A Glorious Return

I'm back after a bit of a blogger hiatus. I broke the one rule of my blog (to post everyday for a year) multiple times while on assignment at Castaway and then the entire week while at Crooked Creek, plus a few days since I've been back. And guess what? I feel just fine about it! This says a lot considering my perfectionistic tendencies. I think I'm really making progress. Who knew that in order to conquer the demanding perfectionist inside me I had to break some of my own rules?

Thanks to some prodding/encouragement from Greg and Kate, I'm making my grandiose return. It helped me to return knowing that there are at least two people out there awaiting a new post. So here you go you two :)

I think part of my hesitation in return to writing has been deciding what to kick off with. I just spent a whirlwind 5 weeks at camp full of meaningful experiences and funny stories. My first instinct is to reflect on those moments and share many of my hilarious photos in order to preserve the month along with the rest of this year's happenings. However, life keeps moving and I have traditionally written in the present tense about what is occurring on a day to day basis. Today was my last day at my job and tomorrow I embark on the journey of unemployment (i.e. plenty of writing fuel for a blog dedicated to failure). So what is one to do? As Anne Lamont says via my wise sage of a friend Tenelle, "Just keep writing." So I'm back and it may feel disjointed, but here goes.

So with most camp experiences, a return home from Young Life camp carries with it the coming-down-from-the-mountaintop-syndrome. Camp gives one a glimpse of God's Kingdom come, life as it should be, things set right, heaven on Earth. Thus the return to the "real world" can bring with it some disillusionment. I'm trying to combat this I'm-back-home-letdown by keeping the adventure of camp alive. God is just as active in the trenches (or more often monotony) as he is on the mountaintop; sometimes it's just me who needs to learn to recognize his presence. So one small thing me and my cabin of girls from camp are doing is having weekly "adventures".

They really took the reigns on planning the first one and took me to their creek. This was exactly what I had in mind when I suggested the concept of adventure. They led the way through the neighborhood cutting through back yards as we made our way to the trail. Just 2 minutes into a tiny forest in the midst of suburban sprawl, we stumbled upon the creek. We walked with the current in the ankle deep and sometimes shin deep waters. There were uphill cliffs to our left and slate and stone breaking in perfectly cut sheets on the shore to our right. At one point we scurried in our flip flops to the bank as fast as we could after spotting a skinny little snake swimming in front of us only to find its much larger companion sunbathing on the rocks beside us. Merrilee threw a rock at it and we shuffled downstream.

The girls had made this trek many times before and their expertise showed as they skipped from rock to rock never faltering once despite the slippery moss covering each surface. I kept saying aloud and to myself, "I can't believe this place is real." I felt as though I had been transplanted to the deep south, to some small town or rural farm. Even more so I felt as though I had been transplanted back in time. Here I was reliving the emotions of my childhood as we explored the woods and lake in my neighborhood back in Iowa. We would walk the length of the railroad tracks and on rare occasions actually cross the tracks and explore the forest on the other side. I think this sense of exploration and adventure are part of our human make up and not common just to outdoorsy types. I am the farthest thing from outdoorsy and my brave guides are by no means tomboys; rather two of them are cheerleaders, one is a graceful swimmer and lifeguard, and there's even a ballerina in the bunch. Exploring the "crick" is part of the common human experience.

Just when I thought our trip couldn't get any better we came upon the swimming hole. The girls discarded their flip flops and Joslyn positioned herself on the edge of the rocks. Without a moment's hesitation she flung herself into the murky waters. She signaled that the water was nice and deep, appropriate cannon ball depth, and the rest of us followed. One by one we launched off the rocks in our tshirts and shorts. What is it about swimming in your clothes that makes any experience more magical? We scaled the miniature waterfall and climbed back onto the ledge, throwing ourselves off again and again. Amanda giggled as I emerged after my third cannonball and said, "Your face was hilarious." I'm sure it was. I can't remember the last time I had that much fun and I'm sure my face showed it.

Today was indeed my last day at work and I've been so confused not only in how to feel but in what to do. Do I mourn? Do I panic at the onset of unemployment? Do I celebrate? I'm still not sure. But I do know that I had a simple, beautiful, and magical experience today with some of my high school girls. That's what Young Life has been for me and all I could ever hope for, so I think my last hours on staff were spent just as they should be: swimmin' in the crick in my tshirt and jean shorts with some kids. Who could ask for anything more?