In my previous blog, I stated that this would be a part two blog. But I’ve been pondering through the events and lessons God has brought me through this month and the months before, and I’ve decided that this will be more of a series of blogs entitled “More of Who I Am.” With that said, this is part two of this series. As we begin our decent into these specific, thick, dark marshes of my heart that hasn’t seen light before, I ask for your patience as my mind begins to spew out things it never has. God has awakened a part of my heart to discover more of who I am and who He is. Let’s begin our endeavor.
This month, I was part of a wonderful ministry called Musanna Camp. Ran by a wonderful married couple, Syd and Andrea, with their team of Uganda staff members, Musanna Camp provides a beautiful scenery for slum kids to have fun playing games, grow in community by camping with the other kids as well as counselors, and learn who Jesus is and what He’s all about. They split up the girls and the boys; one week the girls come, then the next week the boys come. During the time that the boys came, I was able to teach for the majority of the time as well as camp with the kids. They had big multi-person tents that we’d crammed ten boys in, and I and one more Ugandan counselor would join in for all the fun. There’s not that much that can be compared to camping with a bunch of wonderful, loud, laughing Ugandan boys. I’ve fallen in love with all of these kids. Being able to share life with these children, tell jokes, it’s been such an amazing experience; one of my favorite moments on the Race. Being awakened up by the sounds of fighting, laughter, farts, and Ugandan boys running around the tent at 4:30am is something I won’t forget for the rest of my life. One particular night though, would impact the rest of my time with the boys.
It was about 3:30am when all of a sudden I heard screaming. One of the boys woke up and playfully hit another boy with his pillow. After that came yelling and laughing; once you get these boys going, there’s no stopping them. What followed was a ruckus of a riot; kids jumping, pillows flying, blankets being throw. I was attempting to sleep through it, but it was to no avail. After about 20 minutes of the small civil war happening in my tent, I had enough. I was about to get up and make these kids quiet. But something, or Someone, stopped me from doing it. As soon as I was about to get up, I had a peace hit me. I laid there eyes open, frustrated, but calm. I knew it was my flesh wanting to yell. But my spirit couldn’t allow it. I began to pray, and then all of a sudden, the Spirit revealed to me something hidden, something suppressed.
I’m not one to suppress memories. I’m really not. I don’t have a history of suppressing my memories, don’t really see why anyone would, and if they do it unconsciously, I don’t see how anyone wouldn’t recognize it (talking to myself here as well.) I’m very rational, especially when it comes to the human mind, thought processing, and the likes. But as soon as I refrained myself from yelling at the kids for being kids, the Spirit revealed a suppressed memory of a tragic time at camp.
I was 16 years old. I went to a skateboarding camp called Camp Woodward. It was on the west coast; California. I had accepted an offer to work for my stay at the camp. I was a “dish dog”; I washed the camp’s 500+ dishes, utensils, cups, bowls, etc, all by one washing machine. It was hard work, but I loved it because I could skate the camp for free. This camp was a dream come true. Anyone in the skateboard community knows about Camp Woodward. It’s one of the world’s best skate camps. And I was working for it and skating it for free. But even the world’s best skate camp can’t escape the fall of man.
It was the last few days there. I had had a great time hanging out with new friends, skating dream skate parks, and experiencing some incredible moments. But as the week grew closer to the end, the staff member who was in charge of our cabin began to harass me. He was in his late 20’s, possibly early 30’s. He was not always a nice guy to begin with. It was as if he didn’t want to be there. When the week ends, it’s not uncommon for staff members who camp with the kids to receive tips from their parents. Some tips can be as big as the week’s check. And this guy wanted money from us.
It was the second to last night. He came to the cabin somewhat drunk. At least he didn’t seem sober. His long blonde hair stuck to his sweaty forehead. He sat me and the rest of the kids in the cabin down and proceeded to aggressively tell us that we needed to convince our parents to give him a tip. His frustration simmered from his lips. He demanded from us that we get the tips for him. I laughed and said “You’ve been a terrible counselor and now come to us half drunk and demanding a tip?” He then ran to me, grabbing me from the neck and slamming me against the wall. He yelled at me, his face inches from mine. I remember saying something like “What the hell man?! I’m a kid! Get off me!” He proceeded to yell at me. What felt like an hour was probably more like 2 minutes. But I remember after he chokehold me for that time, he released me and I gasped for air, looking at him as he walked away and out the cabin. I don’t remember any other part of that trip after that event. What was supposed to be a wonderful time ended being a terrible nightmare which years later God would reveal to me.
But why did God show me?
What was His purpose?
I didn’t get that much sleep after that. It wasn’t the boys that kept me up anymore. It was this memory; this moment in my life that I had forgotten and had vanished beneath the countless of other memories that met my reality.
The following morning I sat with the Lord and asked Him to reveal to me what He had to teach me through all of this. He taught me that in the downfall of man and the depravity of man’s heart, the brokenness of the world reveals itself even in the most supposedly innocent places of our lives. What ought to be memories full of wonder, play, and love, the childhood of man has been fluttered with images of pain, violence, and evil. It’s only through the redemptive work of Christ that the memories of the past can be restored to be used for good in the present so that the future holds what the earth was created to hold; kingdom. My memories of being bullied and violently abused by a camp counselor, without Christ, become a memory of useless and purposeless horror. But through Christ, the Spirit was revealing to me this memory not so that I may be broken again by it, but so that He may teach me in order to refine me so that I can bring kingdom. Now that I knew the impact that camp counselors had with their children, I had a divine purpose of making an impact on these kids. My actions, my speech, my attitude, my integrity, my intentionality, my smiles, my compassion, my life, was being witnessed by these boys who don’t know what it means to be a man of God. And now I have an opportunity to display that very idea of a man of God. These kids don’t know what it feels like to be loved and cherished by other men. I have an opportunity to pour out love and care for them in ways that demonstrate the love and cherishment that Christ has for the world. The Holy Spirit was showing me the importance and sober responsibility I had in being an example of Jesus Christ to these kids. And this lesson wasn’t just for the benefit for these kids alone. But it was for my future children, the children of the local Church, the children of the local community, and for the rest of the world to see a member of the Body, me, to be like the Head of the Body, Christ.
For the rest of my time with the boys, I felt a sense of urgency, a greater acknowledgement of the reality of my purpose with these boys, and a looseness of tension that showed me that although these boys desperately needed a man of God in their lives, I was that man of God in their lives and by just being who I am, I fulfilled what God intended. It was a beautiful reminder of God’s refinement, grace, and mercy in my life as well as theirs; that God loved these boys so much, that He purposed me to go through what I went through when I was a camper so I would be diligent to love them as God would see fit, all with the fact that He in His sovereignty brought me from my story and bring them from their story and mash them both into one story of God’s glory being revealed through the building of His kingdom in the wonderful week at camp.
Swimming, playing games, swinging, carpet ball, fútbol, laughs, teachings, and campfires followed me and the kids the whole week, and by the end of it all the boys left with God revealing Himself to them as well as to me. It was a wonderful week at camp; a week they won’t soon forget. Neither will I.
