We Didn’t Want to Leave Camp

Three weeks living out of a minivan traveling the western half of America sounded fun when we started. Our trip was good in so many ways, but we are still a bit numb from the whir of the tires carrying us mile after mile all the way from East Texas to the Washington peninsula and back again.

When we finally got to Southern Idaho, we hugged our family and traveled up to the South Hills to help the students of Aletheia Christian College (formally Albion Christian College) with a children’s camp. I helped Sunshine and Sweet Pea out of the van while Dylan and Bug ran into the lodge. Whoops and hollers echoed into the parking lot. A reunion of friends.

Tucked away for four days from stores, cell phone service, and electricity. Lights powered by a generator. Hiking down the hill to the bathroom. And hiking up mountains to find hidden snow banks among the pine trees. Glorious views and lovely people.

I haven’t had the role of camp counselor in over a decade, yet it was easy for me to love these beautiful girls. I played with them, washed dishes with them, talked with them, and prayed with them. What a blessing!

I can’t share all that happened, because it is not my story to tell, but God is working in the lives of these precious children. I am honored to have a small part in that work. One girl told me I had to be her counselor next year or she wasn’t coming. (No pressure on me or anything.)

We weren’t exactly sure what our role at the camp would be. We questioned our hasty decision to go. Now we know the seemingly endless hours on the road were worth every bump.

Revealing Road Trip

My to do list whirls in circles. I’m not as good at impromptu road trips as I used to be.

The Trip

Responsibilities multiply with each child. So many individuals to care for and pack for. The pets need someone to watch over them too. Fish and dog cannot exist without food.

The list grows:

• Plan the route
• Call relatives and friends
• Email
• Laundry
• Start the pack stack
• Go shopping
• Clean the van
• Talk to Mom again
• Clean the house
• Dig out the suitcases
• Wrap up the tent
• Sigh and pray

Thursday we decided to travel to Idaho to help with a children’s camp. Spontaneous and crazy. And so much like our life a decade ago.

Dylan and I traversed the Northwest in our Volkswagen van before we came to Texas to attend a missions training school. The van was abandoned after our son joined us, but the desire to explore never left.

For two years, we’ve stuck close to home. Road trips have only taken us an hour or two away. Our neighborhood is our forest. Our backyard is our exposure to creation. Bugs and birds, caterpillars and toads remind us of the marvelous works of God. There are neighbors to love. Children to teach.

But why does my voice vanish when my friend asks, “Your heart is in Idaho, isn’t it?”

I miss the physical beauty of the majestic peaks and winding canyon, but perhaps there is more than the lure of clear lakes and hiking trails.

I think of my family and how much I miss them. I think of friends struggling in the cold desert. I think of the ideas planted in my heart while growing up there. Ideas about revival and liberty and hope.

I think of the investment we made reaching out to the hurting. It felt like it was in vain. The fruit seemed withered and dry. No amount of tears could bring it to life. Part of me died on the canyon rim overlooking the snaking river, a part I wasn’t entirely ready to give, but prayers dropped into that green valley were seeds. I don’t know if they’ve been able to grow in the rocky soil, but I do realize something I didn’t fully understand then: love is never in vain.

This trip may be the beginning of a return home, or we may continue drinking sweet tea in East Texas. No matter what happens, I know there is work to do. And by the grace of God, I will keep my hand to the plow planting seeds, dying to myself, no matter where I go.

Homeschool When No One is Around

Saturday night my motivation vanished. A few hours later it reappeared. I discovered it giving a pep talk to my white blood cells. I decided to go to bed and see who won the fight in the morning. When light streamed into my room and birds welcomed the day, it didn’t take long to realize who won. Headache, sore throat, and achy muscles moaned before I got out of my bed.

Sunshine, my five-year-old daughter, stayed home from church with me. As soon as everyone else left, I passed out on the couch. I woke in a panic wondering where Sunshine was. Thankfully, she was sitting nearby drawing castles and fairy princesses willing me to be better. She watched movies while I tried to keep my eyes open. And now it is Tuesday night, and I still feel woozy and tired.

This morning I felt better. The filthy house bothered me, so I scrubbed the sink and then gathered the children for morning worship. Dance and song and Bible reading. The girls scampered off to play. Bug grabbed his journal. I stretched out and closed my eyes for just a minute.

Two hours later my lethargy slipped away, and I heard the whistle of a toy train and the laughter of my children. My thoughts came into focus and rattled around. I couldn’t believe I had fallen asleep! I haven’t slept this much since the first week of summer break during high school. We had a list of things to do before lunch.

But my children used the opportunity to play together. All of them crowded in brother’s room, setting up the train tracks, watching the miniature locomotive circle around the tiny town. Imaginations soared. My fitful sleep allowed a dream to come true.

My children are making memories together. They are loving one another. That was not written in the lesson plans. It was not on the to do list, but I’m thankful the most important things are revealed in the day to day of living life together.

Meeting A Few Imaginary Friends

I left a bit later than planned. Before I rushed out the door, I dropped Amanda, Mandigirl Muses, an email asking her to send her phone number. Her reply saved me.

I arrived in Arlington right on time. Then Google maps failed me. The prescribed exit was closed. Construction zones surrounded me. I circled the convention center and found the road blocked. Signs directed me veering to the left and right. A frantic call to my husband. A string of numbers brought hope, and still I missed the turn.

Amanda called while I backtracked, and I finally saw the sign. Felt so foolish and humble. She waited for over half an hour. Glances from the servers. Stood up in a quiet restaurant waiting and waiting. Her graciousness blessed me and her story embedded itself on my soul.

Full of good food and sweet fellowship, we tromped to the convention center. I was late to meet April, Question the Culture, because I was late to meet Amanda. More circles, up and down the maze of vendors looking for a lady with crooked glasses. Little did I know, she got contacts.

Thankfully I heard my name and immediately recognized her from the photo she sent months ago. More grace for my tardiness. We got to chat a bit before empty stomachs and the Scholastic warehouse sale pulled her and her friend out the door.

While saying good-bye to April, I realized the lady I thought was Connie really was Connie.

The next meeting was the 2:30 announcement made on Twitter. We gathered in the back of an auditorium while Hank the Cowdog prepared to perform. A hello, a hug, a quick, blurry snapshot.

Connie ~Smockity Frocks, Dana ~Are We There Yet? , Heather ~Sprittibee, me, Amanda ~MandiGirl Muses

Promises to meet after the performance never materialized. Lost again, but the invitation remains. Next time let’s all chat over some Tex-Mex!

For other perspectives on this meeting of imaginary friends, use the links above. And if you are ever in Texas, please let us know. Maybe we can plan a party just for you!

The Children’s Hour

My husband calls it the ritual.

Ever since my son could babble we’ve ended the day with a story. The tradition started with a a picture book based on Psalms, a gift from a friend. Every poem memorized. Cover worn and pages battered.

Now my son’s stories are biographies, mysteries, or historical fiction. But before I share a book with Bug, his sisters squeeze close to hear and see the favorite from years ago. Familiar words inspired by David soak into their hearts. Eventually the pages must close.

Sweet Pea rides on my back. I fall onto her bed and pretend she is my pillow. Her favorite pink blanket turns her into a squeezable teddy bear, and I don’t want to leave. Laughter precedes little hands pushing me off the bed.

I trek back to the living room to grab Sunshine. She is never tired. She never wants to go to bed, but she obeys. Sometimes she even lets me carry her. Precious Faith, her doll, is tucked in first. Then I throw blankets created by grandmother and aunt upon a wiggly 5-year-old.

Please cuddle me.

How can I resist even if cuddle time means chat time to Sunshine? She usually asks questions. Tonight she made statements.

Mom, the Bible ends, but God’s love doesn’t. It goes on and on. It’s like your love, Mom.

Oh, my Sunshine, how I wish my love was like his; his love is so much greater than my own.

Our night time ritual lasts at least an hour. Two stories, three conversations, three prayers, three glasses of water, two trips to the bathroom. Patience often stretched, I grumble trying to end the process quickly. Cuddling next to a little one, I realize hearts need time to unfold.

If we get home late, children plop in bed with a quick hug and cover and kiss. They beg for a story. They crave the peaceful moment. I do too. For it is then, I realize anew the love the Father has for me. He is looking for my heart. Listening to my prayers.

Still and quiet is the night,
Not a fear alarms.
Still and quiet now am I
In my mother’s arms.
Not to worry, not to fret,
Even though I’m small.
God is up in heaven
Watching over all.

(Poem from When Stars Come Out, Bedtime Psalms for Little Ones)