See My Reflection, Don't Know My Direction

I got back about five days ago. I recently became aware of just how tired my body is, and came home from work to a nap in a dark room and some music. Still tired, but a little better.

So camp itself, aside from my ridiculous story, was very different from the last set, which happened at the end of June to mid-August. The first set of camps consisted of training with Junior Interns (JI's,) young adult (college-age) camp, and a 50-ish person high school camp. This was essentially my training ground and the time when God loaded up my plate with ways that I can grow. After becoming very aware of my weakness and staring at that plate for a few weeks, the time came to start swallowing.

The second round of camps included an 85-ish person high school camp, as well as a 60-ish person middle school camp in which the staff and JIs likely overwhelmed the middle schoolers themselves. Each stretched me more than I could have imagined. High school camp #2 saw me taking on more responsibilities, including daily running shuttle with trailers loaded with rafts (bringing the vehicles to the boat ramp at take-out before actually rafting so that rafts could be loaded as soon as we hit the beach after our run,) topping off our water supply, leading a small group, and having to navigate rapids with which I was not as familiar in addition to my normal duties of cooking breakfast (which took longer,) the occasional dinner clean-up, helping with music, and being down-to-earth and friendly with everyone that I came into contact with. Managing all of this left me always doing something, but I realized at the end of the camp that I had yet to play my guitar outside of worship, which we rarely practiced due to time constraints. By the time I came to this realization I was so tired that I was continually digging within me for the energy that came with the amount of food I consumed and was always looking for. I leaned on God for the strength and energy to keep going, and thankfully I didn't break at this segment of camps. Yet all of this activity, in retrospect, only served to wear me out. I didn't deal with much other than sleep deprevation in the week of high school camp. I had to think to excersize patience a bit with certain individuals, but otherwise I was so busy I only thought of the next task to be done. It was middle school camp that I did most of my thinking and endured what seemed to be the most spiritual attack.

After a "rest" day- oriented towards the introvert- left me more tired, the middle schoolers arrived. I remember that evening very clearly, simply because I wanted to escape it all and climb something. Middle schoolers are great, but they take a lot more patience than high schoolers. It was as if God had said "Now you're good and worn out. Did you learn anything?" and put me to the test with the most challenging camp yet.

Due to the ridonkulous amount of staff and JIs on this camp, I had a lot more down time. I got to have JI's, which I had spent the whole summer getting to know, on my paddle raft, and even got to run the chaotic mess that is the Salmon River on an inflatable kayak. Regretably, I didn't talk to many middle schoolers outside of the breakfast line, small group (which I thankfully didn't have to worry about leading solo,) and when one of them needed something. However, the tension in camp for a few days was unbearable. Being very in-tune to issues of emotion and stress, the whole camp felt heavy, especially amongst JIs. Whether it was unspoken conflict, tiredness, or whatever, I resolved not to involve myself, and yet at the same time I was very involved simply because I was in camp with it. It eventually got better. But those were a hard few days. I struggled and learned numerous things, which I'll outline below. Then the last day of rafting, travel and the night in between the two rocked my world so much that I'm still recovering and processing.

1.) I said before that I struggle with leadership and being a role model. This hit me REALLY hard during middle school camp. While I was no longer scared of stacking and strapping 4-5 rafts on top of a trailer, I knew that I was constantly being watched. I was a leader. I know I could look 18, so high schoolers might think of myself as one of them and be a bit more discerning in what they choose to follow and don't. But at middle school camp, I couldn't hide, even amongst what seemed to be a herd of staff and JIs. I am loud. I laugh a lot. Some would go as far as to call me funny. I was up front helping with music. I remember being a middle schooler and looking up to guys in positions in which I find myself today, and remember not saying hardly anything to those I admired. I simply saw them and knew there was something about them that was worth immitating. The idea that someone could look at me and want to be like me wrecked me inside, considering how little I feel like I have it all together.

One of the few things that I was challenged on for the first camp by a guy named Zach and another intern was confidence. Sometimes I feel as though I am nothing special. A small fish in a big pond. There are others out there with contagious laughter, decent guitar skills, red hair, free spirits. And yet I was reminded that there is only one me. I know what I am capable of as a person, and yet I know that I can't do anything without Christ in my life. I can try. But I'll fail. And if those kids took anything away from becoming acquainted with me in the days they spent in my raft, in the conversations we had while filling up water jugs, in the way I found tents for them when they realized that it might rain in their time on the beach, I hope they saw a guy that is trying to follow Christ and love people as he loved us. If all they remember is that I made them laugh, I have failed miserably.

2.) PATIENCE. Oh my goodness. I am a pretty laid back guy. I was recently told by a JI that they only time they saw me freaked out was right after I flipped my first (and only raft) on a huge wave, dumping my entire crew. When I was surrounded by a bunch of tired people and middle schoolers asking me for stuff at inopportune times, I had to remain calm and help them get what they needed. Everytime I felt like using sarcasm, yelling, or just ignoring anyone, I had to remember back to when I was 12 and wanted to talk at 6:30 in the morning. And I apologize to whatever trouble I may have caused anyone as a friggen crazy twelve-year old.

3.) I'll just re-highlight this from yesterday's post. Next summer, I will no longer be a student, in the collegiate sense at least. Which means that I have to do something with myself. I currently have aspirations of moving to Boulder or Winter Park, CO, or perhaps Northern Idaho, maybe even Hood River, to feed my addiction to mountains and adventure. I'm waiting for a monkey wrench to be thrown in those plans, honestly. I have no idea what I am going to do with myself, or what God has planned for me. It'll be an interesting ride, and I have to trust that God knows what he's doing. As a friend pointed out the other day, it's not like there's a trust-o-meter that goes *DING* when you hit the top. I don't know that I can swing that hard, honestly. But I'm trying.

This summer was amazing. I threw a lot into it, but I've also gotten a lot out of it. I've got a few weeks left as an intern, and I will continue going full bore, but I feel as though the bulk of the intern experience has been passed. I already miss the massive waves and just feeling so futile and insignificant compared to the river and the power that you can only feel by being in it. I may tack things on as I continue to process, but this is the bulk of it.

Prelude to Raft Camp Reflection: Round 2

As I returned from raft camp on Friday, August 8th at 10:30 PM after a two days of exhausting complexity, I put off processing all I had learned.  Thursday night, after guiding a paddle raft, a monsoon-ish storm swept through the canyon, complete with lightning, thunder, powerful winds and driving rain.  As the storm gave way momentarily, returning to camp revealed Guy's Camp in a wreck.  Many of us had tents that had fallen over, rain-flies torn off, and flooded living quarters.  It was a mess to say the least.  I got off lucky: one of the tent poles to my bright orange 1972 model pup-tent had fallen over, leaving my pillow and the top half of my sleeping bag sopping wet.

Leaving things out to dry while the weather still looked safe (which totaled about a half-hour,) somehow we had a dry dinner, clean-up, Bible study, and worship and snack time. I had dismantled my tent because of my morning responsibilities as staff, leaving me sleeping under the Big-Top, a tent-like structure formed by spare oars, canvas, and rafting straps.  As soon as the call for lights out arrived, so did the rain.  Even while under the tent, the wind and rain were so strong that they soaked me anyway. So I attempted to sleep in an already wet sleeping bag with a wet pillow. Every time I would almost be asleep, a flash of lighting like that of a camera 6 feet away would "jolt" me awake. By the time the storm again subsided, it was 1 AM.

Yup.

Still cold and wet.

And yet I didn't even have it the worst.  Several of the middle schoolers lacked even dry cloths besides the ones on their backs.  Sleeping in the kitchen tent, they were given garbage bags to keep the water off of them. Yuck.

Morning came at 5:45 AM for me. Hard boiled eggs for breakfast. As I floundered about trying to grasp some semblance of order from my not-so-cognitive mind.  After a bright red sunrise gave the promise of rain, our entire plan for take down was altered. Regardless, we got out on the road on schedule, departing camp at about 9:30 AM. 

 The next several hours passed without incident, my co-pilot Marc and I chewing sunflower seeds, playing Twenty-Questions and searching for anything that resembled music on the radio. Once we passed Tri-Cities, the troubles began to ensue; the truck I was driving threw a tread on one of the tires. As the box truck the church had borrowed stopped to help, the bus made sure we were ok, then continued on to stay on schedule.  The spare was good, and we were back on the road within 15 minutes. 45 minutes later, as we merged onto I-84 West, driving through a thunderstorm, it was the box truck's turn, blowing the rear-inner drivers side dually.  Mark and I made sure he got to a place where the tire could be fixed, then got back on the road to get the luggage our truck carried back to Vancouver as soon as we could.  Of course, 20 miles outside Biggs Junction OR, now the OTHER tire threw a tread.  Neither of us had cell phones.  Radio contact had been lost with the box truck.  We could keep driving, or we could sit and wait for a few hours and wait for help.  

We kept going.

We pulled into a service station in Biggs that claimed to sell tires, hoping to find a used one that could just get us as far as Vancouver.  No, said the attendant who looked about 18 and to have been smoking cannabis on his ten-minute breaks, "we don't sell used tires.  A new one is $150." After some thinking, we decided it was worth it both in terms of time and money. We unhooked the trailer, then pulled the truck around to the garage.  

"Just a second.  Let me check my inventory."

Seriously!?

I took a moment to vent to my companion, pulling out a pizza I had picked up in Tri-Cities and setting it on the hood of the truck.  It sat long enough for me to pull out my Nalgene, find it empty, then look at Marc and say "This is friggen ridiculous, what is going ON?"

At that moment, the wind picked up my pizza and plopped it cheese-side down on the asphalt. I threw down my water bottle and just started laughing.  This was divinity.  If there was ever a doubt about it, it became clear at that moment.  As Marc and I laughed at our terrible "luck," the the attendant showed up with a tire.  Sweet: except that it's not the exact size that's on the truck.  We declined.  We introduced ourselves to the attendant, saying that if he saw on the news that a pickup truck and trailer flipped into the river because of a flat tire that was us and he could say he had met us.  

Next stop, the Dalles.  Hoping to find a tire that fit, we drove 45 mph on the freeway before taking the downtown exit to the Dalles. The theory was that it would take us past more shops.  It did.  But none of them were tires shops.  There were people everywhere.  And really nice cars everywhere. It dawned on us that we were participants in a parade and car show.  More hysterical laughter ensued. Hoping to pick up a hip-hop station to blast, we also worried that our tire would blow right as we passed the judges table or in the middle of an intersection.  Again, by God's grace we made it through.  All the tire places were closed.  We were going all the way home on this tire that was teetering on the edge of destruction.  

It sort of hit me solid right then that God wanted me to stop trying to fix it myself and to just let him take care of the situation.  I found myself wanting to control what was happening, and I couldn't.  Marc noted that Jesus fed 5000 people with 5 loaves and 2 fish; he could probably handle this. It was the coolest thing to watch God work it out.  Like he will work out my future.  I can point myself in whatever direction I want, but he can always give me a flat tire, not have another one for me, or stick me on a one-way street in a car show.

Still out of contact with the box truck, I tried every five-ish minutes to raise them on the radio.  Finally, I spotted them blitzing past me on the left.  Frantically flashing my brights and trying to get their attention, I sped up past where I knew I should have  trying to keep from losing them.  I finally got ahold of them, and found out they never got their tire fixed either.  Now each of us had an escort. Awesome.

We each made it all the way to the church without incident, arriving at about 10:30 PM. After looking at the tire bare all the way down to the metal, I know we shouldn't have made it. It was the ultimate in knowing that God was in control the whole way, and every time I tried to take it back from him, something ridiculous would happen.  

I'll have more reflection in a day or so.  I still haven't really talked about it, other than a few thoughts I put in at debrief yesterday afternoon.   

I've slept pretty well the last few days.  I've been able to reconnect with some people, work, and otherwise attempt to stay busy in a place that it's hard to do so.  

The bunnies are gone.  No, we did not eat them, amidst cruel suggestions that such actions be taken.  Someone connected with 4H came and was going to find homes for them.  I really hope they didn't get eaten.  Because that would be sad.

It's going to be a busy weekend.  I have a wedding to go to at 2:00 today, church and rafting stuff to take care of on Sunday, and then I leave for Idaho at 7:00 Monday morning.  It'll be good to get out of town, but I'm really trying to be patient.  Because these next two weeks are gonna be sorta hard.  Really fun. But super hard.  

BUNNIES

I'm at about 97% on the health-o-meter. Which essentially means that all I'm carrying around with me that amounts to sickness is a slight fog just behind my forehead.  I was able to sleep soundly last night, which really is a blessing since I haven't slept a lick in the last week.  

However, as I was happily sleeping, my phone screamed at me  "Hello Moto!" at promptly 6:50 AM.  

Are you kidding me.

It was Mom, surrounded by a cacophony of other female voices. "Brandon, I'm just down the street and I just want to tell you that I love you very much and wanted to ask you if you would bring the fishing net to me. And a few boxes, too."

What.

While my mother and her friends were walking, they had come across a...herd...group...whatever, of bunnies, one of which had a broken leg.  Thinking it would be noble to save them, they called me and the husband of one of the other ladies. 

So now we have five bunny-rabbits chillin' in our backyard. Oh, they're quite domesticated, and oh, they're quite soft and cute.  They also hate living in a cage, as I can imagine.  If I were one of them, I'd be trying to get out too. 

GROSS

I won't be long at this post, because I feel dizzy just sitting here. I have spent the last 4 days laid up on my couch, sucking on cough drops, chugging water, nibbling on strawberries, and otherwise doing absolutely nothing.  I've got a fever, a friggen-sore throat, a stuffy nose and a nasty cough.  The doctor said he thought it was just a cold, like, a terrible one, and, besides the fever and nausea, it feels like that,  I haven't slept worth anything.  I almost did last night, but after 6 hours I woke up surrounded by sweat-soaked sheets, which made my already freezing body just that much colder.  

I've been thinking about life a lot, and figuring out what all my priorities are.  And attempting to listen for God's voice over the constant ringing in my ears as to whether or not I'm thinking in the right direction.

And thinking about climbing.

And really hoping I don't have Mono.

Uh Oh

As I lay in bed, my brain racing in the early stages of REM sleep, it suddenly came to my attention that I will likely be done with college in a little over a year.  Oh junk. 

The worry and concern about my future that I had so far managed to put off until later came to the forefront of my thoughts.  Considering that my soon-to-be degree in history and political science will matter little, this means a few things.

The Bad

1.  Those "gracious" enough to lend me money for my education will begin to expect me to pay them back.  

2.  I will no longer have the family provided luxury of health and dental care.

3.  I'll need a different car at some point. And I don't want to finance it.  Honestly, I would prefer to not have one, but presuming I settle somewhere with rocks to climb and snow to board,  I'll need to feed my addiction.

4.  Oh yeah.  I need to find a job.

The Good

1. I can go ANYWHERE I want.  I'll figure this out when I get closer to the time I pack up my truck/ whatever I end up with.  This is also assuming that I will be single at the time of departure. I'm thinking Bellingham is the saving/ transition stage, then I'm contemplating Coeur D'Alene or Sandpoint Idaho, the Winter Park area in Colorado, Redmond, Bend, or Hood River in Oregon, as well as Bozeman, Montana. This will be interesting, because I know no one in any of those cities. Well, except for Bellingham.  And I know one person in Bozeman.

2. I can get my golden retriever. And name him Jasper.  He will be my friend, and he will actually fetch.  

All in all, this is really scary for me. While I crave adventure, independence, and freedom, it's scary to think of what can happen to me, since I haven't exactly thought ahead with regards to my future.  I have full confidence that God will do something with me as long as I make him a priority in my direction.  I don't want to stress out, because that's what I've found leads to me making really dumb decisions.  Thanks to this summer, I'm learning to be better under pressure, but I am by no means good at it. 

"Invigorating," Yes?

During certain somewhat-mundane moments of my existence on this dustball we call Earth, I find it necessary to read things that I ordinarily would not.  Oh, I'm not talking about stuff that shouldn't be read due to "inappropriate" content.  I'm talking about things like directions and ingredients on shampoo bottles. Articles about the tearful reunion between a cat and its owner in the local newspaper.  A bottles of toothpaste for the suggested action should a child swallow more than a pea-sized amount of said product.  

It was during one of these moments not ten minutes ago that I reached for a box of soap, curious about its ingredients as well as the selling points which would presumably describe why this soap should be purchased over another brand, targeting the soap consumer caught in a moment of indecision.

One of these selling points was as follows: "Great invigorating scent." 

I sat puzzled.  Because what does the typical soap consumer stand to gain by purchasing soap with an "invigorating" scent?  I have been using this soap for years, and not once have I been told "Wow.  You smell great.  What soap do you use?  It really invigorates me." Nor have I found myself "invigorated" in my own use of this product.

I laughed out loud.  Because for some reason the word "invigorated" brings to my mind the image of someone being punched in the face.  

The question is this: Who does the punching? The "invigorated" or the "invigorator"? I guess it would have to be the "invigorated," since the "invigorator" is, in this case, a bar of Irish Spring Aloe soap, and therefore an inanimate object incapable of physical action, other than, say "invigorating" someone.

What if my bar-soap sprouted arms and socked me in the face while I was showering?