-ringing expert.

     There is indeed a technique to bell ringing. And those of us who have been around awhile can instantly tell if someone new is attempting the ringing. "Bell ringing incompetence" says Danae. The goal is to get that sound to resonate all over the camp so that people know it is time to move to the next activity. Six to eight pulls are all that is needed; less than that is not enough and more than that is annoying and it starts to create stress in the staff who begin to wonder if there is an emergency (a three minute ringing is an emergency signal).

#5 Important bell-ringing information to tell the next Camp Director: Respect the bell.

     During the summer of 2007 a gentleman stopped at the camp. He told me that he was the one who had donated the bell to Luz! This was exciting to me because no one I had talked to really knew from where the bell came. Wilmer Brubaker from Bishop, CA (formerly of Smithville) told me the following story (which I’ve condensed).

     The old Georgetown School, on the corner of Egypt and Fox Lake Rds, burned to  the ground (sometime in the early 50’s). Wilmer, who lived next to the school, took the bell and kept it in his garage. One day Floyd Byler stopped by and mentioned that he was looking for items for the new Mennonite camp which was being built on Kidron Rd. Floyd new that Wilmer had the school bell and thought it would be a great item to donate to the camp. So that is what Wilmer did!

     The bell has the date 1886 stamped on the yoke. That makes it 125 years old! Fifty-eight of those years it has resounded right here at Camp Luz. The bell really is one of the major sounds of camp—it moves people. And not just physically. There is an association that happens with that sound; bell=camp=relationships.

     Respect the bell. It’s ringing is powerful. Especially when it invites people to worship our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ; the most important relationship of all.

You're wearing me down God!

     I used to be unsettled by Luke 18:1-8; the Parable of the Persistent Widow.  I understand that I am to be diligent in prayer but do I really need to pound on God’s door until he finally gives in? And then I learned that Jesus was using this story not to compare God and the unjust judge, but to contrast them. Of course! The judge “neither feared God nor cared what people thought.” The widow had to persist until the guy finally gave in. We, however, have a God who loves us, listens, knows our needs, and will answer. That understanding brought me great relief.

     However, I have struggled with the whole concept of praying. I’ve had amazing prayer experiences in my life; I’ve also had very dry periods. I’ve seen miraculous answers; some asked for, some unexpected. I’ve used prayer formulas (A-adoration, C-confession, T-thanksgiving, S-supplication, for instance), and different spiritual disciplines. I’ve whispered, cried, laughed, argued, and yelled. I’ve meditated, sang, and been silent. I’ve questioned whether I’m praying correctly, with enough faith or with childlike faith, and why I don’t pray in “tongues.” I’ve been angry at God for not answering my prayers fast enough or like I asked. I’ve….well, you get the picture. All in all, I’ve really tried to make prayer a part of my life; a continuous conversation with my Father.

     One thing I have not been able to figure out though is how to get God to do what I ask! I think that is what bothers me the most about the widow parable; the unjust judge finally gave in and answered the widow’s request and Jesus said that God hears his children crying out to him and won’t keep putting them off. Jesus also said,  

"And I will do whatever you ask in my name, so that the Father may be glorified in the Son. You may ask me for anything in my name, and I will do it." Jn 14:13-14.

For serious, Jesus? Because I don’t always get that kind of response from ya’ll (which is probably a good thing).

     Recently the camp staff was at a Christian camp conference at a camp on the shores of Lake Erie. The day was so beautiful (sunshine!) that I went for a walk on the beach. I just talked to God while I walked. Then I noticed the stones on the beach; black stones that were eroded by the water. I picked up one that fit perfectly into my palm. I would keep it in my pocket as a “prayer stone.” Then I noticed the smaller and smaller stones which eroded away to nothing but sand.

     That erosion process stuck with me. As I look back on my prayer pilgrimage, especially the more critical portions of the road I traveled, I see something quite interesting. Even though I was not, and am still not, able to change God’s mind regarding my prayer requests, I myself have changed over the journey. Surprise—the ebb and flow of my prayer life has gently eroded me.

     No amount of pounding on God’s door, or eloquently worded grant requests, or an enormous boost on my faith gauge will erode God. But all the time spent in conversation with the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit has most definitely eroded me.

     I am a better listener. I am okay with silence. I can trust that I do not need to say a word; God knows best what is on my heart. I have a better understanding of allowing God to teach me what to pray, especially when I am at a loss for words. I am much more conversational with God, preferring to speak to him as I work rather than just at specific devotional times during the day.

     And I am okay with knowing that God has shaped me, worn me away, so that I more easily fit into the palm of his hand. The image below also reminds me that larger stones sit on top of the sand, but the individual grains combine to become a beach. See I will always be in the process of being worn down; quite frankly God just will not leave me alone. You either. And that’s a beautiful thought. Just as I gently rub the stone in my pocket as I pray, God gently caresses me as we converse. I, and my prayers, are changed by that divine touch.

For serious Jesus? Because I always want that kind of response from ya'll.