Treasure Hunt

Y'all. There are reasons why going to huge open markets and having cash should not walk hand in hand. Add some lack of self control in there and you've got a recipe for full blown ninnyness. Today I was a full blown ninny. Lord, thank you for being strongest when I'm weakest. Today I was weak. Real weak. Heat stroke and vintage chic goodies will do that to a ginger. (If you've ever had a heat stroke and you're reading this please forgive me. I'm a school girl. That was a lame attempt at making a joke. Don't feel bad if you laughed. I did too.)

There's a gem in Texas named Canton. For those of you asking yourself, "Self, what in the world is a Canton and where can I get myself one" allow me to clear that weary head of yours. Canton is a little ridiculous, eclectic town in Texas. People caravan there to experience it. If you're looking for a good place, scratch that, the best place to people watch, Canton is your stage. Canton is a huge open market that basically expands the entire city. You can buy anything from a puppy to a fox pelt (Morbid I know. But you win some you lose some.) to vintage mirrors to linen pants to corn on a stick. It's a shopper's dream and worst nightmare. The dream part because there are so many possibilities. The nightmare part because there are so many possibilities.

Yesterday, I got to experience Canton with some of the most fun people in my life. Yes I'm a drama mama, but it's true. You know it's the truth when the process of getting to a destination is just as fun as the destination itself. The process of getting to Canton looked like the following. I got off work and immediately put on my frat tank and chacos. It had been a long time coming. I can't wear either really during the week and Canton was the perfect excuse to put those bad daddies on. I was secretly hoping for a increased chaco tan. I feel like when people secretly hope for a chaco tan instead of just looking down one day and having one that they're posers. I'm a poser. We got some sonic. I got the delicious and healthy meal of cheese sticks and a slushie. Sometimes I'm afraid I'll never grow out of having the tastebuds of a 7 year old. Then again, I feel like 90 year old me would tell 21 year old me to eat all the cheese sticks and slushies I could while I could. I think she would also tell me to love well and worry less and enjoy my gingerness. I should listen to her more often. She has a lot of perspective, that one.

We got to Canton with a few goals as anyone wise and capable should. A) Find 4 people riding motorized scooters B) Find 6 people with sequined visors C) Find some goodies D) Eat a Turkey leg. All were accomplished except for the Turkey leg part.

In an effort to make all real life circumstances into metaphors of Christ, because let's be honest, they are, life is like Canton. It's fun. It's overwhelming. There are too many options that distract me from the real beauty that is there. There are things that pain you to see. Sometimes it's too hot. From the outside looking in it looks classless and confusing. A broken mess. From the inside it's the time of your life. A treasure hunt of sorts. I feel like the Lord is just like that. Worth sifting through the mess for. Worth laying down my wants for. Worth stopping everything I'm doing and following with everything I am and everything I'm not. The treasure in the midst of the the chaos. I tend to focus more on the chaos than the treasure. Future me: Remember to focus on the treasure and not on the chaos.

On a camp note, this week was chaotic and exhausting and sweet and stretching and fun and overwhelming and foundation setting. This next week I'm lifeguarding all week. Praise Him!

Embodiment

Week 8 last summer was my most favorite week of the summer. I was a lifeguard. I was getting paid to sit in the sun all day and eat popsicles. I lived the dream. Week 8 was a week full of families who have been coming to family camp for years and years. Lord knows I love me some consistency and and tradition and week 8 embodied that.

I couldn't wait for week 8 to get here. I expected to get another lifeguarding week. I tend to expect consistency in a life where it rarely exists apart from the Lord Himself. I tend to be a ninny. If there's a picture of why one shouldn't have expectations, it would be my face at meeting last Saturday when we found out what we would be doing during week 8. It's weird now that it's over to even try to explain it. When I found out that I would be a "counselor" to 4 college girls: 1 of which spent years in a death camp in the Congo, 1 of which was separated from her family and thought them dead for 13 years, and 2 of which have been living in chaos since tragedy rocked their lives 8 years ago- Overwhelmed suddenly had a new meaning.

What I didn't know was that a mirror would be held up to my life and struggles all week long and I would be forced to look at my weakness in the lives of others.

There are things I don't like to look at in myself. My insecurity. That I perform and could be the walking and talking, human embodiment of pretense. -Yes I just realized that I have used the word embody twice in one post, as I'm sure you have noticed as well. No I don't use that word often. Yes I'm going to from here on out. - I get embarrassed easily. I'm awkward. Preferably I would like to act like those things don't exist within me. But instead, I normally realize them and then stew over them inside myself until my hamster wheel brain is about to melt out of my head. It's a gift. Not a good gift, like gummy bears and a note in my mailbox. A gift that hurts just as the giver intended. A gift that's not a gift at all from a giver who's not a giver at all.

This week made me openly stare down all those things in the face. From the girl who refused to talk to me because she doesn't speak very clear english and it embarrassed her. Her embarrassment made her feel trapped. From the girl who felt the need to always put on a show because she didn't know who she was. From the girl who had struggled with seeing the Lord as perfectly in control and true.

This girl, This ginger, This human, This child, was given the truth that I needed to hear more than anything. And not only that but was given the chance to immediately tell it to people who needed to hear it too.

On Friday, I had breakfast with one of the girls and she said, "Morgan. You observe a lot. You think a lot. Speak the sweet things you think."

Warning: I'm about to talk to myself.

Self- 4 weeks from now, 2 months from now, 9 months from now, 2 years from now, when you're looking back reading this- because you know you will- because you will need to- because you might forget between now and then-Remember this: Remember what it felt like to have that breakfast after praying for it all week. Remember what it was like to know that you were chosen. Remember what it felt like to know that a herd of people, and more importantly the God of the universe thought you were capable in your incapability. Remember what it felt like to defend your faith. Remember what it felt like to realize you can't experience joy or peace, or healing, or truth apart from the Lord. Remember when you were confided in. Remember the responsibility you hold. Remember defending the Word as the whole, complete truth- and not only defending it but realizing that it really is. Remember what it felt like to realize how undeservedly blessed you are, and the thankfulness that poured from your heart in that moment. Remember how your world perspective grew. Remember when you realized that our need for Christ is deeply the same across humanity, whether in the Congo or in Texas.

Y'all. We're halfway done. I miss you. I love you. Thank you for praying and for reading and for the phone calls and the letters and the visits and the hugs and the encouragement. Thank you for not judging me even though I write run on sentences over and over and over.

This week I'm with 9th grade girls. My soul comes alive around girls that age. Probably because I act like a 9th grade girl 89% of the time. Probably because I live life with some of the coolest 9th grade girls I know at home (Girls. That was something called a "shout out". Bask in it. Miss you, love you, thinking about you always!) I don't hate it.

Lord, bring me to my knees.

Fireworks

How in the world am I two weeks down? Am I in some alternate dimension? (That's a PC reference. Yes, I'm a school girl who hates to be out of the loop on things like that. It's my pleasure to get you in the loop.)

This week. This week. This week.

This week was a monotonous blast, if such a thing ever existed.

This week I intended to have minimal interaction with campers. I was tired and felt at the end of myself after a week full of 5th grade girls. Any intentionality I would've mustered this week in my own strength would be insincere and I knew that. So, naturally, in a momentary lapse of judgement, I welcomed the break like a convict welcomes a hiding place.

There's certainly nothing wrong with the hiding place. Work crew week was fun. I worked with FUN FUN people. I got a lot of downtime. I didn't have to make awkward conversation. I worked behind the scenes. I was quiet. I acted ridiculous. I watched tangled while folding napkins. I fell into a position that made it easy to hide from everything I find uncomfortable. Most of those being awkward encounters and being ridiculous when all I want to do is sleep. Let's be real. The hiding place isn't the problem. It's the hider.

With that realization in my pocket, I feel like I haven't grown at all this week because I have avoided hard things. It's the lie I'm being sold at the moment. Praise Him that moments are only momentary.

In my weakness grace still abounds. Every week I get the privilege of sitting in with a family every day while they do devotionals together as a family. I used to dread this time with a passion. It was weird and I felt like that weird cousin that no body really knows but feels like they should invite to intimate family functions because after all, we are cousins. As of late, it's a time I've come to like...enjoy even. I'm like the kid who suddenly realizes they love ketchup and wants it on everything. Everyone knows what I'm talking about. I remember the day I realized I loved ketchup. I was in Branson (all important life realizations happen in Branson). I was 8. I was with B White (Hey girl. Missing you.) More on this another day.

On Thursday we were talking about anchors. How everyone needs them in their life to remember how great God is and how He has worked in the past. How they need to exist for times when we barely remember our own names. It could be a song. It could be journaling. It could be a blog. This family keeps a book on their coffee table that they write in when they see God do things in their lives. Big and small. Life altering situations and everyday, overlooked blessing.

When my devo family's son was 6 his dad was in Iraq. His dad had been gone for a long time and the little boy was having a hard time remembering his dad, but he remembered that they loved shooting fireworks off together. He begged his mom for fireworks. To remember his dad. To ease the gaping hole in his life ( I could write romance novels with dramaticisms like the previous statement. It's a gift Nicholas Sparks and I share. Except he gets paid for it. Back to the story. Grab a tissue. Better yet, grab a box of tissues.). It was October and surprisingly fireworks are hard to find in October in Texas. Texas Texas Texas. The middle child of the United States, that one. The begging was going on while they were walking in the post office and on the way out a guy drove up and asked this little boys mom for some gas money. She gave him $20 and he gave them a box of fireworks in return, minutes after the little boy asked his mom.

In a life full of hilarity and confusion and shortcomings and being a schoolgirl and pouring out and fireworks and sweetness and pain and chicken suits and ups and downs and highs and lows- I've come to one small conclusion. I need an anchor. A sure foundation. An everlasting, faithful, faultless, gracious, never giving up, never changing, consistent, constant, Savior. Lord, take full, sweet residence. Lord, be my full, sweet Residence.

A Broken Record

Seven days. 42 hours of sleep (you do the math). Grossly ridiculous amounts of sweating. A 2 lb bag of skittles. 6 little girls. Lots of prayers. 4 showers (you do the math). 23 sweet bible stories. Lots of vitamin D. Too much coffee. One fantastically witty game of apples to apples. 100,000 calories (This could be what one would consider an exaggeration. My school girlism strikes again). At least 7 shades of tan (which is a feat for this ginger). And with that, week 6 is over.

I don't even know where to begin.

I should probably start exactly one year ago. A) Never fear, this will be brief. B) Maybe not so brief C) I can almost guarantee you this will be long-winded.

Put on your excited pants. We're go back in time.

Exactly one year ago today I finished my first week ever working at camp. I had been a counselor to nine energetic, chaotic, frazzled, hilarious 8 and 9 year olds. We ran around like chickens with our heads cut off the entire week. We discussed the drama of their lives aka if their parents would be buying them icecream after they got picked up. We sang countless disney songs. I made them put sunscreen on and wear their tshirts over their bathing suits around the boys so there were times when they disliked me. By the end of the week I was completely overwhelmed by my inability to do anything right in my brain.

I was too much of a school girl for this. I wanted to jump in my car and drive away. I couldn't handle the chaos. I kept getting in trouble like a disobedient 4 year old in big church. I wanted to run. I wanted to run fast.

In the course of 6 days I had been late, I overslept not one, but two mornings, my shorts fell off when I was getting out of the pool (gasp!), I momentarily lost one of my campers, at any point of the day I had atleast 3 little children latched onto me, I had gotten sore dancing for an hour and could hardly move the next day, I sat on a fire ant hill, and I accidentally forgot to take my kids to archery. How does someone do that you ask? Beats me. Needless to say I was asked nicely to "please come in 2 hours early this weekend". Gladly. I remember thinking to myself "Oh my goodness gracious. Where am I? I tired. I hungry. I need my mommy." Lack of sleep and sheer chaos apparently turns you into a incoherent caveman. Noted.

I would like to think that time in my life was characterized by a sophomore-in-college immaturity and that I've grown incredibly mature and selfless and efficient since then. Then I find myself wearing a chicken costume for 3 hours and remember that I'm still a school girl.

This week I was positive they wouldn't want me to council those same girls. Surely they didn't like me. I had done a horrible job. I was... I am still embarrassed about it. Honestly I went the rest of last summer acting like that first week hadn't happened.

Last Saturday I was informed I would be doing EXACTLY what I did this time last year. I would be chasing around the same little girls. I would be doing the same activities. I was praying I would not be the same panicked ninny I was last summer.

This week was redemptive in every way possible. It was such a cool thing to be in these girls lives a year later. To see their growth. To answer their questions. To be pummeled and bear hugged by 6 preshy little beauties. To be able to hit the ground running immediately and not have to wait for the awkward "I need to impress you so you think I'm cool" stage to be over. We made it to archery AND stayed relatively organized which was ridiculously enough a huge feat. I have prayed and prayed for consistency and stability in my life. That I would find it in Christ. That my faith wouldn't be characterized by an on again off again roller coaster ride but rather a steady walk.

I think I'm scared to repeat situations that I did not perform well in the first time. Scratch that. I know I'm scared to repeat situations that I did not perform well in the first time. Who wants to chance failing twice? Not this girl. I think knowing the redemptive power of Christ takes being willing to jump back into situations we don't like over and over. The Lord is always willing to give me a second chance at things but rarely am I willing to jump in. I would much rather avoid the situation because of fear of failure rather than let it be redeemed.

Thank the Lord grace abounds and sometimes He doesn't give me the choice. Lord, please be a broken record for me.

This week I'm on work crew which means minimal camper interaction (the only bummer), lots of serving, a night off, and a mind nap. Praise Him for He is good!