Follow your dreams, girl!

“There fore I remind you to stir up the gift of God which is in you through the laying on of my hands. For God has not given us a spirit of fear, but of power and of love and of a sound mind.” 2 Timothy 1:6,7

As I recount my last week at camp, possibly my last year of summer camp ever, my spirits have been lifted and now they’re ready for lift off. Well, maybe that’s a little too ambitious. It’s been a rocky past two weeks. Kind of like a fork in the road, my engine wasn’t slowing or making any turns, but moving head-on for the bushy median waiting for me to jerk the steering wheel in some sort of direction. Control is something I struggle with. Selfish control. The more I look at myself, the more I see huge logs of selfishness. A selfish, spoiled-rotten, little brat. There’s a lot to chop down and haul out of here. It’s intimidating, scary, embarrassing, and I’ve felt like a super loser lately. Not the kind of loser that brags about lbs., but the kind that wants to hide from guilt.

On Saturday morning I made a cup of coffee and headed out to an empty table on the cafeteria deck where I watched the sun lighten the sky and then warm the lake. As I sat thinking the moment couldn’t be more beautiful, I heard the door crack open. I didn’t look assuming it was a little kid exploring camp before a parent came to carry him away. I stayed focused on the lake and my prayer when I heard a real heavy, and unsteady limp across the deck. When I looked up I saw Lois, a sturdy, tall man with large, leathery hands. He had had a birthday the day before and when I walked out the office door that evening I was offered a cupcake in his honor. As I looked up he stood there trembling because of the Parkinson’s that had set in. “You have a journal too, huh?” I had been writing down 2 Timothy 1:6,7 as he made his way across the wooden floor. “Yep, I do. You do?” “Yes, actually I’m writing a book right now and using my journals to write it.” I continued to ask about this book and he shared with me bits and pieces from his life as a pastor for the Adventist church. He started a youth camp in Bolivia many, many years ago. It was there he and his family learned Spanish and gained an appreciation for the culture, so much his eldest daughter still lives there and teaches English at a University. The youth camp has been remade into an orphanage since and he has coordinated several youth mission trips over the years. He told story after story about his time there. Stories about alley cats falling through his roof in the middle of the night, getting lost in the forest, killing animals bare-handed to protect his family, and other trips around the world. I’m not sure how long he stood leaning on his cane next to me. I wondered about his wife, though. Who was she? Where was she? Did she love that life? Was she a faithful missionary? Were they crazy about each other? Was she tall? Was she bubbly? Was she a good cook? Introverted? Sophisticated? Conservative? I imagine a pretty amazing and strong woman to support a man to follow dreams like those. She was probably ubber supportive, humble, cooperative, understanding, easy-going, adaptable, and so, so patient.

I had an exit interview with the director of waterfront last week. After 7 summers of exit interviews, they’ve become more of a brain-picking tactic for me. My director, Terry, tells me what I did well and what I can improve and I ask him how he does his job so well as a director, mentor, dad, husband, and can still be a fun, laid back kid. He’s really good at noticing when his employees are in need of something. Just the other day he asked me if I wanted him to go with me to gas the boat with the intent to give me an opportunity to talk about whatever it was that had obviously been bothering me. He’s good at that. For the rest of my interview we talked about the small things, the big things, the never-ending things, and the short-lived things. He’s 40+ and works as waterfront director during the summer and snow ski camp director during the winter. What a job, huh? “I’m sure this isn’t what my mom would wish for me to be doing with myself at 40-something-years-old, but Kristina, I’m doing what I love, this is my dream, I couldn’t dream of doing anything else. And I’m happy, God is using me, growing me and teaching me everyday. Find those people, friends, and mentors that will support you to follow your dreams. I’m here for you. I know you’ve got friends and their families that support you too.”

Tonight my mom and dad and I were making dinner. My mom grabbed some food to carry out to the table and my dad lost it. “Why are you always babying me, picking up after me, and fixing what I do? I’m tired of it. Stop it.” And so my mom quietly finished clearing the counter with a rag and didn’t say a thing. She never fights back, never has and never will, but she’d never win if she tried. I guess you call that patience. I don't know if that's how it's suppose to be though. Something deep inside me wants to stand up and ask her if she's living her dream. 

I spent the afternoon with my newly wedded friends, Kandice and Jared, in Kandice’s 1^st grade classroom prepping for her first day of school next week. In between tasks and lesson planning we were talking about marriage and relationships. I asked them what it was like to be accountable to somebody, trying to explain why I couldn’t do it. Jared, always proving his point, simply, with hints of sarcasm said, “Yeah, ‘cause we’re always telling each other what to do.” We laughed about it a little, but really I think I have and have always had a distorted portrait in front of me. I assume it’s pretty difficult to reverse 23 years of distortedness. But I think it’s the only way to really follow my dreams.

In three weeks I’m going to Argentina, this time I know why I’m going. God’s timing is perfect timing, amen. “For God has not given us a spirit of fear, but of power and of love and of a sound mind.” – a portrait of perfect love casts out all fear... and it shouts, "Follow your dreams, girl! Follow your dreams."