Tag Archives: summer camp

by | February 21, 2017 · 9:21 pm

Strength to Carry On…

“For You have armed me with strength for the battle; You have subdued under me those who rose up against me.” -Psalm 18:39

Standing facing the biting cold, as ice pellets from the snow guns burn the flesh on my skin, I wait for the next person in line to come to me. My job; to check the lift ticket for an expiration time and date. My toes are so cold that the feeling has left them, now a numbness matches those of my fingers. “There must be a purpose for my being here,” comes the thought. “Why must I suffer so?” My mind drifts back to another time of struggle, another time of physical hardship.

The dark water swirls around him as he fights to remain afloat. The tiny frame of a boy’s body barely has enough flesh to cover his bones, let alone any fat to help keep him afloat. Tirelessly he battles the fluid that tries to pull him under while struggling to keep his chin above the surface. His thin arms barely have enough strength to continue, but the merit badge requires a full 30 minutes to tread water; so he battles on. He thinks of what he must do in order to succeed. He cannot fail, for failure is not an option in his young mind. From the edge of the dock, the lifeguard yells at him to keep kicking, “Use your cross stroke…don’t give up.” The voice sounds distant, as if in another world. His breath labors as a numbness begins to drift from his mind to his legs. The void below he no longer fears as a certain calmness flows across his consciousness. Above him, the blue sky seems endless as if there is no end to its height. In his last moments he feels his body drifting toward the eternal blueness beyond; then nothing except the gentle hands of those raising his nearly lifeless body from the void. He had made the time, but his tiny frame was nearly spent. He breathed in the air and faced the sky above as he lay on the dock listening to the waves rippling against the wood. Calmness overwhelmed him as peace enveloped his being; God was there.

The mind drifts onward; another place another time. Sweat trickles down his spine, tickling as it runs the length of his body. The heat creates wavering ripples of vision across the tarmac before him. He stands at parade rest along with the rest of his squadron. Attired in their dress blues, their presence underneath the blistering Texas sky is all the more picture perfect. No one can move a muscle lest they face infractions for the inspection. Today is the General’s Parade, the last of their training at the San Antonio facility where the Basic Training for Flight 61 has taken place over the last six weeks.

The young Airmen doesn’t flinch as gnats crawl in and out of his nose, stinging his eyes as they crawl about every orifice mercilessly. He pushes the feeling from his mind, welcoming the return of the numbness experienced once before in his life, a feeling of calmness when darkness whispers into one’s ear. He again begs the question, “Why am I here, and what is my purpose.” There is no response. There is no breeze. The breath of the asphalt overwhelms even the faintest hint of cool as the mind races to find something with which to grasp onto. A hope, a prayer, anything to relinquish it from the here and now. The conscious mind searches the depths of the soul for memories upon which to dwell. Fighting through the suffocating air, labored breath comes. He tries to focus, but blurred eyes find little comfort. “Lord take me away from here, give me relief, show me the way,” he whispers under his breath. His leg nearly buckles as he recalls the instructions not to lock your knees. He hesitantly, but carefully shakes it off. Two rows over another airman falls backward, passed out before he hit the pavement. The thud of his body hitting the ground leaves an eerie sound etched into their collective memories. Across the parade grounds, onlookers peered through veiled eyes as they searched for their loved ones, hoping the fallen were not theirs. A wisp of a breeze gently caresses the flag near the crowd, too far away for relief. Too far away to be felt. Comfort. Too far away; too far…away. “God will surely give me comfort.”

The images fade as the wind picks up.

The snow swirls around like sheets on a clothesline blowing in the wind on a summer’s day. One by one, through the whiteness they come, shuffling their skis as the inch toward the gate. I check them through blurred eyes; blurred not from sweat, but rather, from cold and blinding snow. There is a purpose in my being here. “He would not have it, if it were not so,” I tell myself. “In His time, it will become evident.”

Little did I know, it had already begun.

When we begin our walk with Christ, our journey can lead us anywhere at anytime. We have a purpose in life wherever we go once the journey begins.

And so it is.

Although I might never have envisioned myself working at a Ski Slope part-time, I have found that in everything we do, there is purpose when we serve a living God. There is so much more to tell, but all in due time.

All in due time.

Thanks be to God.

You can learn more about God’s plan for my journey at Mission to Ride.

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by | January 17, 2017 · 7:33 pm

The Sleeping Beast…

Each morning, long before the sun begins to brighten the horizon, my day begins. There ahead of me awaits the sleeping giant, repose and silent as it slumbers. To stir the beast before one is ready to do battle is to invite defeat and untold injury upon the soul. So I begin each day well in advance of my first class, so that I may prepare as best I can with what little time is available.sleepingdragon

A certain dread of uncertainty fills the void within me when I enter the doors of the school, like the lair of the sleeping leviathan. When there is no time to prepare, as is often the case for the Lateral Entry Teacher, one must breach the entrance with honest trepidation. Often, a lateral entry person enters the fray in the midst of an ongoing semester. It’s much akin to parachuting into a “hot zone” in military terms, in the fray of battle. There has been little time to formulate a lesson, let alone a syllabus from which a basis for all manner of conduct and instruction can be grounded. Ill-conceived lesson plans are like thin shields against the blast of the fiery breath of the beast. One must rely on the stealth and agility of having battled circumstances from the distant past when there is no time to garner a defense. The weaponry we wield are countless moments and events in our own history that shaped and formed us into the warriors and the potential educators we have become. The ability to think on our feet and pull from our mental resources become our best ally. Meanwhile, our intellect is our sword, something we must learn to sharpen each day; without it, we have little chance of surviving future struggles. Our culmination of a lifetime of education suddenly is called upon to serve us as we serve them whom we teach.

As the exterior door of the school silently closes behind me, the sound of ventilation system can be heard; the giant breathes in peaceful slumber. My footsteps echo in the halls. There is less fear of each new day, less angst for what lies ahead. My peers reassure me again and again, “It gets better.” Yet, there is that fear of the unknown that nags at your unconscious thoughts, like the drip of a faucet in the other room; it is there. Rather than allowing that trickle of negativity to consume you, one must turn it into a positive.  For me, the anticipation of the unexpected now becomes the adventure. Those things which still create the uneasiness are focused into an energy that propels us harder into the task at hand.

I didn’t always think this way.

It was Summer Camp, only my second as a Boy Scout. We had heard the horror stories well in advance of the annual summer event of the dreaded Mile Swim, one of the requirements for the Swimming Merit Badge. For some, it had become a rite of passage. This particular summer I was scheduled to take the Swimming Merit Badge class, one that was required in order to earn the prestigious rank of Eagle. None of the other requirements mile-swim-bsa-patch-boy-scoutsbothered me as much as that long distance endurance test. The participants who took part in the marathon swim followed closely behind a rowboat where two adults watched the small pack of boys trail behind. At the first sign of struggles, the endangered youth would be hauled into the boat where they would safely ride until they could be taken to shore. The part that we feared most was swimming out into the depths of that black bottomed lake. The darkness of the water allowed our boyhood imaginations to create all manner of monsters whose abodes lay below in the seemingly endless pit; a verifiable abyss. When I told my fears to my father, he shared with me this thought that stayed with me for the rest of my life. He explained to me that he would be scared to swim out in that lake too, but sometimes when we feared something, we should learn to use that fear to drive us harder; make it our impetus to be better than we ever imagined. Later in life, I would tell my music students before taking the stage, “Take your butterflies and teach them to fly in formation.” So with all of my fear urging me onward, little Rick Anderson and I swam our first mile without stopping that summer, following closely behind his father and my Scoutmaster, the late Tom Anderson. Tom was one of the best Scoutmasters a group of youth could have ever had. His commitment to us boys was never faltering. He was to me a “John Wayne” of Scoutmasters. Rick and I never feared we never faltered that day, for we had all the assurance with us we thought we needed sitting right in front of us, his dad. He gave us the encouragement and courage to do more than we thought possible. Mark Twain once said, “Courage is resistance to fear, mastery of fear, not absence of fear,”[1] and so it was that summer day so long ago.

Once more, the recollection of the past strengthens the present, and my fortitude is re-energized. Those pillars of our past lives become the supports for our character, the very thing that makes us the leaders of today. They may have gone on, but in essence, they are always with us. Their lessons of encouragement become the very tools from which we now can draw upon.

The keys rattle in my hand as I approach my door in the dimly lit hallway. As the lock turns and the click of the door opens, I can hear the beast within draw its breath.

Time to awaken this Math beast and let the day begin.

“Now to Him who is able to do exceedingly abundantly above all that we ask or think, according to the power that works in us,…” -Eph. 3:20

[1] BrainyQuote.com, https://www.brainyquote.com/quotes/quotes/m/marktwain138540.html

 

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by | May 31, 2013 · 3:06 am

Late Bloomer…

2013-05-24 07.25.54We were driving home tonight from Chatham Charter’s annual Athletic and Academics banquet when I was explaining to my daughter about how someday, she might be asked to lead others. If were to rely on our ancestral history as a guide, then it would be expected. I tried to convey to her that it may be years before she finally realizes her abilities to lead; I know I myself was a late bloomer in that regard.

That’s when it hit me; our similarities in life to the Kousa Dogwood, or more commonly known in our area, the Japanese Dogwood. The Kousa is a small deciduous flowering tree, a distant relative to our own Eastern Dogwood, which is indigenous to this area. However, unlike our local variety, the Kousa blooms nearly a month later; a late bloomer of sorts.

We always knew that when the Dogwood’s bloomed, it was about time for the fish to start biting. One of the first events in life that made me realize I had the potential to lead was fishing. You see, up to a certain point in my life, I always relied upon an adult to take me fishing. It was something that I never really gave much though too, but looking back, I understand my dependence upon others at that time and how fishing only exemplified that need. We never had a pond nearby that I could just grab a pole and go off too on my own. We usually had to travel to the nearest watering hole. Now, mind you, we grew up nearly on the banks of the Wabash River, but we were never allowed to venture near the river alone. There were too many tragedies to count from this sometimes treacherous confluence that flowed past our small town in southern Indiana.

It wasn’t until my last Boy Scout summer camp that I finally had the opportunity to go fishing without an adult. I don’t recall the other youth’s name who went with me, but since we weren’t allowed to go out in a boat alone at camp, I had another Boy Scout as a companion. I had recently learned how to row and was more or less practicing my new found skill, while taking the opportunity to wet a line. Once out on the open water, I remember feeling a sense of freedom and control I had never known before. The other boy and I made our way all around the lake that summer, becoming quite the fishing pair. I caught my first Crappy in that lake. Funny the things you remember.

From that summer on, I found I no longer needed an adult to take me fishing, but rather, I sometimes wound up taking others fishing with me instead. More often than naught, I went alone, learning my independence along the way. There were times that I would load a twelve foot long john boat into the trunk of my 74 Ford Torino, wedging the end in so that its weight kept it from bouncing out;  that must have been a sight going down the gravel road. I would take the boat to stripper pits where I would sometimes drag it several yards to launch it into some remote body of water that appeared as if they had been untouched by man or rod since their creation. These were all man made bodies of water left over from the coal strip mining in our area. They were never stocked but only had in them what the good Lord provided. It was on these crystal clear bodies of desolate water I found peace in solitude; being alone somehow made me feel closer to God.

As years went by, I eventually found the day I was able to take my own children fishing. There are few joys that compare to watching a child catch their first fish. My daughter seemed to be a natural. Her patience for sitting and waiting were well beyond her years, and her expected temperament. She now often goes fishing on her own on our farm in one of our three ponds. If she’s not fishing then she is out riding her dear pony Sugar. Her independence at such an early age is sometimes breathtaking.

As we drove home from the banquet, I realized my daughter might not show her leadership skills openly but she was already far ahead of where I was at her age; in this respect I can take comfort. My daughter is already a different type of leader than I had ever imagined. Where and how far she goes with it only Heaven knows.

We might be like the Kousa Dogwood when it comes to openly leading others, but hopefully when we finally do blossom; it is something that honors God. At least for us, it’s our ancestral obligation. For if we do nothing else, hopefully we can honor the Glory of God through all that he has given.

In this I pray, Amen.

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