Now "Operator" can also be stuck in your head. You're welcome.

 I'm sure you've heard "New York State of Mind" by Billy Joel or "Pieces of April" by Three Dog Night. I've been living a similar vein, though mine channels Jim Croce. 

I'd been procrastinating on cleaning the bathroom, but figured it was time to wade in. I poured in a glug of toilet bowl cleaner and let it sit awhile with the ceiling fan on. In eyeing our bathtub and noticing the ring around it, I decided it might be a good time to give it a scrub. I got my necessary equipment, wet it down, sprinkled in my soap, and started scrubbing. Assuming that the toilet bowl cleaner had been in there long enough to do its thing, I gave the toilet a quick flush and turned my back on it to resume scrubbing the tub.

It keeps filling. And filling. Finally I notice that hey, waitaminute, that hasn't stopped filling yet!? I grab the plunger with a loud exclamation of, "are you kidding me!?" and give it a few good pumps, but too late. Sure enough, it overflows as I snatch and then fling the bath mat out of the way and start tearing towels out of the bathroom cart to sop up the water. 

I can hear Jim Croce crooning, "isn't that the way they say it goes?" 

I guess the universe just determined that if I was going to clean the bathroom, I may as well clean the bathroom. Come on over. Our floor is mopped and we have freshly laundered towels!

MRI recap

 Yesterday morning while admiring the smiling moon, I drove myself the three minutes to the hospital for my MRI. Shh, don't tell, hehe. Upon arrival, the friendly registration ladies said I was all set and sent me down the hall. I was the first one in the waiting room, haha!

After attaching my snazzy hospital bracelet and filling out the paperwork on a clipboard, I sat down to wait out the few minutes until I was to be summoned.

My radiation tech had kind, smiley eyes above her mask as she told me apologetically that I'd have to change, showed me the locker of scrubs and the changing room, and waited for me. She then escorted me to the MRI room where she and her fellow tech explained that I'd be in the machine about 20 minutes and then they'd inject a contrast into a vein and then I'd have about 5 more minutes. 

So I hop up on the table/tray/slab and wiggle into position. She asks if I'd like a blanket as it'll take about half an hour for everything, so I said sure. They tuck me in, hand me the call button, caution me that it'll be loud in there, and ask what kind of music I want. Adding a pair of the puffy, over-the-head headphones and clipping a plastic hockey-looking mask over my head, she tells me I'm all set. I giggle about it really feeling like Halloween as now I look like Jason from the Friday the 13th movies. 

I close my eyes, because I figure I won't be able tell how close or tight the top part of the machine will be to my face if I can't see it. Yes, the air current might feel a little different depending on if I am in or out, but I can do this. 

And in I go! At first there's some blips and boops and rata-rata-ratas as the machine sets itself up. Sometimes it feels like you're on top of a car hood that's been out in the sun awhile. Sometimes it feels exactly like sitting in my tenth grade Spanish class with a certain soccer player sitting directly behind me who repeatedly kicked my chair enough times that I wanted to elbow him in the face, that constant small jamming jiggle that you feel through your whole body. Sometimes it sounds like being inside an old printer, that bzzzzzzt bzzzzzzt bzzzzzzt sound. Sometimes it's like a mosquito the size of a T-Rex hovering over your shoulder. 

I picked smooth jazz so that I wouldn't be tempted to dance or sing along to the music because I was supposed to be still for accuracy purposes. The first few minutes there was no music and I thought, "hmm, either they forgot to turn it on or their headphones aren't working. Oh well. I'll just pray." So I started to pray for a sweet friend of mine and there was a large thump that made me jump a little and then the music started. I was glad, as it was hard to concentrate on praying with all the racket and no music to focus on. 

I listen to a handful of songs and then they pull me out to do the contrast part. Uh oh. Well, I'm already laying down, so I theoretically shouldn't pass out. She ties off my arm, has me make a fist, pops that sucker in there first try, reminds me that I might feel coolness versus the warmth that CT contrast has where it can make you feel like you peed your pants, and is done in no time. Then she says, "five more minutes, you're doing great." 

I close my eyes again, they stick me back in, and right when I think I might be done, it gets really bright. I think, "oh, maybe I'm out." So I crack open one eye and nope, still very much inside a tube made of what reminded me of the white walls of the Millennium Falcon. Reshutting my eye right quick.

Very soon after, she calls through the intercom that I'm done and that they'll help me finish up in just a few minutes. I have a few last minutes of music and then she helps me off the table/tray/slab with a, "you did great!" I thank her for doing great with the needle, haha. She tells me that they'd most likely have the results by tomorrow (today). I figure I'd give it another day and then call my doc for results if I didn't hear from the office first.

I put my clothes back on and head on my merry way, back out through a much fuller waiting room.

Imagine my delighted surprise when I got a call yesterday saying that the MRI results were fine/clear/normal! Woohoo!

So thanks for praying, everybody. I maintain that I am a single stick patient and that the whole brouhaha was brought about by my bod's overreaction to multiple and/or moving around needle jabs. Thank you all for the texts checking on me and for being available to help in your myriad of ways. I appreciate all of you!

Happy hump day!

Still grounded

 Tomorrow morning (at the buttcrack of dawn, might I add) is my MRI. For those of you scratching your heads, my bad. "Let me sum up," as Inigo Montoya says. I need to back up a bit.

*beep beep beep beep*

Last Monday I had the EEG and was to have the neurology appointment directly afterwards. However, the neurologist had a family emergency so my appointment got punted to Tuesday afternoon.

After he listened to my story of why I was there, as if he didn't already know, he told me that the EEG looked normal. Yay! I have a brain! Shush, Hinrew. Then he said something a little discomfiting; "however, small things can hide in an EEG so I want you to have an MRI. If things look fine from there, I'll check on you in four months. My gut feeling is that we do not need to put you on anti seizure medicine as that would be life long and has serious side effects."

Um, yikes?

My husband, the engineer, growled afterwards, "if the MRI is the definitive test, why did they order an EEG instead of an MRI?" Good question. Nurse Lisa told me over the phone, and I could hear the groan and the roll of her eyes as she explained, that insurance companies most likely won't cover an MRI unless an EEG is done first, even though it's dumb because if they just did the MRI they'd have the results they were looking for instead of now paying for two tests. Which is pretty much what my mother had texted me as well.

So, tomorrow morning I am signed up for an MRI with and without contrast. I know I've had one of these before, but it's kind of a blur. The tech asked over the phone if I was claustrophobic so I'm going with they're sticking me in some kind of tube. Good news is I'm allowed to eat and drink normally beforehand, no fasting, yay. Undecided news is the "with contrast" part... I can't remember if I only have to drink that or if that's through an IV or both. Less yay. Not gonna get fussed about it, though. Not worth it.

I also will need to ask if the results get read by the neurologist and if his office will let me know what it said or if I need to call them, or what. I was told not to drive until the results of the EEG were in, and I was a good girl and didn't, though I've discovered as a 44-year-old woman what it feels like to be grounded. Not a fan! Very inconvenient, even during a pandemic when events and activity levels are much decreased. Grr. Then he ordered the MRI and said to not drive for another week, maybe two to three weeks, something about six months at which point my non existent eyebrows shot right off of my head. I hope he was kidding, cuz man, that ain't happening. I am going with a week as that's what he said first. So there. 

Tuesday I also saw my oncologist who went over all my numbers and pronounced everything perfect. So good, in fact, that she doesn't need to see me for six months, so I won't have to head down there at all this winter, wahoo! She also felt I was good to drive and that the troublesome fainting episode was simply a reaction to the blood draw.  She went so far as to make a note in my chart that I will be reclining for future blood draws. Nurse Lisa approves, as per her "for the love of all that is holy... would you please make sure they lay you down for blood draws!!!" Favorite doctor ever. Teehee.

So as you roll over and hit the alarm for the day or as you roll over and go back to sleep tomorrow around 6:45, send a prayer or a good thought that the MRI finds nothing more than a small sign etched onto my brain reading, "STOP JABBING MY HOST!" Thanks a bunch! Have a great week!

This is what an EEG looks like

I've been musing about a game we played at camp called, "I Have Never." You're supposed to tell the truth. Everyone is in a circle with an It in the center. It declares, "I have never _____" and they fill in the blank with something they've never done. Whoever else that applies to also leaves their spot in the circle and everyone scurries to find an open spot/chair/whatever and whoever is left becomes the new It. 

I used to say, "I have never been to Disney." It was true. I didn't go until I was married with three kids when my sweet hubby's whole family went together. 

Now I can no longer say, "I've never had an EEG."

I am smiling under the mask (made by the wonderful Annmarie) as my kind, chatty tech Christy prepped me. It involves me doing... absolutely nothing other than coming in with clean hair, haha! My kind of test! No fasting, no needles, WOOHOO!

She told me exactly what to expect before she even started fastening things to me. First off, she measured my head and figured out where she'd need to put the electrodes. She used a waxy crayon-like marker to denote where all the connections would be made. Then she swabbed me with a cold cleanser of some sort and started attaching the sticky parts with a paste. She said they used to use, back in the day, something similar to rubber cement which was awful to get cleaned off and made it look like you had dandruff for three days post-test. I'm always glad for advances in the medical field, haha!

So here's me all stickered up with my wires attached. The two on my chest are electrodes for my heart measurements. Dada mused that it looked like a nightmare to untangle and she laughed and commented that, "yes, it can be a spaghetti nightmare if you're not careful when you're cleaning them!"

For this particular EEG, which happens in the sleep lab, for the first several minutes all I had to do was open and close my eyes a few times and then keep them closed. What a great test for a mom to have to take! Christy even told me that if I fell asleep that it would be perfectly fine. She had me relax completely for several minutes in the quiet dark, I suppose to establish a baseline. While I was relaxing, I rambled around camp in my mind. I started up the hill at the pool where I realized how many pine needles there were on the ground as I waited for everyone to collect their towels and make it out of the pool house to join their group. Then we roamed, some campers sprinting, some lallygagging down to the camp store, and from there my memories took me into the kitchen where I relived some fun times washing pots and pans with Mot, one of the only times I really got to spend with him before he got married, and with Dan Dan the Marine Man as he sang alternate lyrics to the "Chicken Dance" which had me crying with laughter, and with Renee as she exclaimed, "the Hobart ate my scrubbie!" 

I could have reminisced all day, but that part of the test finished. 

Next, she used a strobe light that strobed at different speeds for a few minutes with breaks in between. My eyes were to stay closed, thankfully. Even in the movies, like "The Incredibles", this kind of lighting is not my favorite, but is doable. 

The final part of the test is hyperventilating. For three minutes, I was to breathe very deeply. That's a little harder than just sitting there, but I kept thinking, "I've been exercising; I can do this!" She told me, "you're doing great. One more minute!" At that point I knew I could finish, though I did feel fizzy, not dizzy. 

The last part is peeling and unwinding everything back off and then, bless her heart, she gently scrubbed off all the paste with nice, warm water. We giggled about how getting your hair washed is always the best part of a hair cut, and then she really laughed when I told her I appreciated that she didn't just use Mom Spit to clean me up, though I guaranteed it would work! She said she was pretty sure that would violate a whole lot of protocol, but also agreed that it would be effective.

Then she towel dried my hair in a rubby-rubby style that reminded me of how Grandmama used to do it when I was small enough to have that done! I felt like a fluffy baby chick when she was finished with me, haha! She walked us back out and wished us well and that was that! 

Overall, nothing to it. I'd go back. ;) 

 

Tissues at the ready AKA The Last Camp Post

I confess, this is the post I've procrastinated on. Not because I didn't want to write it, per say, but because I wanted to do justice to a place that means so incredibly much to me for almost 30 years and for so many other amazing friends I'd probably not have been privileged to have in my tribe otherwise. I thought, maybe, if a little time passed that I'd be able to do it without tears. That doesn't appear to be the case, so here goes. 

Camp has been broken into three separate parcels and sold. The last Saturday in August was the final day for anyone to come and visit it as camp and to select what they wanted from whatever was left behind. A lot of items had already been given to other camps or programs, and that's good, because useful things should be used and not just left behind. It was still a challenge to be there knowing it would be for the last time. It's been such a touchstone in my life, a great place to reconnect with people I love, and a phenomenal place to connect with our creator. I still can't wrap my head and heart around not being back there, ever.

I can't understate how much I value the friendships I've made there throughout the years. Many of the people in our wedding, including the pastor, are folks we met at camp. The bonds that you form while working with others who are also sunburned, mosquito bitten, tired, hungry, cold, and wet are real. I've never been in the service, but I can easily see how those other people can become like brothers simply because of what I've lived at camp. Many hands does make light work. Laughter makes memories. When people love each other and work together to show other people that love, it shows. I definitely would not be who I am today without the time I've spent at camp, as a camper and a staff member and a volunteer.

One more thing: out of respect to so many of those who didn't want to mar their wonderful camp memories with seeing its decline on this final day, I've tried to carefully choose photos that show beauty and God's faithfulness throughout. I did indeed take others, but these are the ones worth sharing. I regret very much not taking more pictures of the people.

Westminster Highlands was a Christian camp in the hills of western Pennsylvania. I'd been there a few times for retreats with my high school youth group as our church was part of one of the Presbyteries which supported the camp. It's a few minutes off of I-80 near Emlenton, which means it's not far at all from the Allegheny River, below. The Little Scrubgrass Creek runs through camp and joins the Allegheny. Some of our more adventurous weeks were built around time on the river, like Rocks, Rivers, and Ropes, where campers would canoe, rock climb, and participate on the ropes courses and their myriad of trust building games and activities. One of my favorite parts about camp was being in one of the Adirondack cabins, listening to thunderstorms roll down the river valley, crashing and flashing and dumping water all through the woods and making mud.

This is the sign welcoming you to camp. I'd love to know how many campers bounced with excitement in their seats as their vehicle turned off the paved road and proceeded under the sign. That would be a fabulous fun fact!

This is the pond where campers were taught to swamp and re-right their canoes before river trips, where cheerful yellow funbugs were ridden, and where we washed off the very worst of the mud from mud hikes before hitting the showers. I never failed to choose a funbug that would behave perfectly on my way away from shore but then would become completely demented and paddle in circles once I was in the middle of the pond. Some of you are smiling and musing, "user error." I maintain possession. 

Off to the left of the photo, out of sight here, was a fire pit with log benches where many a Vespers service was held, singing along to guitars, sharing life experiences, learning that the stories in the Bible involved real people just like us and that as God used them, He can use us. Many s'mores were also roasted and consumed...

Okay, this one specifically is for Dave Kinman. He once informed us something along the lines of he'd never ask us as our boss to do something that wasn't in the Bible. We received instructions at one point to "pull weeds in front of the store. ~Hezekiah 22:12" 

Some of you are thinking, "hmm. There is a Hezekiah in the Bible. He was a king, but I don't recall him having his own book." You'd be right. Except that nugget formed a lot of "instructions" given over the years in my life, in my husband's life, now in our kids' lives. Hezekiah has become our "you should do it because I said so" without saying it that way. Is there something that needs done and someone who needs to do it? Give them a verse from Hezekiah. It's much more fun than saying, "because I said so," which tends to sound like your mother and her mother before her and her mother before her, should any of us been sassy enough to talk back and question an instruction in the first place. Throw some "thou shalts" in there too to make it more fun. I believe that was the original: thou shalt pull weeds in front of the store.

Well, nobody has weeded for awhile. But it's a good lesson in first impressions. Registration happened in a myriad of different locations and processes over the years, and the store was often, if not always, open during registration. A tidy storefront reassured parents that, since we took care of our grounds, we could be trusted to look after their children for a week. Metal trash cans with tight-fitting lids kept out critters and limited their ability to strew wrappers and litter everywhere. Plus, if you had a buddy during weed pulling, you ended up working faster and learning more about each other, leading to closer friendships. Large group games such as camper bowling (yes, we used to bowl for campers with an Earth ball back in the day), Sharks and Minnows, Heaven and Tragedy and many others were played in front of the store, and it served as a stage during skit night. It also sold snacks, drinks, camp merchandise, and the all important ice cream treats from Steese's: mint bars and orange buddies come to mind, along with their cult followings.

One of my very favorite parts of camp are the trees. I'll try to suppress my inner Lorax and not go on and on, but the trees. Every season is beautiful at camp. Winter retreats with freezy trees and tons of snow everywhere, high summer with the cicadas singing and everything growing in countless different shades of green, the beauty of moss on rocks deposited by glaciers contrasting with colorful fall leaves, the vibrance of shining leaves after a soaking rain.

Many of you will instantly recognize this trailhead despite it being a bit overgrown. If you cross that bridge and follow the red trail, you come to one of many huge rock formations around camp, which is called Chapel Rock. Wooden benches forming an amphitheater of sorts face an enormous rock face, and a beautiful wooden cross had been erected there as well. Here again Vespers services were held, even in the dark of night during our Owl Patrol weeks where the campers get to experience camp activities at night like night hikes, night swims, cooking over a fire in the dark, star gazing, flashlight tag, and so forth. It's the perfect place to reflect on the unchanging nature of God, how he is our Rock, and how he is the same yesterday, today, and forever. 

Sadly, that parcel of camp had already been sold and we were asked to not hike out to say goodbye, hence the lack of pictures. It was hard to be somewhere I knew so well and not be allowed to tramp every trail to all of my favorite spots. I can't be the only one feeling depressed about that aspect, but I can envision Chapel Rock, with its benches perhaps needing some love, the trees crowding in a bit, but the Rock being solid and cool to the touch and unmoving. It's a good anchor. *Insert cloudburst of tears here*

This man, this blessing, (scroll down for picture then come back up, I'll wait) to me is proof that there is no circumstance that God can't and won't use for the good despite the enemy's best efforts to attack us. I'll try to condense, but I'll have to back up.

I've had a BFF since we were both six. Her name is Lisa and she's one of the most wonderful creations God ever made. Of course I'm biased! Anyway, I dragged her along to the sister camp of Westminster Highlands, Camp Lambec, when we were not quite junior high students. It's where I'd fallen in love with camp initially, thanks to my friend Anne who took me when we were old enough in third grade. I never looked back. The dream for Lisa and I was to keep growing up, going to camp every year, and then work there together.

Life being what it is made things a little tougher. We were inseparable, until we weren't. We had a huge fight our senior year. We weren't speaking at prom. We weren't speaking at graduation. Interviews for working at camp were scheduled and I cried in front of my future boss, knowing that if we both worked at Lambec that there'd be no body of Christ while we were harboring so much resentment.

She asked me if I wanted to work at Westminster Highlands. I'd only been there for retreats at that point, and one wild week in the summer of 1993 as a counselor in training for Owl Patrol. During that week, I met Kelly, who would end up being my brother in law. I'd had a good time, a great time, actually, but the dream had been to work at Lambec. It was a tough decision made a little less tough by my options: stay at home and work at Wendy's (which is not bad, I loved that as well, but it certainly wasn't the dream, you see) or go to the Highlands. 

I picked the Highlands. I have never regretted it. 

I've posted previously about how Kelly was on staff again that summer, waaaay back in 1994, haha, and how one of our staff guys was getting married that summer.  We would need to find another guy to take his spot after he went off to live with his new bride. Kelly called back home, week after week, cajoling his next younger brother, Scott, to come work at camp. "I'm not wasting my summer at camp," was the refrain he heard for multiple weeks, and is a line often tossed about to tease him with now. 

Eventually, God used Kelly to break Scott down to where he resigned, "fine, I'll come for one week. But that's it!"

He stayed the rest of the summer. 

Then he returned in 95, 96, and 97. 

We started officially dating in 1997, got engaged that October, and got married first thing in 1999. 

During those years, God softened other hearts and used both camps to play a part, which I chuckle about now. Of course he used camp- nothing better to get our attention. A new week was created called Double Exposure. It was to show off, if you will, the best aspects of both camps. Campers would start at one on Sunday, take a bus ride to the other Wednesday where they'd finish the week and get picked up along with all their stuff on Saturday. The Highlands was very rustic and woodsy. Lambec is right on Lake Erie with a beach, a pond, beautiful indoor and outdoor Chapels, and (if I were writing a tourism brochure) quaint cabins. (They're grey now, and have been for years, a fact I'm still salty about as they were dark green where I started going in third grade and I maintain that there are days when the Lake is gray and the sky is gray and if the cabins are gray you're not going to be able to find them, haha. Oh well. I am not in charge of the world.)

Lisa did work at Lambec, also from 94-97. I went with the Double Exposure campers and got to have some tentative conversations with her at Lambec that week. We wrote letters to each other from our separate colleges. 

Eventually our relationship was restored to where Lisa was in our wedding and is a wonderful, vital part of my life. I would not be the person I am without her influence on my life. She is one of the best listeners I know, something I need to work on.

So, as Inigo Montoya says, "let me sum up." Had Lisa and I not fought and had ended up both working the dream at Lambec, it's safe to say I would not have met Scott at least until 95 when the staffs from both camps got together for some training. That was only a few days, so likely meeting would have been all that happened.  God used what until that point had been the most heart wrenching experience of my life to introduce me to the man who would stand by my side through many moves through four states, three kids, a breast cancer diagnosis and treatment, and all the details of our "real life" these past 21 years. 

And our staff guy who got married, "Mot" because there were three Toms on staff that summer, raised a family with his beautiful bride who became a resource for me during my breast cancer journey before she succumbed to another round herself. God, like Gibbs on NCIS ("y'don't waste good"), doesn't waste anything!

I love you, babe. I'm so thankful for you. And I'm glad we could come to "the end of all things (camp)" together.

Robin A, one of the Adirondacks in the Knox side of camp, was the perfect spot for the youngest campers as it was closest to the bathhouse and the dining hall. Each Adirondack was one of a pair, A and B, haha, and they were named for birds: Robin, Lark, Wren, Blue Jay, Eagle, Cardinal. Some weeks of camp packed them all out. That's a lot of kids! 

When I started there, that front wall with the screen and the door wasn't there; we had heavy, green, tarp-like curtains that we dragged across at night. It also meant that the campers really needed to heed the rules about no food in the cabin, because there wasn't much between their snacks and a determined raccoon. 

I've mentioned the glacier rocks that are prevalent throughout camp. This one is for Leslie, Wren Rock. I always think of her when I think about Wren Rock, though I don't have a concrete reason why. There must have been something she said about it, because I hear it in her voice. Either way, I wish I'd spent more time on it, enjoying the sunlight on the moss and the sun streaming through the trees around it. Such a peaceful spot.

Again with the trees and the leaves on the path. Sorry. I'm a Wood Elf at heart.

See the little yellow tree peeking from down the way?

Having spent an awful lot of time telling campers to stay on the path, I felt a little guilty bajaing around, but I kept hearing a line from "Into the Woods" in my head. A nervous Red Riding Hood frets, "Mother told me to never stray from the path," to which the baker flatly states, "the path has strayed from you."

I was glad that I'd dodged around these flowers instead of brushing against them because of the pollen I figured was in them. I was immensely glad I'd given them a wider berth when I looked closer and saw the ginormous spider who was chilling underneath them! That would have taught me to stray from the path! I can just hear my Gramps laughing at me.

We stopped along the road to the archery hill and I saw a small rustle by my booted feet. I figured spider or small scurrying thing, but was delighted to find a salamander, just out and about doing his thing!

The ferns. Again, sorry, Wood Elf moment. The woods by where we live now don't have ferns, and thus the woods smell completely different than the woods at camp. I miss the ferns so much Scott bought me two for the front porch this year. I love the ferns at camp. Yes, I know they hog the sunlight and won't let other things grow, but man, they are so pretty and woodsy and lush and green. Mmmm. Love them. 

Okay, anybody know where this is? *humming theme song to "Jeopardy"* Time's up. I am looking downhill from the left of the Calvin bathhouse, which means that somewhere down there, where the path has unquestionably strayed from us, is Spruce. Spruce was one of the hogans on the Calvin side that served as cabins in my early years at camp. Picture a green tent with metal ribs like a carport and stick a wooden pallet-ish base underneath it. Shove some canvas bunk beds in there and now you're all set. You will spend roughly an eighth of your time in a hogan attempting to fish dropped objects back out of the slats in the floor. Another eighth of your time will be opening and shutting the end flaps, praying for a breeze to rush through so you don't bake to death during FOB (Feet on bunk, flat on back, nap time, you get the idea). The hogans were named after trees: Laurel, Spruce, Oak, Elm, Hemlock. There may still be ribs and/or pallets around for them, but I didn't trip over any on this visit. At any rate, Spruce was the most remote, and I never got to stay there myself, though I have great memories of one of the staff guys bellowing, "SPRUUUUUUUUUUCE" as they scampered down the path to get there.

"All God's children got a place in the choir. Some sing low, some sing higher, some sing out loud on a telephone wire. Some just clap their hands, or paws, or anything they've got, now!" 

I have no idea what this heart's story is. Did it drop off of a long ago craft? Did it jump out of someone's Bible? Was it intended to show appreciation to the kitchen staff? I found it outside the dining hall and it made me think of Dumbledore telling Harry how help will always come to those who ask for it. In this case, even though so many of us have cracks in our heart because we can never go back to ramble the trails we love so much, I know that He's got us and he will provide different places for us to teach others about how much he loves us. If he's not doing it through the Highlands anymore, He's just doing it somewhere else. 

 

The other side of the Westminster Highlands sign is no less important. It reads, "to know Christ and to make Him known." That was our purpose in working there just as it's our purpose in life. If we truly know him in our hearts, there's no way his love won't spill out of us and get all over others. Let's get messy!

Yes, this one shows a little of the decay the buildings are experiencing in the Pennsylvania woods. I liked how right next to the decline we have growth. Beauty with the mess. Just like real life.

Part of all of ours hearts will always be here, whether we can be here physically or not. It makes me so sad that our kids can't experience God here the way that we did, but I know that it doesn't mean they won't at all; it will look different for them and that's okay. I'm thankful that I took a chance on something I was unsure about as the friendships and experiences I've had here will last my whole life and I am richer for spending my time in the woods with the bugs and the mud and other people's children. People who camp get it, even if this wasn't their camp. We are a special tribe unto ourselves and I'm thankful for those who have enriched my tribe over the years. Even those who are gone, Skink and Dawn, are not forgotten and played parts in who I am today. 

So do your homework, find a reputable camp with its own amazing staff, and let your children experience what they can't get in the same way at home. Don't let them miss out on what can be such a pivotal time in their lives. I can't even tell you how many life skills I learned from camp that serve me well even today. 

My last job at camp was kitchen staff, and I loved picking verses to write on the chalkboard on the back porch of the dining hall. I changed it one last time before we left.