Yeah, God knows . . .

God showed me the other day that He knows exactly what I need.

It was Tuesday and I was getting ready to go to tutoring when Mom asked me how I was enjoying tutoring. Being in a somewhat testy mood, I didn't feel like sugar-coating it and so I told her exactly how I felt. It's not that tutoring has been terrible, it's just that it hasn't been quite what I had hoped. I had hoped that tutoring would give me good experience and also give me a chance to really help other people.
Well, it has been really rewarding some of the time, but the rest of the time it can be really frustrating. Instead of feeling like you're actually helping people learn something new, a lot of the time it only feels like you're only trying to help them sort out something that has been learned wrong and is currently a jumbled mess in their head. If you have ever tried to work with people who are tired and confused, you will know that it doesn't take long before you feel a little tired and confused yourself. Some days you feel like you make progress, and other days you feel like you didn't do anything except fix their paper for them.

Anyway, I was a little discouraged as I went to tutoring that day. As I was walking in, I seriously asked myself if I was just wasting my time. (It's not like the amount that student tutors get paid is that great that I couldn't earn more somewhere else).

I had read Psalm 116 earlier that morning which starts out with “I love the Lord, because he hath heard my voice and my supplications.” Now I hadn't specifically asked God for anything like this, but He obviously knew what was going on in my head because He arranged for me to have a most unexpected-but-amazing conversation.

She was an older black lady and I've tutored her several times. Actually, she's one of the more rewarding students to tutor. I don't know how to explain it, but some students are easy to connect with and help than others. (It doesn't sound nice, but some are an absolute brick wall . . . not that they're dumb, they just don't give you any feedback and you have now way of knowing whether or not they actually understand anything you're saying.) Anyway, she and I have always gotten along well and as soon as she walked into the center and saw me, she came right over and said “Oh good, I was hoping to see you today.”

She sat down and I started looking over her paper as she started talking like she usually does. She seemed a little flustered and disorganized, and pretty soon she told me that she's a little disorganized right now because she just had a death in the family. I had finished her paper but she seemed like she wanted to talk about it, so I started asking her about it.

She told me how her brother-in-law had died unexpectedly of a heart attack last week, told me about the funeral the day before, and then started talking about life and death in general. I know, a nice encouraging topic, right?! She started dropping things like “I don't know what you know about death” and “I don't know what you believe about God or a higher power” and other things that seemed like subtle hints. I thought to myself “I think she's trying to witness to me.” Being in a blunt mood, I asked her if she was a Christian, and she said she was. I told her that I was too, and what happened next was amazing. It was as if both of us knew immediately who the other person was and what they were going through. Over the next five or ten minutes, we had a conversation that would normally be impossible for an older black lady and a young white guy. Not that we were exactly the same – I could tell right away our cultures were totally different and probably both of us would feel like two left feet in each other's churches – but that didn't matter. We were a brother and sister in Christ, and both of us knew it.

I can't explain the conversation exactly,(some of the other people in the center probably thought we were religious nutcakes if they were listening in =) but suffice it to say that it was really encouraging for both of us. She needed someone who could tell her to slow down and take one thing at a time and who understood the hope that was in her even during a hard time. I needed someone to remind me that God sometimes uses people without them knowing it. Apparently God had used me to encourage her the last couple time I had helped her with her papers, and now she said she had prayed that she would run into me again so she could tell me that she thinks I'm headed down the right path and should continue on to be a teacher because I don't know how many kids I may be able to help. It's not always a good thing to hear something like that because for me it usually leads to pride, but in this case it didn't and it was something I needed to hear.

In the end, both of us realized that we had needed to talk to another Christian, and both of us marveled at how God had arranged it for us. You may not think He knows or cares about what you're thinking to yourself, but I guarantee that He does and that He'll surprise you sometime in the way that He shows it.

Simple things

I forgot how much fun leaves can be. The other day I was helping Mr. Ludwig rake a bunch of them into his horse trailer. We got a whole mound of the really light and fluffy kind on when the temptation became to much. I tried to make it sound like work . . . I really did. I calmly explained to him that we could really get a lot more in if he would let me “compact” them -- and then I dove headfirst into the stack! It was one of the softest and most comfortable mattresses I have ever jumped on. I got leaves in my mouth almost every time I did it, but it was still great fun.

I tried not to act like it was fun (otherwise he might have taken my job), but I think he figured it out eventually. I think the way I shouted every time I jumped into them might have tipped him off. But it really did work, so I got to keep doing it for the rest of the day, which I didn't mind a bit! If you haven't jumped into a pile of leaves yet this year, I would suggest you find one and do it post haste. I makes you feel much better, trust me. However, I have to warn you to find a pile of nice dry leaves. Wet and soggy just doesn't work so well for jumping ;)

I've been finding the merit of simple things recently. When life becomes stifling, which it does sometimes (there are times when I just can't bring myself to write one more paper or read one more chapter of a boring health book) the best of escapes are often found in the simplest of things. It doesn't always take a monumental event to brighten up a week . . . sometimes a pile of leaves and some fresh air will do quite nicely.

People who don't have a reason to be miserable can usually find one without much trouble . . . either a failure in the past or an obstacle in the future. There will always be a reason, and that is precisely the reason why none of them will ever be good. I enjoy remembering the past, and I definitely believe in preparing for the future, but neither of them is a good place to live. That's what I like about holidays like Thanksgiving: they remind me of some of the best things in life, the things I often overlook. I don't know why, but I tend to forget things quickly. As a general rule of thumb, the more basic they are, the faster I forget them. It's strange because the most basic things in life are often the most important. Think about it. When's the last time you gave a second thought to the air you are breathing? It's one of the most important things you do, (I think it takes about six or seven minutes to die once you stop doing it) but I can't remember the last time I thought about it. Probably the last time I went went swimming and realized that there are some places where breathing is a bad idea =)

I think this tendency to forget things is one of the reasons God gave us holidays. Family, friends, a change of season, health . . . Holidays remind me of some of the most basic-but-essential things. They also remind me of how quickly people forget.

College life

Potential . . . there is so much of it at college. So many people in the prime of their life – healthy, athletic, smart, ambitious, skilled, looking for their future – all at one place at one time.

Sometimes I wonder if it is a good idea.
All that potential packed into one place . . . I think I understand why Colleges/universities have been the breeding grounds for some of the best reforms and some of the worst revolutions.

Okay, so not everyone at college is healthy, smart, ambitious, or preparing for their future =) Some of them are, some of them definitely are not, and some of them only think they are! However, the overwhelming majority of people attracted to college fit into one of those categories . . . some of them into several . . . a scary few seem to fit into all of them!

The point is, the amount of potential wrapped up in even one campus is scary. You begin to wonder where it's all going to go and what it's going to do. Like a pack of dynamite, it can do a lot of good if it is used carefully, but if it falls into irresponsible hands, it makes a mess.

Potential . . . so many trying to do to much with it . . . so many doing too little with it. They have all the ingredients for a wonderful and useful life, but as I walk past them and hear their conversations, I realize that most of them don't even know what life is about. They are busy trying to win a game for which they haven't even figured out the rules.

It's sad, but also a little bit scary, for I realize that, without care, I could fall into the same trap. It's terribly easy . . . all it needs is to forget for a while whose definition of success you are aiming for – man's or God's. Forget that, and suddenly you could join the rat race thousands of other people have fallen into . . . the race for success . . . a race as miserable as it is futile unless you know the true definition of success.

The other day,when I was looking at the wrong definition of sucess, God brought this song to mind.

God sees the heart.

Our God does not judge by how tall we may stand,
Or how much we posess, or the rank we command.
His gaze goes far deeper to things that endure,
He honors the man who keeps his heart pure.

For the eyes of the Lord are searching to and fro,
We have no secrets that our does not know,
Our father knows our thoughts, he understands every part,
Man sees the outside, but God sees the heart.

Our God measures man by a standard divine,
For he sees underneath every outward design;
He looks past possessions and costly attire,
He tries every heart, every thought and desire.

For the eyes of the Lord are searching to and fro,
We have no secrets that our does not know,
Our father knows our thoughts, he understands every part,
Man sees the outside, but God sees the heart.

Just when you think you've got it all together . . .

I amaze myself sometimes I am at being humble . . . or, more accurately, being humbled.

I was tutoring yesterday, for the second time, and things were going okay, I mean not stupendous, but good enough that I was starting to feel like I knew what I was doing, when a student I was tutoring informed me that my shirt was inside out! At first I thought she was mistaken because my shirt had a thick seam running across the chest, but when I looked down I realized that, although the seam was still there, it was definitely inside out. Worse yet, I had somehow managed to put a tutor pin on, help three or four students, and talk to several staff members without noticing that it was backwards or having it pointed out. Whether they didn't see or didn't have the heart to tell me, I don't know. (I must have taken the shirt off backwards last time and when I dressed in the dark that morning -- in an attempt not to wake up my two brothers who desperately needed their beauty sleep j/k -- I had missed that minor detail.)

Anyway, talk about a letdown! I had just spent the last hour explaining math to this particular student, acting like I knew what I was doing and thinking that she was following my brilliant instruction, and then I find out that she was probably sitting there the whole time thinking to herself "And how am I supposed to trust a tutor who can't even put his shirt on the right way?"

When I realized that there was indeed something wrong with my shirt, I almost laughed. I probably would have if it wasn't slightly embarrassing and if I wasn't still in shock that I could still miss something so obvious. I did laugh later, but at the time I just tried to act like it was no big deal, that I had known about it the whole time, and I even told her that this was the new style. I don't think she believed me.

Oh well, I learned two lessons out of it. First, it's best not to take yourself too seriously, and second, if someone looks at you strangely when you are explaining something to them, don't assume it's because they are interested in what you are saying and how brilliant you are . . . they may just be trying to figure out why your shirt is inside out.

Rejoice?

Matt. 5:10-12 “Blessed are they which are persecuted for righteousness' sake: for theirs is the kingdom of heaven. Blessed are ye, when men shall revile you, and persecute you, and shall say all manner of evil against you falsely, for my sake. Rejoice, and be exceeding glad: for great is your reward in heaven: for so persecuted they the prophets which were before you.”

Dad taught about persecution on Sunday and part of the lesson keeps coming back to me. The Bible tells Christians to rejoice when we are persecuted. In a way that sounds odd (I mean how can you rejoice when you are being persecuted for doing the right thing?) but in another way it makes sense.

For one, persecution means that Satan has identified you as an enemy. I can think of no other way I would rather have Satan think of me. Persecution can be a sign that you are doing the right thing. (Side note: Be careful . . . “persecution” is sometimes evidence that Christians can still be jerks!)

For another, persecution brings to light the spiritual battle. The spiritual battle is very real, but it is also very easy to forget about when it is hidden and there is no visible sign of persecution. Conflict brings the struggle between good and evil to life. Now you may ask why that is a good thing. I mean, what's so great about being reminded that we are in a battle? Well for me it helps clear up some of the confusion. If there's a real battle going on, I would rather know what and where it is than be caught sleeping. When lines are drawn and the battle is brought out into the open, you see the other side for what it really is. You also realize how miserable the people on that side are.

I used to think the other side was something to be hated, and it is, but I'm changing my mind about the people on the other side. When you see the people who are caught -- intentionally or not -- on Satan's side, you realize that even though they may stand for something despicable, the people themselves deserve more pity than hate. They are some of the saddest and most miserable people you will ever meet. Remember that as Jesus cried as he approached Jerusalem, sorry for the blinded people in it even though he knew they were the same people who would send him to his death. When it comes to persecution, they may have the upper hand, but they are being driven by a force too strong for them and fighting for a master who has nothing to offer them except more misery and, in some cases, an unexplainable desire to spread it to others. When you see them at camp, VBS, school, even the news and realize how hopeless they are, you you begin to feel more pity for them and more hatred for the master they work for. Our battle is not against them but against the powers behind them.

I think I'm beginning to see why Jesus said it is possible for Christians to rejoice in persecution. I don't much like conflict or persecution, and I don't think Christians are called to search out either, but I also don't think they are such a bad thing that they ought to be dreaded or avoided at all costs. If nothing else persecution reminds me again (not that I've experienced much of it!) of how good it is to be on God's side. When I see the other side for what it really is and I realize that it has nothing good to offer, it makes me profoundly grateful to be on the right side . . . even if that means persecution.

Isaiah 57:20 “But the wicked are like the troubled sea, when it cannot rest, whose waters cast up mire and dirt. There is no peace, saith my God, to the wicked.”

Psalm 84:10 “For a day in thy courts is better than a thousand. I had rather be a doorkeeper in the house of my God, than to dwell in the tents of wickedness.”

Fun with Ink

The printer wouldn't work. This was no big surprise. Why should it be any different? It was turning out to be one of those mornings when nothing goes right.

I woke up that morning with great expectations. I was going to get a lot of things done and move on quickly to bigger and better things. I had a lot of paperwork to fill out and then I was going to make one big road trip to drop it off and finish a bunch of other errands and end up at VBS. All around, I had it planned to be an abundantly productive day . . . which was why I was so frustrated to trip up on the first step.

After checking my e-mail and finding I had a few more errands to add to my day, and also out that the paperwork I needed wouldn't download, I decided to forget that and print what I could. I have long ago learned that the important thing to do when you have a full to-do list is to not get stuck on the first step. Keep moving and come back for it later. According I pushed the print button and waited impatiently for it to kick out the papers I needed to get my busy day started. That was when I discovered that the printer was taking the day off. I hadn't seen that one coming. . . it didn't thrill my soul to realize that an obstinate printer had just been added to the growing pile of obstacles standing between myself and my nice neat list.

After pushing every button I could think of that might possible convince the printer to print, I finally decided (correctly) that it was out of ink. It was one of those frustrating chain of events where one problem leads directly to the next. However, the empty printer seemed to be the root of the problem so I decided to tackle it first. Never having filled the printer with ink, but desperately needing to print my document, I decided that now was a good time to learn. After a quick phone call to dad (who has filled the printer several times) I had the basic idea of how to do it. He said it was a simple process of filling a syringe with ink and injecting it into the cartridge, but he also warned that it could be a little tricky to know where and how to do it, and that if it wasn't done correctly it could be messy. (If you know my mom and ink, you know that when she heard this it quickly became an outside-and-old-clothes job.)

Confident that I could fill the cartridge without making a mess, I nevertheless put on a pair of old shorts, a cut-off blue shirt, latex gloves (I had already found out by grabbing the ink cartridge that ink doesn't come off the hands easily) and moved my operation outside. Lindsey was somewhat dubious about my ability to do something for the first time without an instruction manual, but she needed the printer as badly as I did so she kept most of her “helpful” comments to herself.

It wasn't hard to find where the ink was supposed to go. There was a little cap right on the top that opened directly into the cartridge. The hard part was figuring out how to get it there. If done incorrectly, an air bubble would form inside the cartridge and I had been warned that this would not create a happy situation. Not sure exactly how much ink to put in the cartridge, I guestimated one whole syringe for one empty cartridge. Filling the syringe to the top, I stuck it the mouth of the cartridge and started squirting ink into it. Everything was going smoothly as Lindsey walked out the door to see how I was making out with my little baby and its bottle.

Standing there prissily in her spotless white shorts and pink shirt, she made a comment about how funny I looked in my old clothes and latex gloves. Concentrating on my task and trying to figure out why the ink had stopped flowing into the cartridge, I pushed the syringe a little harder and responded vaguely that I wearing this get-up in case something happened and the ink decided to get creative. She raised her eyebrows and asked once more if I knew what I was doing. I was just about to assure here that I knew exactly what I was doing and that nothing was going to happen when something did. Without warning, my “baby” decided it had enough and erupted, spewing ink at an impressive range in every direction. I could feel ink dripping from my legs and neck and knew emmediately I was covered. I slowly looked up to see what the damage was. What I saw made me laugh for the first time that day.

Lindsey was standing there with a shocked look on her face and big splotches of ink all over her face and shirt. Her mouth was still open as if she had been about to say something, but nothing was coming out. At that time Greg and Josh rolled into the driveway just in time to see both of us covered in ink, something they thought was terribly funny until the walked in the inky grass and got their feet covered in it. I still wasn't sure exactly how funny this was because I knew I had a lot more on me than Lindsey had on her and I wasn't sure if it would come off, but I thought it was pretty funny, too. Fortunately, the ink did come off, at least most of it, and the printer started working, allowing me to get back to my long and very boring list of things to do. I'm not sure if Lindsey agrees yet, but I think it was the best thing that happened all that day. I learned an important lesson out of my experiment: If you're ever having a bad day and need something to make you laugh, try squirting you sister with ink!

Crutches

This is the first time I've ever had to use crutches. I've decided that they're fun for a little, but I wouldn't want to live on them. Fortunately my ankle is only sprained (at least the doctor said he thinks that's all it is) so I'll only need to use them for a couple days. Honestly, my ankle really doesn't hurt, but nevertheless I've been assigned to crutches. I wasn't even going to go to the doctor, but because my ankle swelled immediately when I landed on it and because breaks often don't hurt as bad as a sprain, I was told I should have it checked out. An hour and multiple phone calls later (don't you love insurance companies and telephone menus?) I found out that it wasn't broken, for which I'm thankful. There's a lot less money involved this way, although not much difference in recovery time. The upshot of it all is that I won't be able to use my ankle much for thenext few weeks -- at least not anything super-active (i.e. fun).

I sprained my ankle at a volleyball tournament Saturday when I came down from a double block (which didn't even work) and landed on my friend's foot. The worst part about it was that it was early in the day and I didn't get to play the rest of the tournament, which I really wanted to play! Ironically, the ankle I sprained wasn't even the ankle I'd sprained at camp. That one was still wrapped up like a Christmas present when I rolled the other one. Between ankle's and shoulder surgery, I'm beginning to feel like I'm always recovering from something. I'll look forward to the day when I can play without having to worry about some temporarily defective body part going out of kilter. You really don't realize how much God created to go right with the human body until a few small things start going wrong. Oh well, that's life and it's part of the risk of playing volleyball . . . but would (and will) do it again. Without a little bit of risk life gets boring.

Back for the summer

Sweat.

I almost forgot what it was like to work outside in the hot summer sun. Almost, but not quite. The sensation of skin slowly cooking and the blinding glare every time I look up. That feeling of water running down my hair and across my face (sometimes managing to get into my eyes) mixed with a fine shower of sawdust from someone who was so considerate as to cut their board directly above or upwind from me. Usually the sawdust cakes into a sort of paste that sticks to the skin like some sort of mud plaster. I call it a sawdust shower and I'm getting one almost every day right now. That's okay because I've heard they're healthy for you.

Actually I kind of enjoy being back at it again. There's something about building houses that makes you miss it when you aren't doing it and wonder what exactly it was that you missed when you come back to it. Either way, I'm thankful to have the work. I really wasn't expecting Larry to have work when I came back but he did, at least for one week. Good thing too because the other jobs are a little slow right now.

It's been amazing this summer to see God work out my schedule. I don't always know very far in advance what I'll be doing, but every day there's always something to do. Sometimes there's more work than others, but it is almost always proportional to the amount of spare time that I have. Sometimes the “not very far in advance” part worries me, but I'm beginning to get used to it. As one speaker at camp pointed out, “God is never late; He's not early very often, but He's never late.” I think He does that to teach me faith. He knows I like to have things planned out so He makes sure I can't see very far into the future so that I have to trust Him as I come to it.

It's good to be back from camp for the summer. For those of you who didn't know, I did work at camp this summer. I was a counselor for five weeks at a little camp which was located about two hours away in Hughesville. (The camp keeps jumping around because they don't have their own property yet. It used to be in York, but that didn't work out this year so the whole camp up and moved to Hughesville – and let me tell you, that is no small amount of work!)

The first time I walked on the property, my thoughts were “no way. This isn't camp and it's never going to be.” It just didn't feel like camp. All the memories were still back at the “other place” in York. However, I couldn't say that because there was no “other place” to go to. However, once the staff arrived and we started hacking our way artistically through the woods (the director said he wanted an “interesting” trail, and that's exactly what Greg and I gave him – perhaps a little too artistic on second thought seeing as a couple people got lost on them =) and cleaning all sorts of things out of the old cabins, it pretty soon began to feel like camp. Camp really is all about the staff and by the end of the summer we had created another “camp” that will be in my memory just like the old one was. There were a few drawbacks to the property -- for instance the dining hall was really more like a large living room so that once you got about 60 junior campers sqeezed in there it was so loud that you couldn't hear yourself think -- but there were also a few advantages like the larger activities center (actually an old barn) that went perfectly with our farm frolic theme and gave us enough room to play indoor games when we got rained out. If any of you have ever had to try to figure out what to do with 60 energy-pumped juniors when your outdoor game gets rained out, you will appreciate that. I think part of the reason they were so energy-pumped was because Airheads (basically sugar concentrated into a bar form) were so cheap that kids were buying 16 for two dollars and eating them all during one afternoon. The counselors all decided that next year they are definitely going to be more expensive!

The weather was a big answer to prayer this year. Besides being unseasonably cool, a mixed blessing when it comes time for studious campers to hose down selected staff members (in fact one week half the counselors got sick from being cold and wet) the rain came at about the perfect time. See, camp is sort of like farming: you need rain, but you would really prefer not to have it at certain times. Thankfully, most the rain that was needed came in quick thunderstorms or overnight or during an inside activity. It was just enough to keep the stream full and most the campers dry, although there were several nights when our cabin strongly resembled – and smelled – like a cheap laundromat. I think the only reason the rafter in camp cabins are exposed is so that people can hang wet clothes from them.

Speaking of hosing staff, I think there ought to be a rule against hosing someone right after they wake up. The one afternoon, during one of the only two “free hours” counselors get during the entire week (actually it's only about 30 minutes and it's not usually free), I fell asleep. I had just drifted off when I was awakened very rudely by a sopping wet fellow staff member jumping up and down on top of me. He had just been hosed and was taking great delight in informing me that I was next. Still only half awake, stumbled out of my cabin to face a crowd of cheering teens who couldn't wait to see some girl who I barely knew and to whom I had never done anything wrong or even slightly mean, spray me down just because she had said enough verses to entitle her to that privilege. Some people may call cold water a refreshing experience. I call it a lousy way to wake up!

There are a lot of other things that happen at camp which I don't now have the time or desire to put down in writing (some things are better left unsaid), but one thing I have discovered after two years of working at camp is that it will stretch you. Whether it's pretending to be excited about being hosed down with very cold water, or trying to get kid's excited about a game that you know isn't going to go well -- such was the case with a certain pig which despite being chased all summer did not get the idea that the idea of a pig chase is that the pig runs away when the campers chase it instead of sitting there stupidly until a camper picks it up by its legs and then squealing so pitifully and so loudly that all the campers feel so sorry for the poor piggy that some of them won't play and other more radical ones threaten to call the humane society – or whether it is playing a country bumpkin (and that took a major acting job, let me tell you!) *no comments please* that ends with a number where you have to sing a solo of “Let me call you sweetheart” to the whole camp, or whether it is something more serious like dealing with a camper who won't listen, or leading cabin devotions, or spending one-on-one time with a camper who is going through things you've never had to deal with, or even something like finding things to pray about when you've just been asked to pray three times in the past ten minutes (you never realize how little you think about God or count your blessings until you are asked to do so publicly multiple times during the course of a day), you will be stretched. No one comes away from camp thinking they were ready for what they faced, and those who are older and wiser don't even head into camp that way. At camp, especially a small camp like Servant's Heart, staff are are given a lot of responsibility. One thing I've discovered about being given responsibility is that it reveals your strengths and weaknesses, which can be a good thing if it is handled properly. Realizing your own strengths and weaknesses presents a tremendous opportunity to grow. It also provides an extreme temptation to compare yourself with others and to get proud or feel inferior. It all depends on how you deal with your strengths and where you turn for help with your weaknesses. You can try to do it all yourself, maximize your strengths and minimize your weaknesses, but eventually you reach a point where you realize that you are totally powerless to do anything except throw yourself at the feet of an almighty and all-loving God and say “help me.” Getting to that point may not be fun, but it's a good place to be and God will always try to get you there. That when you begin to see just how strong and sufficient God is.

There were a couple instances this summer when God showed me what He can do. One of them involved a boy named Rico. Rico is not the most eloquent or educated person I've ever met, he can be quite good at forgetting things, and he comes from a very bad environment in the city, but Rico got saved two years ago at camp. Since that time he has developed a relationship with God is truly unique. Rico has a hard time reading the Bible and hasn't had much good teaching or good examples to follow growing up, but he wants to know more about God and has grasped the concept that the only life worth living is a life that is sold out for God, no matter how hard that may be. Watching Rico's perspective on life and listening to him talk about what God is doing and teaching him, I realized that even though Rico has not been given much, God has more than made up that. God speaks much more directly to Rico than most people I meet and it is evident that God's Spirit has taken a much more active role in his life than in the lives who think they can do things on their own. One night Rico preached a message to the staff and I think I got more out of that message than any message that the evangelists gave. It was not the most brilliant message I have ever heard, actually it was a very basic message about salvation mixed with his own personal testimony and there was a lot of stumbling and mistakes until he got going, but God showed me a lot through that. Mostly I realized that it really doesn't matter much what someone says when they are giving a testimony or how they say it, what matters is what God has done. Nothing can be said that hasn't already been said, and probably it was said much better before, but if God has truly done something and a person is truly grateful for what He did, that will come through and mean more than a shallow testimony that is worded to sound significant. It was a reminder to me to be truly thankful for what God has done and to ask Him to give me the passion to do right and the conviction of things that are wrong. I stopped asking Him for those things way to long ago and I think they are something that need to be asked for regularly.

Another thing God showed me is that too often I view Christianity in a negative light. Not that I think Christianity is bad, just that my enthusiasm about telling and showing unsaved people how good and joyous it is to live life God's way doesn't match my conviction to point out how bad and miserable it is to live life their way. There is a balance and I think so many times we as Christians focus so much on what is wrong and get so good at picking it out that we ignore the other side of the coin and overlook everything that is not bad. We assume there are to classes of action, bad and normal, and very often what is normal becomes boring and mundane. It is not . . . or at least it should not. There are two ways to help someone. One is to point out where they are wrong. The other way is to encourage them in what is right. This summer I learned the importance of the second method. When I look back on my life, the people who have had the most impact were not the people who told me not to do wrong but the people who encouraged me to do right and showed me the benefits of it. During the second week of camp, this, became very evident.

The second week of camp was bad. It's not that all the kids were angry and defiant, it's just that there were enough of them to set the mood for the camp. During staff training we learned a lot about the importance of not letting other people control you by your reactions. If someone can get you to lose your temper or get in a bad mood by doing something that annoys you, they are controlling you. Any time you react to someone else, they are -- for better or for worse -- controlling you. That particular week, my cabin had some problems and while I wasn't blowing up at my campers, it was taking the fun out of my week to constantly be dealing with attitude/behavior problems. Thankfully, God knew what I needed and that week the evangelist who was there, Mike Westburg, was just what was needed. He had been a counselor in his younger days and I learned a lot just by watching him. He knew that this was a “bad” week, everybody on staff did, but instead of just cracking down on the bad behavior and settling for the role of firm but resigned baby-sitter, he made it cool to do the right thing and have fun. He played with the kids and participated in the events, bringing some energy and enthusiasm that was needed much than stern reprimands and a critical attitude towards the kids. At the one staff meeting when asked for help with how to tell kids what they are doing is wrong and get them to stop, he pointed out gently he has heard it said many times by teachers that you need to encourage what is good much more than you discipline what is bad. If there's one area I know I need to improve, it's on how to focus on what is good and have fun with it even when everything seems to be going bad.

Okay, so this is a lot longer than I thought it would be. It's hard to wrap up six weeks in one afternoon of typing, but I don't have enough spare time to go into more detail. Anyway, that's what I've been up to and what God has been teaching me over the past several weeks. Overall, I don't think I would want to be a counselor for a living and it is a lot of work, but I learned a lot more this way and had a lot more fun than I would have doing a lot of other things. If I wasn't working at a Christian camp, I would have to say that I gave up a summer to do a lot of work for no money (even now in some of my weaker moments Satan asks me if maybe I did) but I've heard it said many times that anything given up for God is not really given up at all and I know I can agree with that! Working at camp this summer also made me realize how much time, energy, and money certain people (parents, pastors, teen leaders, family friends) have poured into me and how glad I am that they did. One thing I think myself and the rest of the staff realized as we made the transition from campers to staff (also teenager to adulthood) is that there is a time and season for everything. For so many years we've been receiving. Now it is time to give back. It's time to do for someone else what someone has already done for you.

Random thoughts

(Random thoughts that never made it to blog posts.)

The danger . . .

. . . with comparing: If two snails compare themselves, one of them is bound to think he is fast.

. . . with growing up Christian: You are told what is the right thing to do before you understand why. This is fine as long as you eventually figure out the reasons behind what you do. The danger is that many kids never make this transition. They continue going through the motions without knowing the reason until one day they grow up and decide that there are no reasons. Nothing could be further from the truth! Unfortunately it happens all the time.

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Some people try so hard to be real and sincere . . . other people just are. I prefer the second type. Every day I run across people who obviously believe deep down that they are practical, interesting people and are desperate for someone to realize just how real and un-fake they are. I wish I could tell them that the fulfillment they are looking for will never come from other people. They need someone who understood them before they were born, knows exactly who they are, what they have done, what they will do, and what they will be (Psalm 139). Unfortunately they are so busy looking in the wrong place that I fear it will be a long time before they begin looking in the right place.

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A quote from a speaker I heard recently: “Many people come up and tell me that they don't need to go to church to be a Christian. True enough. Also true: you don't need to go home to be considered married . . . but it helps!”

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I am soooooo ready to get to camp. I'm tired of preparing . . . I want to be there and start doing. If you'll excuse me I think I'm going to find a good piece of grass to stick between my teeth and some pockets to shove my hands into. Oh this whole farm theme is going to be way too easy =)

The cemetery

I climbed the deep grassy slope quickly, anxious to see what lay at the top. As I crested the hill, a single headstone greeted me, silhouetted against the sky.

It was not alone.

As I reached the top I saw another, and then another. There were many graves in that place, some so old the names were barely visible and some so new that that the stones looked like they had just been cut. All were different in shape and age, but they shared one similarity: the American flag. It fluttered beside each grave, caught in a slight breeze.

My feet slowed to a walk, and then to crawl, and soon they stopped altogether. My steps had led me to the edge of the cemetery, and there I stopped and looked.

For a place commemorating to death, the cemetery was a lively place.
Signs of life showed themselves all around. The trees, their radiant leaves glowing in the sun, gave silent homage to the life that had coursed through them all summer. All around me birds twittered as they flew from one patch of brush to another.

As I watched, a squirrel raced across the ground to claim a nut that had just fallen and started an argument between a chipmunk and a Blue Jay who obviously thought there were not enough to go around. Even the sky was alive, providing a brilliant blue backdrop for the entire entire valley and town below. In the distance, white clouds drifted slowly by, driven by the same breeze that played through the leaves and caught the flags, unfurling them like banners.

As I stood there I wondered if the people under the headstones, whose bodies had long since decayed, could appreciate this place. This was what they had fought for, liberty, beauty, clean earth, a blue sky, a fluttering breeze, the noise of birds. . . life itself . . . everything this cemetery was. It was a fitting resting place.

But as I contemplated this, the stark contradiction of the place struck me. This was only a resting place. They didn’t die here, here in this cemetery surrounded by what they loved. They fought and fell thousands of miles from here surrounded by death and misery, the very things they fought and hated most, helpless to do anything but wait for it to take them.

It was a somber thought, and I left saddened. I understood for the first time in my life that those who truly love life are rarely allowed to enjoy it but often die defending it for those who will not care.

Prayer

Luke 22:41-2 “And he was withdrawn from them about a stone's cast, and kneeled down, and prayed, Saying, Father, if thou be willing, remove this cup from me: nevertheless not my will, but thine, be done.”

Of all Jesus prayers, this is the one I'm most grateful he said. It's also the one I find is the hardest to pray.

~Who a man is when he is alone and on his knees before God is what he is and nothing more ~ Tom Harman quoting someone else

I came across this the other day in C.S. Lewis's Screwtape Letters. (For those of you who haven't read them, they are from the perspective of two demon's correspondence on how best to keep a man from being a true Christian.)

The best thing, where possible, is to keep the patient from the serious intention of praying altogether. When the patient is and adult recently reconverted to the Enemy's party, like your man, this is best done by encouraging him to remember, or think he remembers, the parrotlike nature of his prayers in childhood. In reaction against that he may be persuaded to aim at something entirely spontaneous, inward, informal, and unregularised; and what this will actually mean to a beginner will be an effort to produce in himself a vaguely devotional mood in which real concentration of will and intelligence have not part. One of their poets, Coleridge, has recorded that he did not pray “with moving lips and bended knees” but merely “composed his spirit to love” and indulged in “a sense of supplication.” That is exactly the sort of prayer we want; and since it bears a superficial resemblance to the prayer of silence as practised by those who are very far advanced in the Enemy's service, clever and lazy patients can be taken by it for quite a long time. . .

If this fails, you must fall back on a subtler misdirection of his intention. Whenever they are attending to the Enemy Himself we are defeated, but there are ways of preventing them from doing so. The simplest is to turn their gaze away from Him towards themselves. Keep them watching their own minds and trying to produce feelings there by the action of their own wills. When they meant to ask Him for charity, let them, instead, start trying to manufacture charitable feelings for themselves and not notice that this is what they are doing. when they meant to pray for courage, let them really be trying to feel brave. When they say they are praying for forgiveness, let them be trying to feel forgiven. Teach them to estimate the value of each prayer by the success of producing the desired feeling: and never let them suspect how much success or failure of that kind depends on whether they are well or ill, fresh or tired, at the moment . . .

. . . For if he ever comes to make the distinction , if he ever consciously directs his prayers “Not to what I think thou art but to what thou knowest thyself to be,” our situation is, for the moment, desperate. Once all this thoughts and images have been flung aside or, if retained, retained with full recognition of their merely subjective nature, and the man trusts himself to the completely real, external presence there with him in the room and never knowable by him as he is known by it – why, then it is that the incalculable may occur. In avoiding this situation – this real nakedness of the soul in prayer – you will be helped by the fact that the humans do not desire it as much as they suppose. There's such a thing as getting more than they bargained for!

Of all the things I've read about prayer, I'm finding out that I really don't understand it. However, I've also found out that the success of my daily walk depends more on that than anything else. I don't think we need to understand it as much as we just need to do it and make a conscious effort about it even when we don't feel like it. If we ask God for help and do our part, the rest is up to Him.

Summer already?

Whatever happened to spring? This weather makes me feel like I should be watching fireworks and starting water fights. And watermelon . . . definitely watermelon . . . that would be really good right now! In the summer nothing is quite as good as a good cold watermelon. Even desserts can't hope to compete with that, especially when you're as hot and thirsty as I am right now.

I walked outside yesterday and burned my feet on the pavement. Now I know my feet aren't very tough yet after being crammed into shoes all winter, but even so that's not supposed to happen in April. But besides burned feet there are some fun things about summer. For instance, I get to see a whole new line of hats from my sister who is paranoid of getting sunburned. She has this thing for ten-gallon hats in the floppy women's style. I can't wait to see what she comes up with this year. If you ever get a chance, ask her to show you her collection. It can be quite amusing. Uh-oh, speaking of which I'm getting a very definite signal from her right now that it's time for me to stop talking about her hats and change the oil in her car. Someday I'm going to teach her how to do that herself . . although I would hate to lose it as a bargaining chip. Tonight it got me out of doing dishes which I happen to think is a great deal (and seeing it gets me out of the kitchen, the rest of my family probably does too). This way I get to play with wrenches and get my hands all greasy which is much more fun. After all, everyone knows it's much more fun to make a mess than it is to clean one up. Besides that it's also a good way to impress people who don't know me well enough to know that I don't know anything about cars. If you ever want to look like you know something about cars, pull the car out in the front yard and get underneath it with greasy hands and a bunch of tools scattered around. Everybody driving past will assume that you must know what you're doing . . . that is unless they happen to be the one driving past when you pull the plug out too fast and get hit in the mouth with the drain oil. I did that once and unfortunately Josh was there to see it happen. He's never let me forget it. (Sigh . . . sometimes brothers are cruel that way.)

Closing doors

When it comes to directing someone, sometimes shutting a door works as well as opening one.

I didn't really plan to work at camp this summer. I had a good job as a framer and I planned to work this summer since I got to play at camp all last summer. j/k! (For any of you who haven't worked at camp and might be thinking it's all fun and games, it's not! Not that it can't be fun or exciting, because it definitely can be – especially depending on who you have in your cabin – but there's a lot of responsibility and energy involved. It is definitely rewarding, but you come away from it very tired. . . sort of like a job. About the only difference is that the one pays a whole lot better!)

Anyway, I thought it made a lot of sense to work this summer. Apparently God didn't. The carpentry job went the way of all construction jobs right now – an abrupt nose dive – and nothing else looks much better. I did a very broad search for jobs on the internet the other day and came up with one or two for each of the three categories I thought I might remotely fit in. I found out just how remote when I saw what they were and what the requirements were! Right now the options look like working at camp or sitting around with not much to do all summer – and that's not even an option for me!

I guess I should have seen it coming. When I was asked about working at camp this summer, I made a deal with God that if He wanted me there He would have to take away any job possibilities. Unless something changes drastically and very soon, I would have to say that's exactly what He did. He's faithfully provided lots of very part-time work for me right now, but nothing full time or long term. It's not that I don't want to work at the camp, I worked there once before and loved every minute of it, I just assumed God would see things my way (silly me!).

Isaiah 55:8 “For my thoughts are not your thoughts, neither are my ways your ways, saith the Lord.”
If I took that verse alone, I might think that God just likes confusing people. However . . .

Jeremiah 29:11 “I know the thoughts that I think toward you, saith the LORD, thoughts of peace, and not of evil, to give you an expected end.” As long as He knows what it is, I guess I don't have to.

Oh well, time to go see if there are any more applications I can fill out . . . just in case. After all, I might have this figured all wrong. It wouldn't be the first time. Who knows, I might find one that doesn't require five years of experience and three years of training.

Thoughts from yesterday

Only when you realize that you are fighting yourself -- that Satan is not creating evil and throwing it at you, that he's only pulling out what's already inside of you (James 1:14) -- then you realize that you are not in complete control. If you are fighting yourself, obviously there is something inside of you that is resisting control. That is when you realize that you need help.

If passion for Christ does not consume me, something else will. It does no good for me to try to quell my own desires if I do not have something better to replace them with. The heart is very much like a vacuum: if you do not fill it, it will fill itself with whatever is closest to it. One way to fight it is to keep trying to pull things out of it, but that only creates more of a vacuum. A better way to stop a vaccuum is to start putting things into it. That is where Christ comes in. He gives us something clean and worthwhile to put in to fight the vacuum of selfish desires. If it were not for Him we would constantly be fighting a battle that couldn't be won. . . a vaccuum that can't be filled. Without Him, we couldn't even fight. Thank God for giving us a fighting chance!

Learning slowly

Prayer is not meant to be merely directed to God, it is meant to be all about God. To many times I say God's name at the beginning to let Him know it is headed His way and at the end to let Him know that I am done. What happens in the middle is mostly about me. Not that God doesn't want to know about me, but I don't think the primary purpose of prayer is to remind Him who I am, it's to remind me who He is.

I have a feeling that sometimes when I pray and it feels like I'm talking to myself, it's because I am talking to myself. I catch myself doing that a lot. Prayer takes on a whole new meaning when I remember to make it less about me and more about Him. Now if only I could do it more often. Oh well, I guess God never said we would learn everything on the first try.

Visiting David

Greg and I went to see David today. It was really good to see him again -- well worth the four hour drive. We had a great visit, which was an answer to prayer in itself. There's not guarantee that you will get in to see him when you get out there because they have a really sensitive drug check that beeps if you've even used a hand-cream with a trace of drugs. Simply handling money that has been in other hands can be enough to set it off and ruin the visit. Greg and I prayed that we would be able to get in, and Sarah, David's sister, promised that she would get her class to pray for us. Greg got through just fine but apparently it didn't like something about me. However, it was just a trace and the officer said it didn't count enough for a “hit” as he called it. I breathed a prayer of thanks and we went down the hall to see David.

David is doing surprisingly well. We had some really great conversations and a lot of fun. David was always fun to pick on and I'm glad to say that hasn't changed. He's as much fun to pick on as ever and Greg and I took advantage of it. After all, we haven't seen him in over a year so we had a lot stored up and we gave it all to him. Don't feel to bad for him though . . . he still knows how to give it back! I think he had more fun with it than we did. At some point he made some sarcastic comment about my maturity and I threatened to hit him with the bag of quarters.

“You mean your purse?” he said with a grin. (I almost did hit him then. He and Greg thought it was hilarious though and he kept complimenting me on it, saying it went really well with my eyes – which was a lie. It was lime green and made out of cheap clear plastic)

He also had a hoot when I couldn't figure out the microwave. He told me that someday I would learn how to handle modern technology and encouraged me to keep trying and stretching myself – the smart aleck! For some reason Greg escaped the worst of the criticism, although he definitely wasn't unscathed. It was great.

We didn't spend the whole time poking fun at each other, occasionally we did settle down to some more serious issues, but it was good to see that he hasn't lost his sense of humor. Believe me, in there that's a gift and I know he couldn't do it without God's help. It was also good to see that he's still strong and open about his faith which is definitely unusual for where he is. Almost everyone seems to know him in there (most of them ribbed him in good fun when they walked past us today) and he's finding ways to reach out to others. Right now he is working in some peer mentoring groups and he really seems to enjoy it.

It can be very depressing walking into a place that looks like Fort Knox and going through all the security (it makes you realize what human nature is and how hard it is to stop it not only from walking out of there but also into there) but Greg and I came out of there more encouraged than when we went in. It is amazing to see what God can do with a life even after Satan has done his best to wreak havoc on it and turn it into despair. David hasn't despaired, although from a human standpoint it seems like the only option and I'm sure it's a temptation, but he has been given a sense of peace and joy. Only God can do that. Seeing what He has done in David's life and the lives of his family, I can only praise a God who is not stopped by prison walls or mistakes. I am glad to have a friend like David. He reminds me that God's love has no limits and that His mercy and grace are not given to us because we deserve it.

P.S. If you think about it, pray for David. He didn't mention it much, but he's had some physical problems and is having more tests done this week and it's not exactly the nicest place to be sick.

Five cousins in the woods

What began as a simple walk in the woods turned into much more. Two days earlier my two brothers and myself had made the five hour trek from Lancaster to Potter county to meet our cousins at our annual “Uncle Dave's cabin” reunion. There were other relatives there too, most of them older. They provided a comfortable backdrop for us and since they were quite a bit older we always felt young and adventurious around them, or a least mischevious! They also provided much better meals than we could have for ourselves! However, even though it was nice they were there, what made the cabin really special was seeing our cousins Bryan and Ben who happened to live about two hours away . . . just far enough that we saw each other a couple times a year but not nearly as much as we would have liked.

Anyway, the five of us had spent the weekend hunting squirrels, playing pit, dangling things through upstairs vents on our elder's heads, making up stories, and pretty much whatever else we could think of. Now we needed something to do before it was time to head home. We decided to go hiking. It was Sunday so we couldn't take our guns, but it was a beautiful day and we wanted to get some fresh air. It was also a good way to extend the visit!

We started off through the woods for a quiet walk. I'm not quite sure how it started, I think it started with us trying to teach Ben and Bryan how to top trees (climbing up a sapling until it bends under your weight and lets you down to the ground. If you pick the right size, you can have a great ride. If you don't it either bends before you get your feet off the ground or you find out at the top that it has no intention of bending and you have to slide back down, usually at some damage to you knees or other body parts). Anyway, I think it started out as that, but in the absence of ideal saplings it turned into pushing down a small dead tree. Pretty soon we saw another dead tree (maybe stick is a better description) and we pushed that down too. Before long we were getting creative and finding new ways to push down the trees. I distinctly remember Bryan who was probable twelve or thirteen – two years older than me – attempting a karate move on the tree.

At the time Bryan had some fascination with karate. Unfortunately, in the absence of any training, he was no better at it than any of the rest of us. His karate kick, which was aimed at the small tree, was very successful, in fact it was a little too successful and the tree toppled almost before he hit it and totally threw off his calculation. His momentum carried him too far and he turned a neat little trick in the air before landing on his back. He got up a little winded but still laughing. We all agreed his karate needed a little help, but his sound effects for the move were a big hit. It sounded something like an extended “Hiiii--- Yah” and went in time to appropriate chopping motions. The rest of us thought it was funny and began doing the same thing.

So now there were five of us romping through the woods pushing down trees and random and making Tarzan-like noises and moves. Gradually, as we got more and more enthusiastic and farther from the cabin – and our egos got bigger=) -- we began picking bigger and bigger trees. As the size of the trees increased, so did the danger. Some of the trees were pretty tall and the only way to get them over was to get it swinging back and forth until the momentum of the rhythm toppled it. To get enough leverage we would put as many of us on one side as we could and begin pushing together. The only problem with this was that some trees – especially the tall skinny ones – have a weak top and strong base so by the time we got the tree swinging the top was creaking and cracking. Usually some bark and small branches would start breaking off halfway through and we would have to run for cover as they rained down around us. One time the whole top half broke and almost clocked Greg on the head. However, that didn't deter us. We were young (no comments about IQ right now), we were conquering the woods, and we were confident that nothing could stand in our way.

Occasionally we did come up against a tree that was too big for us, but we tended to figure this out pretty quickly. If we came to a tree we couldn't beat, we quickly ignored it and acted like we didn't care. However, despite a few defeats, for the most part our mission was a smashing success. We declared that we were actually making the woods safer for innocent people who would come walking up here after us (I don't know who we really though would come wandering up the mountain in the middle of nowhere and get hit by a tree) but I think mostly we just liked to see the trees fall and hear the crash.

We roamed pretty far that day, but eventually we decided we'd better head back before out parents sent out a search party for us. However, we decided we would do it again the next time we went up.

That was years ago, but we still go out tree romping when we go to Dave's cabin. There aren't as many old dead trees as there used to be, but I'm sure that time will take care of that. However, we manage to find a couple and we still have fun pushing them over. To be sure we're much more mature about it now and don't make all the noises and antics we used to (okay, some of us still do sometimes but it's much more manly now – yeah right!), but mostly it's still boys pushing down trees. However, we have added some new twists over the years. For instance, there is an abundant crop of acorns on that mountain which we discovered make ideal ammunition for a fight.

I imagine there will come a day when we won't all be able or fit to go to Dave's cabin, I don't imagine when we're sixty that we'll still be going around pushing down trees, but I hope that day doesn't come for a long time. If there's one thing I've learned from all the stupid childhood games I've played (and some of them are pretty hair-brained) its that you don't need fancy equipment or technical rules to have fun. All you need is a little bit of imagination and a couple of friends who are willing to have fun and even something as ordinary as a walk in the woods can turn into something exciting and dangerous. BTW, it helps if you don't mind acting like a kid again. With my shoulder temporarily out of action I've gained a new appreciation for “kid's games.” They can be a lot of fun and they're not always as safe or as tame as they look! Okay, most of them aren't that dangerous, and I will be glad when I can play sports competitively again, but there's lot's of other ways to have fun if you're willing to try it and don't mind looking stupid. After all, why should kids have all the fun?

Driving etc.

I saw a flying mattress today. It's not every day you get to see that sort of thing. For those who have a firm grasp of Mother Goose – and a loose grasp of reality – this flight of the mattress might seem to be a magical experience. This one most definitely wasn't. The flight began out of the bed of a very small pickup truck (a truck way to small to be hauling two very large mattresses) and ended a very few feet away. It wasn't pretty. I could hear from inside the delivery van I was driving. The only thing magical about the flight was the look on the man's face when he realized his new mattress had decided to take up flying. That was the most interesting thing that happened while I was driving.

I've decided I don't want to drive for a living.

Maybe if I saw more things like flying mattresses I would change my mind. I wouldn't mind driving for hours if it was exciting, it's just the boring part I mind. After the third or fourth trip to the same place, all the cars and roads start to look the same. If there was more happening on the road it wouldn't be that bad. Maybe that's the answer. Maybe I should make things happen on the road. . . Hmmmm . . . On second thought maybe I'd better just scratch driving of my list. After all “exciting” in driving lingo usually means “almost a crash.” How many good/safe drivers do you know who drive around looking for unusual things to happen on the road?

I already knew I don't want to drive for a living. Unless I'm going somewhere new where there's new scenery and the possibility of getting lost, or unless I'm going with interesting people, driving for me is almost always synonymous with boring. However, on occasion, driving can be a nice change of pace and I'm not about to complain about having some work even if it is very part-timeish. When a place I used to work asked if I wanted to do some driving for them, it wasn't a hard decision. It's kind of nice to go back and see the same guys you used to work with years ago even if they still do pick on me. I thought maybe since I was older they would respect me more and not mention the time I went the wrong way on the turnpike. Wrong! I guess having a dad and uncle who work there doesn't help. Somehow I get the feeling that whenever I do something worth mentioning, whether it be stupid or just “interesting,” they hear about it. Oh well, it's fun and it's definitely an answer to prayer to have something besides school to do. Sometimes it's nice when God answers a prayer in a way you don't expect. Not always, but sometimes.

I hate it when I get surprised that God answered a prayer. Many times His answers come in such a way that it is easy for me to overlook it -- only when I look back do I realize that He did indeed answer it -- but other times it is very obvious and I'm left wondering why I didn't ask sooner. The other week He answered one very obviously.

I asked Him specifically for a chance to talk to a classmate at school. I had no idea who or how but I figured with over three thousand students there had to be someone He wanted to to talk to and definitely wasn't doing it on my own, so I asked Him to make it obvious to me. He did and I felt really stupid when it was done. The next day, at the very end of the day, He turned a very random comment about a history test into twenty minute conversation about God. He accomplished in two minutes what I had been trying to do the whole semester! I have no idea how much it meant to the other guy, not that he wasn't interested, it's just that I don't think I did a whole lot to shake his belief in being an agnostic, but it meant a lot to me. It was one of those gentle slaps in the face that God gives me every now and then when pray for something I don't expect Him to answer. I As I was driving away I could almost hear him saying in response to my surprise “Well you asked me, didn't you?” (Don't ask me why I'm only writing about it now; it happened almost three weeks ago. I guess it may have something to do with a comment that was made in Sunday school yesterday about letting other people know when God does something special. If He makes it obvious it's probably because He wants to get the glory for it. BTW, pray for John Lagerman. He's the guy I talked too and he's been missing from class ever since. Maybe he's just taking an extended spring break but I'd like to see him again and pick up where we left off.)

I usually assume that any good request doesn't need to be a specific request, that He know's it's always on my unspoken prayer list. However, as I was driving away the verse from James came to mind, the verse where God says, “You have not because you ask not.” I always assumed that if I wanted something I knew God approved of (like an opportunity to witness) the only way God would not give it was if I ask amiss or for the wrong reasons. However, later on in the verse James mentions that in a separate category saying that “You ask and receive not because you ask amiss.” It's not the same thing. Apparently asking amiss and simply not asking are two equally good ways to get the same result. I may ask amiss a good deal, but I think just as many times it's a matter of me not bothering to ask.

How did I get from mattresses to prayer? I think it's time for me to end this post and get back the school I was neglecting while I was out driving the boring roads. Unfortunately, unless Greg or Josh decide to start a fight and begin throwing things like mattresses, school is likely to be just as boring as the roads were. Oh well, I guess boring things need to be done, too.

Planting peas

Planting peas. It used to be an impossibly long job. My grandpa doesn't have a huge garden, but he plants almost all of it in peas. My hands were always too small to hold enough peas to last more than a few feet and my fingers were too clumsy to get the peas to work together and come out one at a time like they were supposed to. Consequently, my rows tended to be erratic and getting them somewhat straight and spaced was not easy. Every year my grandpa would have to show all us boys how far apart to space the peas. It wasn't quite an inch, but it wasn't much less. I remember thinking that they had to be perfect or somehow they wouldn't grow right. I remember making a little measuring stick to check myself. It didn't help much. Sooner or later the little shriveled seeds either grouped together or spaced themselves too far and I'd have to go back and push them around and add a few here or take out a few there. It seems silly now that such a simple job as dropping peas could be so hard, but it was. It used to take Greg, Josh, Grandpa, and myself almost two hours to get the job done. It seemed like forever. Today it took Josh, grandpa, and I almost one hour (Greg was “sick” and had to stay home and sleep – the lazy thing!:)

Two hours is a long time when you're little and bending over a boring row trying to get peas to obey. However, we weren't exactly the most diligent workers back then. We'd work for a little while and then one of us would have to “go get a drink.” Interpreted that meant that we were going inside to get some juice and hope that grandma would detain us for a while. These frequent “water” breaks were supplemented by all the times grandma saved us the trouble of going inside and would bring the juice or popsickles out to us. It is amazing how many water breaks it takes to get a job done on a nice spring day. Of course, all these water breaks pretty soon led to bathroom breaks which were also good excuse for an escape. Pretty soon Greg and I figured out that all the breaks only made the job take longer and we buckled down and stuck to it. It took Josh a little bit longer to wean himself. Of course he always was the baby of the family and grandma tended to spoil him a little bit more than us! (Sorry Josh!). I remember, not so many years ago, when he would still get up from his row and try to sneak off. If' we caught him he would say sheepishly “I need to get a drink.” We didn't believe it then and always hooted and gave him a hard time about it about going in to get a snack and skipping out of work. We still do. (I reminded him about it again today even though he hasn't done it for the past two or three years. He threw sticks at me. Note to self: “I'm going to have to stop that before he gets bigger than me!). It's one of those things that made planting fun. You see, it wasn't that we totally hated planting – in fact it could be downright fun, especially when grandpa started telling corny jokes or singing “rubber ducky” in a country slightly out-of-tune twangy voice – it was just that we got a little bored with it sometimes.

The funny thing about peas is that you it never feels like it's time to plant them. They're always the first thing to go and it doesn't depend so much on the temperature as the dampness of the ground. If the ground is dry enough in march, you plant no matter what the temperature is. I can remember planting them in short short sleeves and bare feet with sweaty hands that got covered in whatever the seeds are coated with and other times would be sweatshirts, shoes, and cold hands that made the job even harder. However, not matter what the weather, there was always the meal at the end of the job. If we were fast enough, we could be done by lunch time and we'd go in for soup and sandwiches, joking and laughing (sometimes about Josh!) and enjoying that good feeling of being done. I remember one time when Grandma bought a frozen cherry pie and a sale and decided this was the special occasion to break it out. It was awful! The cherries had been frozen way to long and the whole thing was soggy and tasteless. Grandpa, who to this day will eat almost anything to avoid wasting it, said we it would be best if we flushed it! We still tease grandma about that awful pie. She just shakes her head and says ruefully that she'll never buy another frozen cherry pie.

This year there was no cherry pie or even a meal. Instead of her giving us dinner like she used to, now we usually have to take one up for her. It's strange to see things getting so much harder for her while at the same time they get so much easier for me. Planting peas used to be a hard job for us and it felt like a real accomplishment when we got it done. Now it seems so easy. Making lunch used to be so easy for her. Now simply catching her breath is an accomplishment. I really think it was easier for us to plant that entire garden than it was for her to sit in her chair and breathe. What used to be a hard job for us is suddenly easy. What used to be an easy job for her is suddenly hard. I don't know why it has to happen this way, but I guess it's part of life. It made me realize that it won't go on forever.

I'll miss planting that garden when we don't have to do it anymore. Isn't it strange how what starts out as a chore soon turns into a traditional you'll eventually miss? I can think of several things we used to do that I hated at the time which I would love to do again. I guess that means I'm getting old (perish the thought!).

Without God . . .

Reading world literature recently for my one of my classes I have come across some of the most famous works of the past centuries. I was surprised. For being wrong, they are extremely well-written and insightful. It was a wonder to me that something so persuasive could be so wrong. I guess I assumed that anything untrue will naturally not be persuasive. Not true. Believe it or not, Marx, Darwin, and many others didn't become famous by writing pieces that are unbelievable. However as I'm reading their works, one things stands out in all their writing, a single flaw, but it is fatal: They let out God.

Any man who proposes a theory that excludes or overlooks God is about as helpful as a bad doctor: He may analyze the problem correctly, but his diagnoses is sure to be wrong and his cure even worse. Why? For the simple reason that he has left out the core issue, the key to which all locked doors are connected: God. Marx and Darwin almost make sense, if you factor out God. If you read their work, it is hard not to agree with them because their premise makes so much sense. They accurately, even brilliantly, describe the problem. It is this ability to understand the problem that leads us to believe them when they they say they know the cure. This is perhaps the cruelest of all falsehoods. History bears the scars of men who have believed these theories that exlude God. Marx was right in his classification of class struggle, it did exist -- certainly at least in England during the Industrial Revolution -- but his idea for a cure was disastrous. It was even worse than the problem. Darwin was accurate in his theory of MICRO-evolution, but he mixed this little truth with a huge lie that excluded God and made his theory worse than useless.

Just because a man understands a problem does not at all mean that he knows a cure. We understand the effects of aging and that it leads to death, but have we found a cure for this predicament? Obviously not. Without God, we are of all men most miserable because we are able to know our problem but are helpless to find a cure.

Without God. . .
1.Science is all . . . it will eventually answer all questions.
2.Evangelism is devious . . . a dark agenda hiding behind a clean face.
3.Pragmatism is all . . . good and evil are nonexistent and decisions are mere cost-benefit analysis.
4.Selfishness is a necessity . . . there's no god looking out for you except yourself.
5.Life is dangerous . . . again, there's no one looking out for you.
6.Life is meaningless . . . there is no grand scheme of things so what you do doesn't matter.
7.Life makes no sense . . . history can not be explained without God. All of men's fine ideas that make so much sense can't explain why they didn't work in real life. When you factor out God, you factor in error.

On the economic crisis. . .

(Thoughts from economics class and the news . . . and yes I'm sick and tired both of them! Every time I escape from one I get bombarded with the same thing by the other. Don't ask me why I'm doing a post on them:)

Concerning "Experts": They don't exist.

This economic crisis is taking us into uncharted waters. No one really knows what the effects will be because no one has ever dealt with these amounts of money. We are only extrapolating from what we know from our own small business system and hoping it works the same way at the mega level.

The more I learn about the economic system, the more fragile and dangerous it seems. Is it me or is the entire system riding on the nerves of millions of people, people who collectively make up driving force that can only be described as unpredictable? I'm glad my whole future isn't tied up with it the way some people's is, although I have a feeling I'll experience the effects for a long time to come the same as anyone else.

"In whatsoever state I am, therewith to be content"

Last night my pastor gave a message on discontentment. The message was very good, but what really caught my attention was a short prayer at the bottom of the handout. I don't have it with me right now, but it went something like this:

Lord, give me the grace to:
Take what you give
Accept what you withold
and relinquish what you take.

It caught my attention because it presented two very simple concepts. First, the person who prayed it clearly understood that he didn't know what was best for him. That is not an easy truth to swallow. I usually think I know what is good for me but this is really a ridiculous idea. I have never met anyone who didn't want something that was not good for them. Not that it was necessarily bad, just not good for them. This is especially evident with kids, but it is no less real with adults, it's just more subtle.

The second thing I saw was that the person who prayed this clearly understood that God did know what was best for Him and that He would not withold it. Psalm 84:11 “For the LORD God is a sun and shield: the LORD will give grace and glory: no good thing will he withhold from them that walk uprightly.”

These two concepts drove home very clearly to me what it really means to be content. Contentment does not come from having everything you want; it comes when you realize that you have everything that is good for you. It reminded me of a song we sang at camp this summer. Sometimes when I think I need something more than what I have, God brings this song to mind to remind me “There's only one thing you really need to be happy in this life, and I've already given it to you. It will never be taken away so be content with that and trust me for the rest.” I don't remember who wrote it, but it was from the Wilds.

My Father's Love
This world's wealth and riches can be bought and sold
But I posses a treasure far greater than gold,
'Twas a gift passed down to me from heaven above,
'Twas the gift of my Father's love.

And my Father's love is strong and true
Always believing, always seeing me through
So no matter what happens in His grand design,
I'll be fine with my Father's love.

Safe and secure now in his alone
I find at last my place of worth as one of his own,
And I don't need anything this world has to give,
'Cause I live with my Father's love.

And my Father's love is strong and true
Always believing, always seeing me through
So no matter what happens in His grand design,
I'll be fine, I have my Father's love.

A Fool?

Who wants to be thought of as a fool? Who wants to be a fool? If you had to choose between the two, which would you rather be?
At first this seems like a hypothetical situation, but for Christians it is very real to life. To put it simply, if you are going to take God at His word, people will think you are a fool. On the other hand, if you decide if you decide to trust your own wisdom, people will think you are wise, but according to God you are a fool. Which would you rather be?
So is it really a bad thing to be thought a fool? Obviously it depends why they think you are a fool. After all, there are a good number of things Christians can do that are genuinely foolish. Being a follower of Christ doesn't mean we are exempt from stupidity. But, back to my question. Is it really a shame to be thought of as a fool? Inversely, is it always a compliment to the thought of as wise? Instinctively I say yes, but I'm pretty sure my instincts are wrong on this one. It probably also has something to do with who thinks you are wise or foolish. Frankly, some people I don't want to think I am wise because their concept of wisdom is an insult.
I heard a quote from a radio pastor one time and I thought it was good. (Surprisingly some of them have some pretty good quotes!). He said “when you are living in the Spirit, the flesh will seem foolish and you will wonder how you could ever be so stupid. When you are living in the flesh, the Spirit will seem foolish and you will wonder what in the world you were doing.”
If you plan to live like a Christian, you might as well accept the fact that you will look and feel foolish at times. However, from the few times I've felt foolish (yeah right! Believe that one and I'll tell you another one!) it really isn't that bad, especially when you know that you are siding with an almighty God. There's a certain thrill and satisfaction that comes from taking God at His word, knowing that He's been around long enough to know the difference between wisdom and foolishness. It makes me wish I did it more often.

Spring! . . . (I wish!)

(I know I'm fickle for posting about spring right after a post about winter, but that was a cold night and this is a warm afternoon and frankly I feel like spring today. Can I help it if my moods changer faster than the seasons?)

Took a walk today and nearly decided to abandon school. It was definitely a mistake. The warm weather was intoxicating and I almost didn't make it back to my schoolwork that I really need to get done. There is something about the feel of warm air and the smell of wet earth that makes books and words seem so much more cold, dry, and boring. I am inclined to agree with Solomon when he warned his son that "of making many books there is no end; and much study is a weariness of the flesh (Eccl. 12:12)". That said, there's still one or two books waiting for me. (Sigh). If I'm lucky I'll be done and get to go outside before it gets dark and cold again.

Snow

I love snow. Love the way it crunches under your feet when walk on it. Love the way it reflects all the light around it at night. Love the way it lets you slide on almost everything. Love throwing it on other people!=). I went for a walk tonight with Josh and Lindsey and even though there wasn't nearly enough snow or big enough drifts to make it a real adventure, it felt good just to go stomping through it. I forget how much fun it is to sled down even a small hill in a saucer and to let your sister fall into her snow angel as you are “helping” her up (I got a good snowball and chase for that!). Josh wasn't so much for chases, but he did go rolling down a hill and got snow up his shirt. It reminded me of when we used to go sledding when we were little. There used to be family at our old church who lived on a farm with a perfect hill for sledding. It was a good long hill with two small fence lines halfway down that usually threw you into the air and didn't always let you land on the sled. I remember being very sore for several days after those rides! It was usually dark by time we were done and sometimes we had hot chocolate and a bonfire to roast hot dogs. Don't ask me why we don't still do that sort of thing. It's not like I don't have the time, it just doesn't happen. I wished tonight I could go back a couple years and do it all over again. Ever notice how everything seems better and bigger when it's in the past? Maybe some things are just better as memories than traditions. In my memories I can forget the cold hands, snow in the face, bruises, and cold terror when you realize you're out of control and there's nothing to slow you down except a fence at the other end. Still, if I could do it again, I would . . . in a heartbeat.

***********

(From economics class).
Durable products: Anything with an expected life span of three or more years.
This definition came up right after the professor gave a little rant on fads and people who have to buy the newest thing every few weeks. I was sitting there and the thought popped into my head “I've known granola bars with longer life-spans than some people's cell phones. So, does that make granola a durable product or cell phones a non-durable?” I guess it's all a matter of how you want to define them.

Three Things I wasn't expecting at Winter Retreat

1. A camper to throw up in the kitchen.
It wasn't even as if we had any warning because by the time he told his counselor he felt sick it was too late. I have never seen a kitchen vacate so quickly. I wasn't in there at the time, actually I was waiting to get in there, but I'm told it was rather spectacular. The kitchen, besides being a very small area to prepare food for forty campers, also doubled as the bank and general transaction center for a giant game of monopoly. It was quite the busy place during that game and usually crowded inside with a long line to get in there on the outside. Anyway, my guys and I were standing in line when suddenly we heard the girl's cabin ahead of us give a muffled shriek and run from the kitchen with their hands over their mouths as if it contained the plague. Poor Mrs. Fry was right behind them for, although she possesses the amazing ability to prepare three gourmet meals a day for forty plus people, she can not handle the sight of those same meals on their encore appearance and she was desperately trying to get out of the kitchen before she added her name to the sick list and made in an official two. Needless to say the game of monopoly went to a halftime break and all the campers crowded into the living room where the speaker for the week took upon himself the very difficult task of keeping them occupied and amused until we could clean up the mess. As it turned out our job wasn't much easier than his. We cleaned up the mess quickly with warm soapy water, but the smell was harder to eliminate. After searching in vain for a air freshener or something that smelled nice and clean like chlorox or strong detergent, one of counselors volunteered a girly perfume spray. Mr. Fry, the camp director, decided this was the best course of action and set to work happily spraying it around the kitchen until he thought it was sufficiently drenched for his wife. It solved the problem, but the kitchen had a very un-kitchen like smell for the next day or so. We all held our breath and prayed that the incident wasn't contagious. We could only imagine what it would be like if the whole lodge came down with it. Thankfully that was the end of it and we returned to our game (which we ended up losing anyway, but it was still fun.)

2. To get smacked in the nose with a Frisbee.
Technically I wasn't supposed to be playing frisbee because of my shoulder, but since I was in charge of it and ended up running up and down the field anyway, I decided I might as well join in and play. I figured I'd be safe as long as I played a conservative role and stayed away from the main action. Yeah Right! I hadn't been playing more than five minutes when the guy I was guarding tried to throw one over my head and between my arms. Unfortunately his aim was a little low and I ended up catching the frisbee right across the nose and under my right eye. Fortunately it didn't catch anything important – not that my nose wasn't important, but it's not the sort of thing you can do permanent damage to very easily – and after I managed to get my nose to stop bleeding and my eyes to stop watering, I was good to go again. I figured it would swell up and I'd look like Rudolph for the next to days, but surprisingly it wasn't bad. Besides feeling like I was trying to breathe through a nasty head cold that night, I barely noticed it.

3. To see a girl break a table.
To be fair to her, the screws holding it together were very short, but when she sat down on it, it cracked as if she'd hit it with a sledge hammer. I was couple of people away when I heard something crash and looked over to see a girl getting up from a split table with a rather shocked expression on her face. We managed to fix the table, but I imagine it's only a matter of time until someone else does the same thing. It's a sturdy looking table, but if you trust it too far it will let you down without a second thought.

Not Ashamed

I was at a teen retreat this past weekend and as I listened to some of the testimonies at the end of the week I realized how many of them struggle in the same area I do: witnessing. We know that souls around us are dying and going to hell and that we could tell them how to avoid it, but we can't quite bring ourselves to do it. Later, when we meet with other Christians or hear a convicting message we confess that are utterly disgusted and ashamed with our weak witness and we all solemnly resolve to do better, but we don't. It's bewildering. How can we love Christ so much one moment and be ashamed to mention His name the next?

I definitely haven't figured out the answer to this question, but as I listened to the testimonies from other people I noticed a consistent theme and one that has definitely held true for my own life: we tend to overemphasize our role in witnessing. At college I have met many Christians who really love Christ and truly believe that He is the answer to life's important question but are unwilling to tell the world so because they are afraid that if they speak out they will be associated with some quack religious person on TV or disgraced politician who is a professing Christian. I would like to dismiss this as a flimsy excuse, which it is, but I can't say it doesn't affect me and I suspect I'm not the only one. It's not that we're ashamed of Christ or don't believe in Him, but secretly we are ashamed to be associated with a group of people which is increasingly being labeled – and sadly it is often correctly – as self righteous hypocrites. Knowing that we aren't perfect and that other Christians obviously aren't, we feel as if we have no legs to stand on, like a ladder salesman giving his pitch on top of a very flimsy ladder. It's as if we assume that all Christians need to be perfect before our message has any validity. Have we forgotten that our message to the world is to be like Christ, not to be like other people who call themselves Christians? Are we really so foolish as to believe that the power of the Gospel lies in our good example and not Christ's perfect sacrifice? If that were so -- if the authenticity of the message lies only in the sincerity and integrity of the messengers -- then I would be ashamed to be a Christian, for I have met some very bad messengers. However, it does not. The authority and integrity of the gospel lies in Christ and in Him alone, and it is for that reason only that I am not ashamed to be a Christian.

So many times I focus find myself defending myself or other Christians when I'm witnessing, as if I was the one they had to accept or reject, but I'm not. Most times I would be much better off if I only remembered that I'm only there to introduce them to somebody who's reputation is perfect. Only when you realize that Christianity is more about Christ than it is about us can you tell other people about the power of God and not feel like a phony. It may be true that Christians are the only Bible some people will ever read, but just remember who they are supposed to be reading about. The Bible is about Jesus Christ, not Christians and that is something I need to remember when Satan tries to remind me of why I shouldn't open my mouth.

The Grill

(I came across this journal entry the other day and it made me laugh to remember how I fared on one of my first cooking ventures. Note: this happened four years ago so I hope I've learned a little since then. . . not much, but some =)

There were four of us. We just stood there staring at it. The hot dogs sat on the table, unopened and cold. Finally one of us broke the silence.
“You do know how to use this, don’t you?”
Silence. . . .
“Well we should be able to figure it out. After all, how hard can it be to use a charcoal grill?”
We returned to our staring. It just stood there. An open-ended box with a rack on top standing on one thin leg like a stork.
We weren't quite prepared for this. Each of us had sort of assumed we were the only ones who didn't know how to use a grill. Turned out we all were. While it came as a relief to each of to learn that we weren't the only one not skilled in this fine culinary art, it also presented a problem. Who was going to cook dinner? Secretly each of us had hoped that the others would have such a vast storehouse of knowledge and experience that we could sit back and watch them cook dinner without betraying our ignorance for this uniquely masculine skill.
We all knew the stereotype . . . we’d seen it many times: a man wearing an apron (not one of those frilly girl aprons but a real man's apron) standing over grill with tongs in one hand and a delicious platter of succulent meat, usually some game animal he's just killed, in the other. In the background mother and kids sit at the picnic table, perfectly secure in their man’s ability to perform the age-honored tradition of grilling. Now there was a real man, a rugged individual as able to prepare meat as his leather clad ancestors!
The only problem was he wasn't here.
As we stood there, painfully aware of this insult to our manhood, something stirred in each of us. We were men, too. This was our element! This was our time!! We would start the fire and grill those hot-dogs!!!
We started out with ardent fervor, which was more than could be said for our fire. Lynn, Shannon, and myself reached for the charcoal and the Leo, too slow get a hand on the bag, grabbed the lighter fluid.
It was then that we noticed it. A rock, rather large, sitting in the grill, covered with ashes. None of us wanted to be so dumb as to not know why every grill needs a big rock in it, but after looking around and seeing three other confused expressions, we took comfort in our collective ignorance and decided it was a pretty dumb chef who would leave a rock in a grill. We deposited the rock outside the grill and scraped out most of the ashes. This done, we poured a couple briquettes in the pit and doused them with lighter fluid.
Nothing happened.
We poured on some more.
Same result.
After a hurried huddle, we remembered the lighter.
Success! Oh the sweet smell of burning fumes! Our mission accomplished, we broke to wash our hands which had become quite dirty during the lighting process. When we came back we found a cold pile of charcoal. Obviously this lighter fluid was pretty weak stuff. We poured on twice as much and lit it off again.
It flamed nicely, but each of us kept an anxious eye on it, afraid it would mysteriously fizzle like the last one. Sure enough, the flames began to flicker and it started to smoke, a sure sign that our fire was dying. Leo grabbed the lighter fluid and hovered over it, ready to sauce it at a moments notice. Just as the last flame began to sputter he squirted it with the fluid.
He extinguished it completely.
We grabbed the lighter once more. However, before we lit it off once more, I offered a careful suggestion. I seemed to remember people stacking the charcoal in a pile before they lit it, something about conserving the heat. When I suggested it, they looked at me in awe. From then on I was the resident expert on grilling.
We stacked the charcoal in a crude little pile, adding one or two more briquettes for good measure, and for the third time we touched the lighter to the soaked pile. This time it stayed lit. Eager to grill supper we placed foil on the rack, which was rather dirty, slit it to allow heat through, and placed the hot-dogs on top.
While we were waiting for our meat to cook, we opened a bag of chips and dug in. We chatted confidently about how easy it was to grill and how good the hotdogs were going to be. We might even start our own grilling service depending on how good the hot dogs turned to be. Eventually Lynn decided it was time to check the dogs. Walking over to the grill, he grabbed the fork and flipped a dog. We all rose to inspect it. It had changed colors. It was no longer pink; instead, they were a quite light tan color--on one side. He proceeded to flip them all.
We returned to our chips thinking how foolish we had been to doubt ourselves. There was nothing to grilling, at least nothing we couldn’t figure out. To round out our soon-to-be meal, Shannon, Leo, and I broke out the drinks: Coke, Sprite, and Dr. Pepper . . . three two-liter bottles for four guys. We wouldn’t be getting much sleep that night. Meanwhile Lynn broke out his own drink, a small plastic container with a suspiciously healthy looking label sporting bananas and strawberries.
“What is that?” I asked him.
“It’s soy milk,” he replied. “My mom really likes this stuff so she sent it along for us.”
Leo eyed it up. “It doesn’t look that bad. I’ll try some.”
“I'll take some, too,” I chimed in. I was feeling adventurous.
We both drank some and agreed that it wasn’t that bad. Not necessarily good, but not bad either. We ate some more chips and washed it down with soy milk. Pretty soon we figured it was time to check the main course before we made an entire meal of the condiments. The hot dogs were slightly warmer but they weren’t going anywhere fast.
“I don’t think their getting enough heat,” said Shannon, stating the obvious. “Maybe it would help if they were closer to the charcoal.”
Lynn, probably only one in our group with much engineering ability considered this. “Well the rack can’t be lowered so the only way to get them closer would be to move the charcoal up” He concluded. (Lynn was truly brilliant with that type of logic).
“That’s kinda hard to do after the fire’s already started.” said Shannon doubtfully.
“Not really,” said Lynn. “All you have to do is . . . “ He thought about this for a couple seconds. “Well yeah, I guess it is. If only we would have had something to put under the charcoal before we started it. Something like. . .”
“A big rock?” said Leo quietly.
Everybody wished he had kept that thought to himself.
It was then I noticed that everyone was looking at me. As the resident expert on grilling, and also the one who had decided to take out the big rock, charring these hot dogs became my dilemma. My first suggestion was walking over to the neighboring camp which looked like an extended family get-together and borrowing a few of their flames. Their grill was huge and obviously putting off way more heat than they needed. My plan was for two of us could sneak our hot-dogs on beside their steaks spare ribs while the other two created a distraction. Shannon thought maybe we should just ask them if we could use their grill. I think he secretly hoped that if we openly contributed to their grill, we might get invited to some tastier cuts of meat . . . kinda like a vending machine: you put hot dogs in and get T-bone steaks out. However, none of us were bold enough to take action on this daring plan, so the brainstorm continued.
My second suggestion was roasting-sticks. Since none of us had a knife, this would be hard, but the other were willing to give it a try. Shannon was the first to find a stick, actually it was more of a twig, and with this he speared a hot dog. It was then that we found out the hog dogs were cheese-filled. Cheese oozed out and dripped on the coals, causing a burst of flame.
With both of my brilliant plans shot down, I decided to try a different tactic. I thought that maybe if we turned the grill into the wind it would trap the heat against the back and force it up past the hot dogs. Accordingly we turned the grill into the wind.
We couldn't see much for the next few minutes as we tried to wipe ashes out of our eyes. Apparently my plan had overlooked one little detail. It was a rather windy day and a particularly strong gust of wind happened along just was turned the grill, catching up the ashes that we had neglected to scrape out and flinging them in our faces like a miniature volcano.
Now all three of my plans had failed and the hot dogs had a nice coating of ashes, Lynn decided to take matters into his own hands. It was time for desperate measures. Taking a hot dog off the rack, he wrapped it in some tinfoil we had used to cover the dirty rack, and placed it directly on top of the coals. Feeding off his idea, I suggested we wrap all the hot dogs in the protective foil and mass grill them.
They all agreed that if I had earned my first hot-dog with my first suggestion of piling the coals, I had definitely earned my second hot dog with this second suggestion. All fully convinced that this idea was a real winner, we busily commenced wrapping the hot dogs in the protective foil. The end result looked something like a large tin burrito. We placed this large burrito on the coal and waited to see what would happen. After about five minutes we checked them. They were nicely burned. . . on one side. The other side was barely touched. Also, because we had punched the foil full of holes, there were a lots of little pieces of ash burned into them. Not too thrilled with the outcome of our hard work, we discussed opening the second pack of hot dogs and trying over again. However, considering how well our attempts had worked – that and the fact that our tin foil burrito had smothered our fire and none of us had the heart or patience to try to get it going again – we decided to ditch the experiment and make the best of what we had.
We ate our hot dogs -- with lots of ketchup -- and waited to get sick. We didn’t. Feeling slightly better about the meal, I figured I’d push my luck and try a mixed drink. Soy milk and Sprite. That nearly succeeded where the hot dogs had failed and I almost threw up. I had hoped the smooth and soothing texture of the soy milk and tangy fizz of the Sprite would equal each other out to create a nice blend. Wrong! It tasted like something that would work well to fuel a new breed of car. We ended up the meal with some leftover veggie pizza that Lynn’s mom had sent along in case of emergency. She must have known that we couldn’t prepare supper on our own. We ate and talked for a while and really had a nice time of it, even laughing a little at our mistakes.
When we exhausted our supply of edible food, we decided it was time to pack up and head home. As we drove off, Leo suggested that we might have saved ourselves a lot of time and trouble if we had just walked up to the large camp beside us, the one with the big grill, and pretended that we belonged with them.
“All we would have needed to do is say ‘Uncle!’ and pretend we were long lost relatives from California,” He said excitedly. “We could have had a gourmet meal for free and they would never have known the difference. They don’t look like a close knit-family anyway.”
We drove off thinking that, all in all, it had been fun. The freedom to fail should never be taken for granted and I'm sure we all learned something out of it – although I'm not quite sure what. I imagine we've all learned a little bit more about cooking since then . . at least I hope we have! However, as much fun as it was for us four guys to rough it for an entire meal, we were all looking forward to going home to a woman's cooking for a change.