My time here is coming to an end. Thursday of this next week I leave for camp. I'll be working as summer staff for the rest of the summer. I'm looking forward to it. It will be a great summer.
So why am I so scared?
This is not the first time I've worked at a camp. This will not be the first time I've been a camp councilor. I have every reason to believe that this summer will be a success.
What am I so worried about?
Maybe I'm giving too much power to my weaknesses. Maybe I need a shift in perspective. I'm so busy looking at how unqualified and unprepared I might be that I'm placing all the focus on me and my abilities. As if any good that comes of my work this summer will be my doing.
If anything I should be embracing my weaknesses. I should be aware of them and praying earnestly that God will work through them. Paul says that it is in his weaknesses that God is proved strong.
Sure, God gets all the credit for the things I excel at. He is the one who made me the way I am. But how much more evident is His work when He does great things through my weaknesses.
That doesn't make it easy to proceede. I know that it will be hard. I know that it will bring new challenges. It's kinda scary because I know that I will be stretched and pushed to grow, and that can hurt or at least be uncomfortable.
But why worry? The Father knows what I need, so let tomorrow worry about itself.
But why fear? Fear has to do with punishment, and I will not be punished as long as I submit myself to the Father and seek Him. There is no reason to fear.
Through the Lord's strength I can face boldly and humbly the work He has before me.
I am praying for three things for myself: wisdom, humility and love. Wisdom to know how to react to situation. Humility to know when it is my place to react. Love for others that causes me to seek and apply the wisdom and humility.
Friday, May 29, 2009
Monday, May 11, 2009
Song Of The Willow
The saddest of giants stands tall and wilted.
Though healthy in body its spirit mourns.
Its green leaves long and slender,
Like the fair fingers of a young widow
Reaching down to the earth for her lost love.
Misunderstood, she is scorned by many;
An omen of darkness, and pain of heart;
A symbol of love lost and unrequited;
A stalker of travelers, and death-bringer, she.
And for all these charges she has kept her silence.
There are few who have seen her in true light;
As a bringer of wisdom, and a strong guardian;
An easer of pains, and promoter of life.
Indeed, life springs forth from every fallen sprig,
Shooting up to the heavens from its burial ground.
A firm tower, she stands along the river banks
Guarding against all raging currents.
Her roots dig deep, holding fast their ground;
Grasping tight to protect her beloved land.
She has lost one love, and will lose no more.
Her slender beauty poised in the meadow,
Though scarred in spirit, she welcomes all.
Gently she whispers the winds glad tidings,
And sings the songs of dancing leaves.
For all she gives, and asking nothing,
She is alone.
Though healthy in body its spirit mourns.
Its green leaves long and slender,
Like the fair fingers of a young widow
Reaching down to the earth for her lost love.
Misunderstood, she is scorned by many;
An omen of darkness, and pain of heart;
A symbol of love lost and unrequited;
A stalker of travelers, and death-bringer, she.
And for all these charges she has kept her silence.
There are few who have seen her in true light;
As a bringer of wisdom, and a strong guardian;
An easer of pains, and promoter of life.
Indeed, life springs forth from every fallen sprig,
Shooting up to the heavens from its burial ground.
A firm tower, she stands along the river banks
Guarding against all raging currents.
Her roots dig deep, holding fast their ground;
Grasping tight to protect her beloved land.
She has lost one love, and will lose no more.
Her slender beauty poised in the meadow,
Though scarred in spirit, she welcomes all.
Gently she whispers the winds glad tidings,
And sings the songs of dancing leaves.
For all she gives, and asking nothing,
She is alone.
Friday, May 08, 2009
Lost In A Sea Of Tumultuous Tranquility
Four dwarf giants set standing around a puddle of fire one wet and sunny night.
They grumbled along silently to each other.
The first complained of the pleasant feeling of slugs between his toes.
The second had lost track of time while staring at his watch.
The last thought only of finding a way to fly through the ocean on horseback--
he wanted to catch a glimpse of an invisible sea cow.
Day 6: We haven't found any food yet. Our water is running low, and we save what we can for the women and small children. One man thought he found a brollium deposit in a near by offshoot to this cavernous prison, but it ended up being fools' ore. If only it had been brollium, that stuff is always found near a source of clean water. No one knows why. That's just how it is.
But seriously, one of the top classic ways to start a fictitious journal entry is to have the writer still looking for food and water. It describes half of the scenarios that a person might actually be interested in reading out of a journal.
My brother continues to give me lesson after lesson in the ways of ludicris. That man has a mind like few I've ever met. He does know how to apply it very well and even according to the "rules" and "standards" of general acceptance. Most of the time, however, he chooses not to. He litterally sets aside time to think about the kinds of things that most people would never even consider. And each point is justifiable in its own right--though many of them do require certain allowances in order to function.
In all honesty I sometimes envy his keen observation of the obvious. He looks at the every-day, the mundane and makes observations that few others would ever come close to noticing. He sees connections that no one should notice until they are pointed out.
I've known for a long time that I'm not as observent as I could be, and some times as I should be. Listening to all the thoughts and ideas rolling out of my brothers head, however, makes me wonder what happened to me. We grew up in the same house, with the same family. What's the difference?
Don't get me wrong. I am proud of my brother, and I am content to be who God has made me to be. There are just times when I wonder if maybe I don't quite live up to all that God has made me to be simply because I don't practice many of these simple skills.
I guess I'll just have to leave the ultimate of absurdities to my brother.
They grumbled along silently to each other.
The first complained of the pleasant feeling of slugs between his toes.
The second had lost track of time while staring at his watch.
The last thought only of finding a way to fly through the ocean on horseback--
he wanted to catch a glimpse of an invisible sea cow.
Day 6: We haven't found any food yet. Our water is running low, and we save what we can for the women and small children. One man thought he found a brollium deposit in a near by offshoot to this cavernous prison, but it ended up being fools' ore. If only it had been brollium, that stuff is always found near a source of clean water. No one knows why. That's just how it is.
But seriously, one of the top classic ways to start a fictitious journal entry is to have the writer still looking for food and water. It describes half of the scenarios that a person might actually be interested in reading out of a journal.
My brother continues to give me lesson after lesson in the ways of ludicris. That man has a mind like few I've ever met. He does know how to apply it very well and even according to the "rules" and "standards" of general acceptance. Most of the time, however, he chooses not to. He litterally sets aside time to think about the kinds of things that most people would never even consider. And each point is justifiable in its own right--though many of them do require certain allowances in order to function.
In all honesty I sometimes envy his keen observation of the obvious. He looks at the every-day, the mundane and makes observations that few others would ever come close to noticing. He sees connections that no one should notice until they are pointed out.
I've known for a long time that I'm not as observent as I could be, and some times as I should be. Listening to all the thoughts and ideas rolling out of my brothers head, however, makes me wonder what happened to me. We grew up in the same house, with the same family. What's the difference?
Don't get me wrong. I am proud of my brother, and I am content to be who God has made me to be. There are just times when I wonder if maybe I don't quite live up to all that God has made me to be simply because I don't practice many of these simple skills.
I guess I'll just have to leave the ultimate of absurdities to my brother.
Sunday, May 03, 2009
I'm Not All Here
Some things can't fit in boxes.
Clothes, lamps and kitchen supplies...can fit in a box.
Three years of school books and homework...can fit in a box.
Pictures, postcards and other paraphernalia...can fit in a box.
Memories, experiences and relationships...cannot fit in a box.
Emotions, growth and personality...cannot fit in a box.
I recently tried to pack up my entire life and move it to another location, but I could not make it all fit. I was able to load just about everything of mine that I could see, but a few intangibles had to be left behind. Some because they were attached to things I could not take. Others because they simply would not fit in this other world.
My school is not physically very far from my home. It is actually relatively close. It is, however, psychologically and sociologically worlds away from my home town. The two are very different places. What is experienced in one place cannot be easily communicated to the other, so it must be left behind...usually.
Living this way soon becomes rather frustrating. When I first left home I was a particular person. I believed a certain way, I thought a certain way and I acted a certain way. While I was away I maintained--and even developed--some foundational elements of who I was, yet much also changed. I grew; I developed; I adapted; I became more than I was when I left. Upon return, however, it was clear that who I had become was not easily understood.
Back at home I am treated much as I was before, and why not? I am still the same person: Loving son, considerate brother and caring friend. In fact in some ways I am even more these things than before. But even in view of all the things I still am there are a few things that I am not--at least not in the way I was before.
I am not an immature, rambunctious teenager. I am not an ignorant and socially incompetent homeschooler. I am not dependent on others to take care of me and give me direction.
This is not to say that I "have arrived." I'm not saying that I know everything there is to know and understand all. I am only saying that I understand much more than I did, and I am better for it. I have grown so much over the last three years, but I had a hard time fitting it all in my parents' trunk. I will only be home for a little while, and there is no way that home can grow to understand who I am in such a short time.
For this reason I will have to wait until I have enough time to make some return trips for those things I left behind. I can only bring back what this world can hold, so I left a part of myself behind. It just wouldn't fit in the box.
Clothes, lamps and kitchen supplies...can fit in a box.
Three years of school books and homework...can fit in a box.
Pictures, postcards and other paraphernalia...can fit in a box.
Memories, experiences and relationships...cannot fit in a box.
Emotions, growth and personality...cannot fit in a box.
I recently tried to pack up my entire life and move it to another location, but I could not make it all fit. I was able to load just about everything of mine that I could see, but a few intangibles had to be left behind. Some because they were attached to things I could not take. Others because they simply would not fit in this other world.
My school is not physically very far from my home. It is actually relatively close. It is, however, psychologically and sociologically worlds away from my home town. The two are very different places. What is experienced in one place cannot be easily communicated to the other, so it must be left behind...usually.
Living this way soon becomes rather frustrating. When I first left home I was a particular person. I believed a certain way, I thought a certain way and I acted a certain way. While I was away I maintained--and even developed--some foundational elements of who I was, yet much also changed. I grew; I developed; I adapted; I became more than I was when I left. Upon return, however, it was clear that who I had become was not easily understood.
Back at home I am treated much as I was before, and why not? I am still the same person: Loving son, considerate brother and caring friend. In fact in some ways I am even more these things than before. But even in view of all the things I still am there are a few things that I am not--at least not in the way I was before.
I am not an immature, rambunctious teenager. I am not an ignorant and socially incompetent homeschooler. I am not dependent on others to take care of me and give me direction.
This is not to say that I "have arrived." I'm not saying that I know everything there is to know and understand all. I am only saying that I understand much more than I did, and I am better for it. I have grown so much over the last three years, but I had a hard time fitting it all in my parents' trunk. I will only be home for a little while, and there is no way that home can grow to understand who I am in such a short time.
For this reason I will have to wait until I have enough time to make some return trips for those things I left behind. I can only bring back what this world can hold, so I left a part of myself behind. It just wouldn't fit in the box.
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