….a continuation of "Get Me to the Church on Time: Part 1."
After that first Sunday at Camp Orkila, I made sure took days off on Sunday. Every week, I'd walk to Tom and Vicki's tents (they were building their own house, but in the meantime they had set up a camp on their property in the forest right by Orkila) before church, and we would chat, and they would drive me in. The couple had been (and are still) missionaries. They have lived overseas for years, largely in the Philippines and South Africa, working to establish radio stations that could communicate to listeners about Jesus. Now, back in the US and living on this small island, the encouragement they provided us transformed the summer.
"Us?" you ask. Well, funny thing, about there being no other Christian counselors. Halfway through the summer, there was an influx of campers and more counselors were brought in. One of them was named Michael, and the first time I saw him he was wearing a sweatshirt that said "GOD CAN." If that wasn't enough to betray him as another Jesus-follower, the boundless love he showed for the kids and coworkers and his tendency to thank God for everything made me suspicious. He came to church with us and started a Bible study with a few other counselors. On our last day off at the end of August, Mike and I went to Tom and Vicki's camp with a bouquet of flowers to thank them for their rides, and we stayed for hours, talking and praying together. That was the last time we were all together in person.
That summer at Orkila ended up being one of the best ever, and as I look back, I think it also was a big factor pulling me closer to the World Race.
That entire summer, I felt poor.
My belongings could fit in a suitcase.
I slept in a sleeping bag in a doorless, windowless cabin.
I rarely bathed (because counselors could only shower before campers woke up, and who wants to lose precious sleep??).
I ate the same meals every week.
I rarely had cell phone service or internet.
The alone time that I am usually so desperate for was never guaranteed.
Most of my coworkers had been there for years and I felt like a newcomer, an outsider.
But you know what?
I came to relish having so few things.
I got a kick of chasing raccoons out of the cabin (by kicking).
I realized that being dirty all the time is fun.
I loved meals because my campers and I got to hang out together and yell chants at dessert time, and when you are doing something worthwhile and active all day, any food is good food.
I left my phone behind in the cabin every day and never missed it.
I began taking energy from being with other people, and I'd find that moments of solitude often came at exactly the right times.
And outsider or not, working alongside people for months at a time brings you close. Even if they don't share your beliefs. Even if you think they're cooler than you and their Chacos are more weather-beaten and they have more friendship bracelets. Even if they've been there longer and have more inside jokes. I felt Jesus' love in the fellowship of my small group of co-counselors, and in the surprising little family of Tom, Vicki, and Mike.
And also, I don't think I've ever laughed as often as I did that summer. Summer camp means skits, wacky kids, crafts, wildlife, camp food, face paint, jokes, and inconveniences.
Living like that is one of the funniest things.
Well, the kind of life I got used to that summer sounded a little to me like the life of a Racer (at that point I had World Race in the back of my mind). And that life is one I've come to love: one full of fellowship, and wonder, and not too much stuff, and creativity. And most of all, of desperation for God. I was lacking a lot of things I was used to that summer, but at every point, I got to learn that God loves us and God knows us and God loves to bless us and knows how. I was blown away at how he provided exactly what I needed without extra fluff in the way. He let me know that I am loved: knowing that we are loved by the Creator and Redeemer of Earth is really the one, fundamental thing I think people need to know. And it all started with a ride to church.
I was reflecting on all this a couple weeks ago when my dad's side of the family went to that church, OICC, on our vacation at Beach Haven. I hadn't been in two years. How different it felt. I had showered in the last 12 hours. My clothes were bright and clean and matching and new. I was carrying a little purse, not a backpack. I was wearing makeup. I was surrounded by over a dozen of my family members and friends. I wasn't sobbing. I didn't stink.
I sort of missed the way it was in 2011. But then, it was pretty cool to see the arc of all that had happened since that summer, and it was good to be back.
And best of all, I felt a tap on my shoulder after the service. I turned around: Vicki and Tom! I hadn't seen them in two years! We hugged, and I introduced them to whatever family members were present at the moment, and they invited me over to their house, which they were now living in. I went over that afternoon and stayed until evening. We drank tea, and Vicki showed me their garden and gave me lettuce to take back for dinner. We sat and chatted for hours. I told them about World Race, and they paused on every country, trying to think of people who knew about or had been to each one, and suggesting books and movies to familiarize myself with. Tom told me to spend some time with an atlas, getting to know the physical layout of each country. They told me about South Africa, where they lived for 5 and a half years, and played music from there. Lastly, the three of us prayed together.
I don't know when I'll see these wonderful people again, but I praise you, God, for surprising us with an unexpected friendship two years ago, and for bringing us together again.
