After a full and happy visit with Peter's family, we usually stand on the covered front porch as they load into their van, get all the legs and arms and buckles and blankets in the right place, and slide their doors shut. Then we wave goodbye as they drive along the front of the house, not turning back to the warmth of the house until we see taillights. Sometimes, especially this time of year when the air is sharp and woodfire warmth beckons from the other side of the door, I wait to come out until the car is loaded so I can just give a quick wave and scurry back inside. Or I open the door a crack and bid farewell from inside.
But recently, Peter and company have been visiting on Sunday evenings. I leave at 6:00 to go to youth group on Sundays, slipping out in the midst of getting supper on the table, changing diapers, picking up toys, and story telling. I call a farewell to the busy, happy group and head to the laundry room to slip on shoes and get my keys. Peter comes running down the hall, arriving in the laundry room with open arms. "Kisses and hugs!" he reminds me, a twinkle in his eye as if he is delighted to have remembered something I forgot. We share a kiss and a hug, and then Peter runs back through the living room to the front door. "Let's wave to Aunt Jewey!" he calls into the hubbub, but his call goes mostly unheard.
When I get out to my car, coat zipped up to my chin against the chill, Peter is standing in stocking feet on the edge of the porch, hand cocked in readiness for a wave. "See ya, Peter!" "See you, Aunt Jewey!" we call to each other. He watches, waits, as I turn my car around, and then both hands come up for an eager double wave as I drive in front of the porch. I can't see when he goes inside; he waits on the porch until I am out of sight.
Thursday, December 8, 2011
Saturday, November 5, 2011
The Children
Can you crack this code?
Peter: "I don't want to wear my heart-car-wash pants today."
(Carhartts)
Lucy, overhearing discussion about whether she should go to Sunday School since she was a little sick: "I am not sick, I am a chicken, and I say, 'Bawk!'"
Lucy heard the organ prelude on Sunday, and wondered, "Who's singing that song?" I told her it was Mr. Whitman playing the organ, and helped her stand up on the pew so she could see him. She watched fascinated as Jim moved his hands from one keyboard to another, and said at last, "That man is shaking his head!"
Heidi called today to tell us the latest news: Peter and Lucy got married. While standing on the piano bench in the living room, Peter's arm around Lucy, they tied the knot. Announcements included the fact that they will have both their dinner and their children "here," that is, at home.
Peter: "I don't want to wear my heart-car-wash pants today."
(Carhartts)
Lucy, overhearing discussion about whether she should go to Sunday School since she was a little sick: "I am not sick, I am a chicken, and I say, 'Bawk!'"
Lucy heard the organ prelude on Sunday, and wondered, "Who's singing that song?" I told her it was Mr. Whitman playing the organ, and helped her stand up on the pew so she could see him. She watched fascinated as Jim moved his hands from one keyboard to another, and said at last, "That man is shaking his head!"
Heidi called today to tell us the latest news: Peter and Lucy got married. While standing on the piano bench in the living room, Peter's arm around Lucy, they tied the knot. Announcements included the fact that they will have both their dinner and their children "here," that is, at home.
Saturday, October 29, 2011
Need
I visited White Swan this week; it was like the summer, except there were not as many people buzzing around the Sacred Road headquarters since the Granberrys are on furlough and there are no interns right now, and the air had taken on an unrelenting chill.
But I stayed in Heather and Veronica's cozy house, like usual, and rode with them the three miles to the Granberry's house each morning. There I helped in the familiar kitchen, cut and copied and filed with Joshua in the children's ministry office, helped Heather with winterizing projects, and helped Veronica organize a closet in the office trailer.
On Monday afternoon we had kid's club at Totus Park. The kids flocked to the dirt field -- fifty-five of them. I spread out a tablecloth on the ground and sat cross-legged, helping them to make little ghost windsocks to hang in the tree. Miranda helped me pass out supplies and direct their little fingers, but still there were always voices calling out: "I need eyes! Where's the tape? Can you help me? What do I do next? I need another streamer! Can I make one?" Everyone who wanted to got to make a ghost, but I wished I could give each one of them undivided attention.
Jill made one ghost, then wanted to make another so she could keep sitting by me. Then she stood behind me, circling her arms around my neck, and said in my ear, "Can we go play together?" I told her I couldn't leave the other kids who were still making the craft, so she helped me pass out eyes and mouths and pieces of yarn, and then when it was time to clean up she helped me collect tape and bottles of glue, and fold the tablecloths. I carried her on my back for a few minutes, running through the windsocks hanging from the tree while she covered her eyes and laughed and said, "Again!"
Then we found a seat on the ground and she sat on my lap for the story. "I'm cold," she said, so I unzipped my sweater and let her snuggle inside, wrapping the cozy wool around her bare arms. She was distracted during the story, turning often to ask me if she could have more snack or if we could get up and play. When we stood up to sing, she slipped around behind me and held up her arms, silently asking to get on my back. She did the motions to "My God is So Big" from her perch.
When Joshua dismissed us, she swung off my back to give Veronica a hug. But when Leah and I got out the sidewalk chalk, Jill ended up back at my side. We drew pumpkins and people on the concrete, taking a break from our artwork to go over to the van to get treat bags for the girls. We returned to our chalk, and then I ended up back at the van with Gigi, who needed one of the winter coats that Heather was passing out. We found one that fit her, one of the last of Heather's supply. Then it was time for everyone to head home. Veronica and Chuck loaded up their vans. A few kids climbed into the van with us and we made a loop around the cul-de-sac to drop them off before leaving, going back to a warm shelter, a crock pot filled with pork roast and vegetables, a home of love and security and rest.
Tuesday night we had Bible study, and there was a bumper crop of attendees, about 100 of us including staff. Mostly children, with a good group of youth and a small handful of adults. It was too dark and cold for the kids to play outside before dinner, so they were in the longhouse for the whole evening, and keeping them occupied and under control was almost too big of a job for us. We managed to finish out the evening and only had to send six kids home for refusing to listen to direction.
During dinner I ate with Kalani beside me and Sindel on my lap; Heather and her crew were working hard to get food on all the tables and I worked to keep the kids patient while they waited and mannerly while they ate. When the gingerbread cake with buttercream frosting had been parceled out and eaten, and the kids had cleared and thrown away their dishes, we found seats again and Chuck tried to quiet the roar so he could lead us in a few songs. The background noise was at least dulled, and I sang loudly to try to encourage the kids to join while also trying to restrain Sindel from escaping (because I knew that left to her own devices she would prove a considerable distraction for others) and keep a gentle hand on Kalani, who had wanted to sit by me but was so quiet and sweet that she was in danger of being overlooked. The kids sang along on the last song, "Soon and Very Soon," and then Chuck took the adults and youth into the next room and the kids scattered to their groups.
I took the post by the door to the bathrooms (necessary to ensure appropriate use of the facilities) and helped out with the group that was closest to the door -- a passel of wiggly little boys, led by Miranda. They did their mazes, and then we lined up the benches in front of the flannel board so Joshua could tell us a story. First we sang "He's Got the Whole World in His Hands" with personal modifications which the kids loved -- "He's got Silas and Cynthia in his hands" or "He's got Devin and Cody in his hands." Then Joshua told the story of the blind man who called out to Jesus for mercy and was healed. Kalani sat in my lap, and Marie was beside me on my chair. When we were learning the memory verse, Marie's voice was loud and clear: "Have mercy on me, O Lord, for I am weak. Psalm 6:2"
We split back into groups, and in between manning the bathroom door I played with Abraham while he waited for the craft to be passed out. His delighted little-boy laugh, made more charming by his missing two front teeth, rang out as he tried to scare me. Then Veronica passed out white blindfolds for us to decorate, and Abraham handed me a fabric marker and spread out his strip and designated half for me to color. We made lines and dots and designs, and the other boys did too, and then they all wanted their blindfolds tied on and we had a table of hilariously laughing blind boys. There was still a little more time before Chuck and Veronica would pull up the vans to take the kids home, so we did one more paper pumpkin craft, and then Miranda and I tucked all the boys' papers into paper sacks for them to take home. The first wave left, and Joshua started a game of Heads Up, Seven Up to keep the remaining kids occupied until the vans returned for them.
I found Christian looking tearful on a bench towards the door and sat down beside him, asking what was the matter. "I want to go home too!" he said.
"Look," I said, "Briana [his sister] is still here, and Veronica will be back in a few minutes for you. She didn't forget you! You like Veronica, right?" (He nodded his tear-streaked little face.) "Well, I KNOW that she likes you too. She's coming back for you." He didn't seem quite sure about all this, and I pulled him into my lap. Della brought over a tissue for him, and he tried with diligence to blow his nose. I reached up a hand to help him, and then began to sing. "He's got the whole world in his hands, He's got Christian and Briana in his hands..." Then I put in the names of some of the other kids. "Who else does he have in his hands?" I asked Christian, who was quiet now.
A smile broke through. "He's got me! And Briana."
At last the vans returned and everyone was loaded up and on their way home. "That was CRAZY!" Joshua proclaimed. We set to work around the empty longhouse, wiping tables, sweeping and mopping, emptying garbage, and loading the trailer. At last we too, left for home, exhausted and hoping the chaos had been constrained enough that something good had been accomplished.
Wednesday was a rest day, and I cut some pans of dessert I had made the day before, packing them for the freezer so they would be ready for the Christmas Dessert in a few weeks. Heather, Veronica, and I made an hour drive to Ellensburg to meet a mother and daughter from the other side of the mountains who had collected about 40 coats and some blankets to donate to Sacred Road; we met at Dairy Queen and they treated us to lunch and a lovely visit. I worked with Joshua in the afternoon, mostly preparing crafts for the next couple of Tuesday nights.
Thursday I organized and counted t-shirts in the office trailer and we all met in the afternoon to make plans for the youth group outing to the corn maze that night. Chuck had careful lists of who was picking up each kid and also who would go through the maze together. He put Mary Beth and me together and gave us four sixth grade girls to chaperone at the maze.
Heather and I got there first and unloaded the food supplies to our rented fire pit area. The others pulled in soon after, except Veronica -- she was late because she was waiting for one of the girls she was supposed to pick up. The venue was quite crowded that night, and one boy disappeared for a while (I think he had found someone he knew and went to say hello). The temperature was around freezing, but the kids were just wearing light sweatshirts or sometimes only t-shirts.
Mary Beth and I did manage to emerge from the maze (which is completely dark and "haunted" by guys with spooky masks and other props) with all of our girls, and they were eager and delighted with the whole event. When we weren't in the maze we were roasting hot dogs and marshmallows, or going on a hay ride around the farm, or tromping through a smaller, lighted hay bale maze. And then it was time to round up the 30 youth and parcel them out to the correct vans and drive them from one side of the reservation to the other, back to their homes. The girls in the van with Heather and me spoke with casual expertise about custody and parents; one girl said she was living with her mom, but her permanent custody would be decided in December and she wanted to live with her dad. A couple of them said that their mom didn't like their dad. None of them live with both parents.
Again, we arrived home weary. And the next morning, after my drive over the mountains, I arrived home praying, hoping, pleading for these kids. They need winter coats, hot meals, help with school, medical care, training in responsibility and respect. They need parents who love them. They need Jesus. I'm glad there are people living in the community who love them, and I pray the Sacred Road team might continue to be the hands and feet of Jesus in that place.
But I stayed in Heather and Veronica's cozy house, like usual, and rode with them the three miles to the Granberry's house each morning. There I helped in the familiar kitchen, cut and copied and filed with Joshua in the children's ministry office, helped Heather with winterizing projects, and helped Veronica organize a closet in the office trailer.
On Monday afternoon we had kid's club at Totus Park. The kids flocked to the dirt field -- fifty-five of them. I spread out a tablecloth on the ground and sat cross-legged, helping them to make little ghost windsocks to hang in the tree. Miranda helped me pass out supplies and direct their little fingers, but still there were always voices calling out: "I need eyes! Where's the tape? Can you help me? What do I do next? I need another streamer! Can I make one?" Everyone who wanted to got to make a ghost, but I wished I could give each one of them undivided attention.
Jill made one ghost, then wanted to make another so she could keep sitting by me. Then she stood behind me, circling her arms around my neck, and said in my ear, "Can we go play together?" I told her I couldn't leave the other kids who were still making the craft, so she helped me pass out eyes and mouths and pieces of yarn, and then when it was time to clean up she helped me collect tape and bottles of glue, and fold the tablecloths. I carried her on my back for a few minutes, running through the windsocks hanging from the tree while she covered her eyes and laughed and said, "Again!"
Then we found a seat on the ground and she sat on my lap for the story. "I'm cold," she said, so I unzipped my sweater and let her snuggle inside, wrapping the cozy wool around her bare arms. She was distracted during the story, turning often to ask me if she could have more snack or if we could get up and play. When we stood up to sing, she slipped around behind me and held up her arms, silently asking to get on my back. She did the motions to "My God is So Big" from her perch.
When Joshua dismissed us, she swung off my back to give Veronica a hug. But when Leah and I got out the sidewalk chalk, Jill ended up back at my side. We drew pumpkins and people on the concrete, taking a break from our artwork to go over to the van to get treat bags for the girls. We returned to our chalk, and then I ended up back at the van with Gigi, who needed one of the winter coats that Heather was passing out. We found one that fit her, one of the last of Heather's supply. Then it was time for everyone to head home. Veronica and Chuck loaded up their vans. A few kids climbed into the van with us and we made a loop around the cul-de-sac to drop them off before leaving, going back to a warm shelter, a crock pot filled with pork roast and vegetables, a home of love and security and rest.
Tuesday night we had Bible study, and there was a bumper crop of attendees, about 100 of us including staff. Mostly children, with a good group of youth and a small handful of adults. It was too dark and cold for the kids to play outside before dinner, so they were in the longhouse for the whole evening, and keeping them occupied and under control was almost too big of a job for us. We managed to finish out the evening and only had to send six kids home for refusing to listen to direction.
During dinner I ate with Kalani beside me and Sindel on my lap; Heather and her crew were working hard to get food on all the tables and I worked to keep the kids patient while they waited and mannerly while they ate. When the gingerbread cake with buttercream frosting had been parceled out and eaten, and the kids had cleared and thrown away their dishes, we found seats again and Chuck tried to quiet the roar so he could lead us in a few songs. The background noise was at least dulled, and I sang loudly to try to encourage the kids to join while also trying to restrain Sindel from escaping (because I knew that left to her own devices she would prove a considerable distraction for others) and keep a gentle hand on Kalani, who had wanted to sit by me but was so quiet and sweet that she was in danger of being overlooked. The kids sang along on the last song, "Soon and Very Soon," and then Chuck took the adults and youth into the next room and the kids scattered to their groups.
I took the post by the door to the bathrooms (necessary to ensure appropriate use of the facilities) and helped out with the group that was closest to the door -- a passel of wiggly little boys, led by Miranda. They did their mazes, and then we lined up the benches in front of the flannel board so Joshua could tell us a story. First we sang "He's Got the Whole World in His Hands" with personal modifications which the kids loved -- "He's got Silas and Cynthia in his hands" or "He's got Devin and Cody in his hands." Then Joshua told the story of the blind man who called out to Jesus for mercy and was healed. Kalani sat in my lap, and Marie was beside me on my chair. When we were learning the memory verse, Marie's voice was loud and clear: "Have mercy on me, O Lord, for I am weak. Psalm 6:2"
We split back into groups, and in between manning the bathroom door I played with Abraham while he waited for the craft to be passed out. His delighted little-boy laugh, made more charming by his missing two front teeth, rang out as he tried to scare me. Then Veronica passed out white blindfolds for us to decorate, and Abraham handed me a fabric marker and spread out his strip and designated half for me to color. We made lines and dots and designs, and the other boys did too, and then they all wanted their blindfolds tied on and we had a table of hilariously laughing blind boys. There was still a little more time before Chuck and Veronica would pull up the vans to take the kids home, so we did one more paper pumpkin craft, and then Miranda and I tucked all the boys' papers into paper sacks for them to take home. The first wave left, and Joshua started a game of Heads Up, Seven Up to keep the remaining kids occupied until the vans returned for them.
I found Christian looking tearful on a bench towards the door and sat down beside him, asking what was the matter. "I want to go home too!" he said.
"Look," I said, "Briana [his sister] is still here, and Veronica will be back in a few minutes for you. She didn't forget you! You like Veronica, right?" (He nodded his tear-streaked little face.) "Well, I KNOW that she likes you too. She's coming back for you." He didn't seem quite sure about all this, and I pulled him into my lap. Della brought over a tissue for him, and he tried with diligence to blow his nose. I reached up a hand to help him, and then began to sing. "He's got the whole world in his hands, He's got Christian and Briana in his hands..." Then I put in the names of some of the other kids. "Who else does he have in his hands?" I asked Christian, who was quiet now.
A smile broke through. "He's got me! And Briana."
At last the vans returned and everyone was loaded up and on their way home. "That was CRAZY!" Joshua proclaimed. We set to work around the empty longhouse, wiping tables, sweeping and mopping, emptying garbage, and loading the trailer. At last we too, left for home, exhausted and hoping the chaos had been constrained enough that something good had been accomplished.
Wednesday was a rest day, and I cut some pans of dessert I had made the day before, packing them for the freezer so they would be ready for the Christmas Dessert in a few weeks. Heather, Veronica, and I made an hour drive to Ellensburg to meet a mother and daughter from the other side of the mountains who had collected about 40 coats and some blankets to donate to Sacred Road; we met at Dairy Queen and they treated us to lunch and a lovely visit. I worked with Joshua in the afternoon, mostly preparing crafts for the next couple of Tuesday nights.
Thursday I organized and counted t-shirts in the office trailer and we all met in the afternoon to make plans for the youth group outing to the corn maze that night. Chuck had careful lists of who was picking up each kid and also who would go through the maze together. He put Mary Beth and me together and gave us four sixth grade girls to chaperone at the maze.
Heather and I got there first and unloaded the food supplies to our rented fire pit area. The others pulled in soon after, except Veronica -- she was late because she was waiting for one of the girls she was supposed to pick up. The venue was quite crowded that night, and one boy disappeared for a while (I think he had found someone he knew and went to say hello). The temperature was around freezing, but the kids were just wearing light sweatshirts or sometimes only t-shirts.
Mary Beth and I did manage to emerge from the maze (which is completely dark and "haunted" by guys with spooky masks and other props) with all of our girls, and they were eager and delighted with the whole event. When we weren't in the maze we were roasting hot dogs and marshmallows, or going on a hay ride around the farm, or tromping through a smaller, lighted hay bale maze. And then it was time to round up the 30 youth and parcel them out to the correct vans and drive them from one side of the reservation to the other, back to their homes. The girls in the van with Heather and me spoke with casual expertise about custody and parents; one girl said she was living with her mom, but her permanent custody would be decided in December and she wanted to live with her dad. A couple of them said that their mom didn't like their dad. None of them live with both parents.
Again, we arrived home weary. And the next morning, after my drive over the mountains, I arrived home praying, hoping, pleading for these kids. They need winter coats, hot meals, help with school, medical care, training in responsibility and respect. They need parents who love them. They need Jesus. I'm glad there are people living in the community who love them, and I pray the Sacred Road team might continue to be the hands and feet of Jesus in that place.
Sunday, October 16, 2011
Content
Well, of course there are many things to appreciate about this season.
There is Time. Time to be quiet (if I can discipline myself to shut out the distractions); time to read and think and pray. Time to write, to polish that skill. Time to be a special guest at Heidi's preschool sessions, to give Peter and Lucy their evening bath, to snuggle with Annie, to sew with Heidi. Time to create, with sewing machine, or apples and butter and flour, or paper and paste. Time to run in the woods. Time to say yes to a drive over the mountains to pick up John, or designing a handout for an upcoming event, or a morning downtown visiting old friends at the bakery.
And there is Opportunity. What door is not open to me, what responsibility binds me, what factor limits my future? In great measure, I am free to choose.
But sometimes it is easy to wish away these days and look ahead to a time when I'll feel productive and purposeful, when I won't deliberate and wonder what to do with each moment. It's easy to think that if I could formulate and implement a perfect set of circumstances, THEN I would be content.
And also easy to believe that if I try instead to be content with and even grateful for this, for what I have today, then I would in some way be preparing myself for failure if my dream ever were to come to pass, or giving up hope that things will ever change, because I would be learning to love and live with what I don't hope will continue forever.
When really, after all, the best preparation for contentment tomorrow, whatever it may hold, is not being dreaming of how to be content with what you wish for but actually being content today, right in this moment.
There is Time. Time to be quiet (if I can discipline myself to shut out the distractions); time to read and think and pray. Time to write, to polish that skill. Time to be a special guest at Heidi's preschool sessions, to give Peter and Lucy their evening bath, to snuggle with Annie, to sew with Heidi. Time to create, with sewing machine, or apples and butter and flour, or paper and paste. Time to run in the woods. Time to say yes to a drive over the mountains to pick up John, or designing a handout for an upcoming event, or a morning downtown visiting old friends at the bakery.
And there is Opportunity. What door is not open to me, what responsibility binds me, what factor limits my future? In great measure, I am free to choose.
But sometimes it is easy to wish away these days and look ahead to a time when I'll feel productive and purposeful, when I won't deliberate and wonder what to do with each moment. It's easy to think that if I could formulate and implement a perfect set of circumstances, THEN I would be content.
And also easy to believe that if I try instead to be content with and even grateful for this, for what I have today, then I would in some way be preparing myself for failure if my dream ever were to come to pass, or giving up hope that things will ever change, because I would be learning to love and live with what I don't hope will continue forever.
When really, after all, the best preparation for contentment tomorrow, whatever it may hold, is not being dreaming of how to be content with what you wish for but actually being content today, right in this moment.
Monday, September 19, 2011
Emerald Park Jewels
It is night, and the moon hasn't appeared from behind the high hedge of mountain walling in our little campsite, but its light is already spilling over the mountaintops, keeping us from complete blackness. John is a strange shape beside me on the tarp, cavorting as he slides into his sleeping bag. Behind a duo of trees, Mom and Dad are nestled on their tarp, their voices a quiet ripple against the night. John and I laugh over many things, over everything and nothing, glad to be together and out on a night like this. It's our third night out, and perhaps the freedom and beauty are getting to us, sowing a deep-seated delight.
Over the past three days the sun has shone until we were happy to dip our dusty legs into a tiny mountain lake, still harboring snowy islands.
The flowers have brightened with each foot of elevation gained, nodding over the trail fresh and perky.
Mirror Lake beckoned to us from the ridge just above our camp at Emerald Park,
providing a quiet afternoon of fly fishing, reading, listening to a John Piper sermon. And a bit of slipping-off-the-log swimming for John. And an opportunity to bushwhack (essential to any enjoyable hiking trip, according to John) as we searched for the route on the way home.
John has spurred us on to new adventures and also kept us laughing.
John has risen early to build our fires, never donning anything warmer than his t-shirt even in the chilly morning air. We have feasted on meals Mom and I dehydrated at home: Teryaki Chicken with Peanut Sauce and Vegetables over Noodles; Beefy Beans and Rice with Salsa, Corn, and Cheese; Cous-Cous with Roasted Vegetables and Smoked Salmon. The apricots have all been picked out of our trail mix. We have documented the days with a slough of photos, Dad, John, and I all snapping shots with our Nikon DSLRs. We have listened to a sermon and discussed it together. We have quoted our current Scripture memory portions to each other on the trail. The moon, a mouse, and a doe have awakened us in the nights with a bright beam, a light scuffle in our hair, a tromp-tromp and a clatter of dishes. We have relished the beauty of the place and the joy of sharing it with each other.
The next morning, we are up early to pack up camp, tramp back down the mountain, and catch the boat. We are happy to have time to jump into the lake, sweat and dust giving way to cool, clean Lake Chelan, before the boat arrives. It is our fourth annual hike together, the four of us, and we hope the tradition continues!
Over the past three days the sun has shone until we were happy to dip our dusty legs into a tiny mountain lake, still harboring snowy islands.
The flowers have brightened with each foot of elevation gained, nodding over the trail fresh and perky.
Mirror Lake beckoned to us from the ridge just above our camp at Emerald Park,
providing a quiet afternoon of fly fishing, reading, listening to a John Piper sermon. And a bit of slipping-off-the-log swimming for John. And an opportunity to bushwhack (essential to any enjoyable hiking trip, according to John) as we searched for the route on the way home.
Around a corner on the way to Milham Pass we found a quiet basin, flower-filled and view-lined.
John has spurred us on to new adventures and also kept us laughing.
John has risen early to build our fires, never donning anything warmer than his t-shirt even in the chilly morning air. We have feasted on meals Mom and I dehydrated at home: Teryaki Chicken with Peanut Sauce and Vegetables over Noodles; Beefy Beans and Rice with Salsa, Corn, and Cheese; Cous-Cous with Roasted Vegetables and Smoked Salmon. The apricots have all been picked out of our trail mix. We have documented the days with a slough of photos, Dad, John, and I all snapping shots with our Nikon DSLRs. We have listened to a sermon and discussed it together. We have quoted our current Scripture memory portions to each other on the trail. The moon, a mouse, and a doe have awakened us in the nights with a bright beam, a light scuffle in our hair, a tromp-tromp and a clatter of dishes. We have relished the beauty of the place and the joy of sharing it with each other.
The next morning, we are up early to pack up camp, tramp back down the mountain, and catch the boat. We are happy to have time to jump into the lake, sweat and dust giving way to cool, clean Lake Chelan, before the boat arrives. It is our fourth annual hike together, the four of us, and we hope the tradition continues!
Tuesday, August 23, 2011
Transition
Home from Sacred Road for almost two weeks, and just now getting a chance to look around and see where I've been, where I'm at. Our last night on the Rez was almost an all-nighter, with a special dinner, a singing and sharing time, a video of all our adventures through the summer, cards and gifts exchanged, and then, finally, hugs and tears. Us girls drove home and packed after the party, and then I slept for about an hour and a half before getting up to drive home, early so I could get Scott to the airport for his flight. Scott and Kyle were good companions over the mountains, and it felt lonely when I dropped them off at the airport, sudden goodbye to the summer's consuming whirlwind.
That very night we delved into party mode here at home, apparently making up for all the family gatherings I missed over the summer. Birthdays, anniversaries, out of town guests (my Berlin family!), work days at our house and the Dillow's, Annie's baptism. So good to see everyone and just spend time with family.
Yesterday Mom and I cleaned the house together and then I had some time to answer e-mails, go through things at my desk, tackle a stack of mending and ironing. And to realize where I am. It's tempting to call it "in between," but I know that there is no time unmarked by God's purpose or unused by Him. I might describe it as waiting, but while I am waiting, most certainly He is working. It's a quiet place, a thoughtful place, a free place. And as always, it's a place permeated by the presence of God. A friend said, sweetly, that she hoped God would show me what He wanted me to do next. I smiled and thanked her, and said I had no doubt about His leadership. If there is a weak link in the chain, it is me. Hopefully I will follow, but most certainly, He will lead.
That very night we delved into party mode here at home, apparently making up for all the family gatherings I missed over the summer. Birthdays, anniversaries, out of town guests (my Berlin family!), work days at our house and the Dillow's, Annie's baptism. So good to see everyone and just spend time with family.
Yesterday Mom and I cleaned the house together and then I had some time to answer e-mails, go through things at my desk, tackle a stack of mending and ironing. And to realize where I am. It's tempting to call it "in between," but I know that there is no time unmarked by God's purpose or unused by Him. I might describe it as waiting, but while I am waiting, most certainly He is working. It's a quiet place, a thoughtful place, a free place. And as always, it's a place permeated by the presence of God. A friend said, sweetly, that she hoped God would show me what He wanted me to do next. I smiled and thanked her, and said I had no doubt about His leadership. If there is a weak link in the chain, it is me. Hopefully I will follow, but most certainly, He will lead.
Monday, August 1, 2011
Gifts
Blue sky, golden sunrise over green fields.
Birthday waffles for breakfast with blueberries, peaches, whipped cream, and sprinkles.
Calls, texts, e-mails, and cards coming in all day from friends all over the world.
Cool job in the lawn this morning filling up water balloons with Joshua while the girls baked my birthday cake inside.
Greeting the Schmitts, friends from home who stopped by to drop off their daughter Marina at the Granberry's for a few days.
Mary sending Joshua to get tacos from a little Mexican store in Harrah for a special lunch treat -- so tasty!
Making suds and laughing with the kids at Totus during craft time today as we created felted soap.
Hugs.
Connie's excitement about my birthday: whisking me out of my chair at dinner and dancing me up to the front so everyone could sing to me, crowning me with her princess headdress, carrying my card around "secretly" all day ("I need everybody but Julie to sign this!!"), proudly presenting me with her hand-decorated card ("Happy Birthday love Julie rocks!"), giving me a tight birthday squeeze. "I love you so much, Julie!"
Cake made by Molly, decorated by Katie, enough to celebrate with the whole team.
Working together with my friends: scrubbing ovens and back steps, loading and unloading vehicles with kid's club and meal supplies, chopping vegetables for pasta salad, peeling potatoes, washing dishes.
Coaster made by Thelma this morning, given to me tonight.
Evening call from the team in Warm Springs complete with a rousing rendition of the birthday song.
Beautiful potholders, a gift from Mary.
People to love and be loved by. "I have told you this so that my joy may be in you and that your joy may be complete. My command is this: Love each other as I have loved you." Love each other, that your joy may be complete.
Birthday waffles for breakfast with blueberries, peaches, whipped cream, and sprinkles.
Calls, texts, e-mails, and cards coming in all day from friends all over the world.
Cool job in the lawn this morning filling up water balloons with Joshua while the girls baked my birthday cake inside.
Greeting the Schmitts, friends from home who stopped by to drop off their daughter Marina at the Granberry's for a few days.
Mary sending Joshua to get tacos from a little Mexican store in Harrah for a special lunch treat -- so tasty!
Making suds and laughing with the kids at Totus during craft time today as we created felted soap.
Hugs.
Connie's excitement about my birthday: whisking me out of my chair at dinner and dancing me up to the front so everyone could sing to me, crowning me with her princess headdress, carrying my card around "secretly" all day ("I need everybody but Julie to sign this!!"), proudly presenting me with her hand-decorated card ("Happy Birthday love Julie rocks!"), giving me a tight birthday squeeze. "I love you so much, Julie!"
Cake made by Molly, decorated by Katie, enough to celebrate with the whole team.
Working together with my friends: scrubbing ovens and back steps, loading and unloading vehicles with kid's club and meal supplies, chopping vegetables for pasta salad, peeling potatoes, washing dishes.
Coaster made by Thelma this morning, given to me tonight.
Evening call from the team in Warm Springs complete with a rousing rendition of the birthday song.
Beautiful potholders, a gift from Mary.
People to love and be loved by. "I have told you this so that my joy may be in you and that your joy may be complete. My command is this: Love each other as I have loved you." Love each other, that your joy may be complete.
Sunday, July 24, 2011
Let the Little Children Come
At Kid's Club in Warm Springs this week . . .
Waurica, shy and not as easy to connect with but so delighted when you take the time to get to know her
Andrew, who often wears this puzzled, disturbed expression even when you are engaging with him, but the sun comes out when his sparky grin appears
Haley, one of the jump rope queens
Playing tag -- the team members run and the kids reach out from their arms to do the tagging. Tree is base!
Celena, quiet 5-year-old who loves rainbows and colors perfect pictures
Kaiwin, spunky little guy who puts on his charming smile and makes up stories about all the cool things he's done so I will be impressed at his daring and skill
Destiny
Ashlynn, who loves to laugh and play
Jasper, the clown
Dairius, hurting little boy who warmed up during the week to love and positive attention
Kelly, who tapped me on the back one afternoon and sat beside me on the pavement to show me his cool transformer and talk to me for 15 or 20 minutes about all its features
Carry me?
Monday, July 11, 2011
Birthday Bash
Ann Marie frying okra
Shrimp & Grits, asparagus in the background. Steak, potatoes, salad, bread, and cake not pictured!
Marisol's nephews careening around the race track
Uncle Dave receiving his birthday hat -- 58!
Digging into the steak
She loves it!
Marisol
Let me help you with that!
My job
"So what do you do when you're not here for the summer?" It's a natural question, especially when they find out I'm not in school. I try to scrounge up something that answers the world's definition of Doing Something. I tell them I was a nanny in Germany before this, and a baker in Seattle before that. I tell them I don't know what I'll be doing at the other end of the summer.
What if I simply said, what if I truly believed that who I am is a follower of Jesus? What if that was where I found my truest identity? This morning I felt chastised along with the Galatians when Paul said, "You foolish Galatians! Did you receive the Spirit by observing the law or by believing what you heard?" It's not about observing the law, doing my duties, being productive, getting the job done. A life well lived is a life of believing, a life of receiving.
Instead I try to please others, to do a job well for my own credit, and to validate my existence, my being right here right now, by the works of my hands.
But the works of my hands will fall like the tower of Babel; they will burn like wood, hay, and stubble; they will crash when the rains come down and the streams rise up. At the final summing up, they will amount to nothing.
What will remain? Love, and I am not capable of love on my own. Like an infant who is not held and loved from birth, if I do not receive love from my Father I will suffer from spiritual attachment disorder, from failure to thrive. My job is pretty simple: look to the Father. Receive love from Him. Go deep in intimate relationship with Him. This is where heart transformation happens, where love comes from.
There was a little girl at kid's club in Warm Springs this past week who made me feel my inadequacy. Her name was Clarissa, and she asked me as we blew bubbles together where David and Kat were. I remembered David and Kat; they were team members from the first week. "Well, they had to go home," I told her. Her face fell right away, but she asked me a few more questions and as my answers sunk in she became increasingly depressed. "Are you sure they aren't going to be here this week? But Kat was my best friend. They aren't coming back?"
We puttered around the various crafts together, but her apathy increased. I read her a couple of books, and she put up with listening to the stories but her heart wasn't in it. She didn't want to head around back for story time, but I cajoled her to join us on the grass and she sat with me on the outskirts of the group, leaning against me, resigned, wearily eating her teddy grahams and sucking her Capri Sun.
When we waved goodbye, said "See you later!" at the end of the afternoon, I wondered if we were doing any good at all. Are we just torturing these children, already living lives of hellos and goodbyes, of fair weather friends and guardians? We come each day and leave after a couple of hours; the teams come for a week and then go home; the interns keep returning throughout the summer but at the end we all disappear and they don't see any of us for another year.
What am I doing here, I wondered? I come, the virtuous missionary with my packet of love and good deeds to pass out for my eleven weeks here. I am not entering into their pain, their lives, their community. While my need for Jesus is not one whit different than theirs, my actions seem to say that I think I have something to offer them.
And then I thought of that great missionary Jesus, and how he came. He didn't move in next door, setting up a store of heavenly goods to parcel out to passersby. He moved in WITH us; he moved into a human womb, took up the all the constraints and trials and dilemmas we struggle with. The Word became flesh and made his dwelling among us.
I have not done that. I have held myself aloof, not wanting to enter into the suffering and dirt of the human condition. I, who am of this race, will not stoop as He has done for me?
I do have a long term career goal: to be transformed into His likeness with ever-increasing glory. It starts with gazing long and steady at his face, all day, every day.
What if I simply said, what if I truly believed that who I am is a follower of Jesus? What if that was where I found my truest identity? This morning I felt chastised along with the Galatians when Paul said, "You foolish Galatians! Did you receive the Spirit by observing the law or by believing what you heard?" It's not about observing the law, doing my duties, being productive, getting the job done. A life well lived is a life of believing, a life of receiving.
Instead I try to please others, to do a job well for my own credit, and to validate my existence, my being right here right now, by the works of my hands.
But the works of my hands will fall like the tower of Babel; they will burn like wood, hay, and stubble; they will crash when the rains come down and the streams rise up. At the final summing up, they will amount to nothing.
What will remain? Love, and I am not capable of love on my own. Like an infant who is not held and loved from birth, if I do not receive love from my Father I will suffer from spiritual attachment disorder, from failure to thrive. My job is pretty simple: look to the Father. Receive love from Him. Go deep in intimate relationship with Him. This is where heart transformation happens, where love comes from.
There was a little girl at kid's club in Warm Springs this past week who made me feel my inadequacy. Her name was Clarissa, and she asked me as we blew bubbles together where David and Kat were. I remembered David and Kat; they were team members from the first week. "Well, they had to go home," I told her. Her face fell right away, but she asked me a few more questions and as my answers sunk in she became increasingly depressed. "Are you sure they aren't going to be here this week? But Kat was my best friend. They aren't coming back?"
We puttered around the various crafts together, but her apathy increased. I read her a couple of books, and she put up with listening to the stories but her heart wasn't in it. She didn't want to head around back for story time, but I cajoled her to join us on the grass and she sat with me on the outskirts of the group, leaning against me, resigned, wearily eating her teddy grahams and sucking her Capri Sun.
When we waved goodbye, said "See you later!" at the end of the afternoon, I wondered if we were doing any good at all. Are we just torturing these children, already living lives of hellos and goodbyes, of fair weather friends and guardians? We come each day and leave after a couple of hours; the teams come for a week and then go home; the interns keep returning throughout the summer but at the end we all disappear and they don't see any of us for another year.
What am I doing here, I wondered? I come, the virtuous missionary with my packet of love and good deeds to pass out for my eleven weeks here. I am not entering into their pain, their lives, their community. While my need for Jesus is not one whit different than theirs, my actions seem to say that I think I have something to offer them.
And then I thought of that great missionary Jesus, and how he came. He didn't move in next door, setting up a store of heavenly goods to parcel out to passersby. He moved in WITH us; he moved into a human womb, took up the all the constraints and trials and dilemmas we struggle with. The Word became flesh and made his dwelling among us.
I have not done that. I have held myself aloof, not wanting to enter into the suffering and dirt of the human condition. I, who am of this race, will not stoop as He has done for me?
I do have a long term career goal: to be transformed into His likeness with ever-increasing glory. It starts with gazing long and steady at his face, all day, every day.
Sunday, June 26, 2011
For Real
On the second day of the week, Kalani was surprised when I recognized her at Kid's Club. "How do you know my name?" she asked.
By the end of the week she recognized me too, tapping me on the shoulder as she walked by the craft area, a vinyl tablecloth spread over dusty clumps of grass. "Hey, can I make one?" she asked. She sat down to work on her bookmark, diligently searching to find the letters of her name on the foam sticker sheets. She knew "K" was the first one, but wasn't sure what came next. "Maybe an 'a'?" I suggested. She pulled off a capital "Q." I said, "I don't think that one is in your name."
"My mom said it has a circle and a tail," she said. I smiled, and we finally finished spelling her name: KQLQNI.
She wandered off but came back when it was time for snack and story. I was cleaning up the craft area. "Can I sit on your lap?" she asked. So I hurried to put away the craft items and we joined the rest of the kids sitting in dusty rows in front of Joshua. The team passed out snacks to all the kids while Kalani asked me name questions: what my mom's name was, what her last name was, what my last name was, what my second name was. Then Joshua started on the story. He reviewed the story from the day before, and then his actors, some of the kids, joined him to act out the story of the day: Jesus welcoming the little children. "I was in the story once," Kalani told me.
"What were you?" I asked.
"An angel."
"What did you say?" I asked.
"There were thousands of angels," she answered.
"Oh, it must have been the story of an important baby being born!" I told her.
We fell silent, listening to Joshua and his crew, but Kalani started her questions again in the middle of the story. "What's your mom's name?" I whispered to her that right now was time to listen to Joshua and hear the story. "I'm listening," she said. "I know what the story is about. He's talking about Jesus, who did bubbles with the kids and played with them. He loved the kids. My mom told me that Jesus loves grown ups."
I said, my cheek against her warm shoulder, my arms wrapping around her, "He loves kids too, a lot."
"For real or for fake?" she asked.
"For real. He really loves kids."
Joshua finished the story and we had a few more minutes to play. Kalani wanted to get on my back. She's only five, but she's a big girl and carrying her all over the field was a good workout! It was time to go, and Kalani asked me if I could walk her home, "to the brown house." Joshua said she could ride in the Suburban with us, so when we were all loaded up she climbed up into the front seat with me and we drove down the block to her brown house, where she hopped down and disappeared inside. See you later, Kalani. Don't forget, Jesus loves kids, for real.
By the end of the week she recognized me too, tapping me on the shoulder as she walked by the craft area, a vinyl tablecloth spread over dusty clumps of grass. "Hey, can I make one?" she asked. She sat down to work on her bookmark, diligently searching to find the letters of her name on the foam sticker sheets. She knew "K" was the first one, but wasn't sure what came next. "Maybe an 'a'?" I suggested. She pulled off a capital "Q." I said, "I don't think that one is in your name."
"My mom said it has a circle and a tail," she said. I smiled, and we finally finished spelling her name: KQLQNI.
She wandered off but came back when it was time for snack and story. I was cleaning up the craft area. "Can I sit on your lap?" she asked. So I hurried to put away the craft items and we joined the rest of the kids sitting in dusty rows in front of Joshua. The team passed out snacks to all the kids while Kalani asked me name questions: what my mom's name was, what her last name was, what my last name was, what my second name was. Then Joshua started on the story. He reviewed the story from the day before, and then his actors, some of the kids, joined him to act out the story of the day: Jesus welcoming the little children. "I was in the story once," Kalani told me.
"What were you?" I asked.
"An angel."
"What did you say?" I asked.
"There were thousands of angels," she answered.
"Oh, it must have been the story of an important baby being born!" I told her.
We fell silent, listening to Joshua and his crew, but Kalani started her questions again in the middle of the story. "What's your mom's name?" I whispered to her that right now was time to listen to Joshua and hear the story. "I'm listening," she said. "I know what the story is about. He's talking about Jesus, who did bubbles with the kids and played with them. He loved the kids. My mom told me that Jesus loves grown ups."
I said, my cheek against her warm shoulder, my arms wrapping around her, "He loves kids too, a lot."
"For real or for fake?" she asked.
"For real. He really loves kids."
Joshua finished the story and we had a few more minutes to play. Kalani wanted to get on my back. She's only five, but she's a big girl and carrying her all over the field was a good workout! It was time to go, and Kalani asked me if I could walk her home, "to the brown house." Joshua said she could ride in the Suburban with us, so when we were all loaded up she climbed up into the front seat with me and we drove down the block to her brown house, where she hopped down and disappeared inside. See you later, Kalani. Don't forget, Jesus loves kids, for real.
Wednesday, June 22, 2011
Winnie
She was squirrely last night at Bible study. I was in the kitchen for the first part of the evening, before and during the meal, but I heard she was sitting by a friend and they were making little bits of trouble together. When we separated for adult Bible study, youth group, and kid's story and craft time, she was in the group I was helping with. She sat across the table from me, grabbed two markers, and began scribbling wildly on her paper without looking at what she was doing. Then she glanced down to see where the paper ended, moved her markers off the paper, and grinned at me as she kept scribbling on the table. When I reminded her of a rule I'm sure she was aware of (no coloring on the table) and enforced the rule by taking the markers away, she threw down her marker caps, slithered under the table, and began an underground escape. Stephen intercepted her, brought her back, sat with her till it was story time. Molly and I were kept busy trying to seat the other three girls in our group: Marie and Lorinda wanted to sit next to each other so they could chat and conspire, and little M.J. was squirmy and fussy. The girls wouldn't stay seated for more than about 60 seconds before jumping up to try to find a new seat, and they were making no effort to be quiet. Joshua was making great efforts to let his voice be heard above the roar, and we were fighting to make him successful. Then Winnie reappeared from somewhere and climbed into my lap. She sat there for the whole story, not always quiet but responsive to my reminders, not obviously paying attention but who knows what was sinking in? Joshua and the flannelgraph board told us the story of Moses leading the Israelites out of Egypt, and we went back to our tables. Winnie stayed on my lap, and I traced her hand, splayed on the table, with my finger as we waited for the other girls to gather and for Molly to pull the coloring sheets back out. I started coloring her scribbled-on picture. She was fascinated, and kept pointing out the next thing I should color, choosing markers for me to use. By the time the burning bush sand craft came out, she was a different girl than the one who had brazenly colored on the table earlier. She stayed in my lap, and worked diligently to squeeze glue, spread it with a paint brush, spoon on sand, and tilt the paper so the excess slid back into the bowl. Marie and Lorinda, though older, were more careless and silly, but Winnie was quiet and made every effort to keep the sand in the right place and complete her picture. When the bus pulled up outside the longhouse windows, she obediently put things away and we tucked her pictures into a paper sack for her to take home. And she slipped out, onto the bus, into the night.
Monday, June 20, 2011
Three Nuggets from Today
Hands reach over my shoulders as I sit on a dusty vinyl tablecloth on the ground at kid's club. "Julie!" calls a voice. I reach up to feel the hands. "Who is it?" I ask. It's Connie, just flitting by to say hello on her way across the park.
I sit down for snack and story time, in the midst of the throng but not with any child. A boy walks by. "Can I sit in your lap?" he asks, and snuggles in, leaning trusting against me and quietly reporting his thoughts and comments to me throughout the story time.
It's dusky evening, and we're standing in a semi-circle in the yard, the mountains circling behind us against the last light of the day and a few Granberry kids and friends on the roof in front of us. They've climbed up an old ladder and are scoping out this year's cherry harvest on the branches overhanging the roof. Beth throws a few down to Joshua; they laugh and hunt for the fruit and finally announce that there are actually not too many cherries this year and climb down, one by one.
I sit down for snack and story time, in the midst of the throng but not with any child. A boy walks by. "Can I sit in your lap?" he asks, and snuggles in, leaning trusting against me and quietly reporting his thoughts and comments to me throughout the story time.
It's dusky evening, and we're standing in a semi-circle in the yard, the mountains circling behind us against the last light of the day and a few Granberry kids and friends on the roof in front of us. They've climbed up an old ladder and are scoping out this year's cherry harvest on the branches overhanging the roof. Beth throws a few down to Joshua; they laugh and hunt for the fruit and finally announce that there are actually not too many cherries this year and climb down, one by one.
Monday, June 13, 2011
A Day in the Life of a Sacred Road Intern at Warm Springs
Swing your legs over the side of your cot sometime before 6:00 in the morning. Pull on some clothes in the quiet semi-darkness and slip out the door so team members can keep sleeping; cross through the cool morning air to the kitchen's back door. Splash some water on your face in the bathroom, put up your hair and slather on a bit of sunscreen. Fill a coffee percolator and plug it in. Take a seat in the dining room with Bible and journal for the vanishing solitary moments of the day. Team members drift in, waiting for the coffee's "serve" light to blink on, sitting quietly at other tables with Bibles open before them.
It's 7:00, time to head into the kitchen. Lauren joins you, and maybe a team member appears in the doorway volunteering to help, so you pull out your list and parcel out jobs: wash lettuce for supper, bake a dessert, fill the roaster with chili or spaghetti sauce or meat and beans for taco salad, hard boil eggs for breakfast. Another team member has signed up to set out breakfast, so you direct him to the cereal, yogurt, eggs, fruit, and toast and he readies the buffet table. At 8 Scott prays for the group, 33 people from churches in Ohio, Tennessee, and Mississippi; they eat, and you hurry through the line after them and get back into the kitchen to supervise breakfast dishes and setting out lunch supplies, which are also team-manned chores. Lauren loads up her bins of kids club supplies and then helps with whatever is left in the kitchen. It's past the scheduled departure time of 8:50, so you fill up your water bottle, make sure your work pant pockets are loaded with cell phone and chapstick, and circle up in the parking lot.
Scott prays for the group and they load into their 5 vans; the 3 interns climb into the '89 15 passenger Ford van and lead the way to the Warm Springs Indian Reservation, about a 20 minute drive from the First Baptist Church in Madras where you're staying. First stop: Public Utilities building where Scott finds your contact man (a Warm Springs Indian who also happens to be the assistant pastor at the First Baptist Church) and gets the marching orders for the day. You meet the teams just down the hill at the park and Scott parcels out the jobs. You follow along, finding a place to work for the day.
Maybe it's picking up trash along the side of the road as passersby honk and wave and call out, "Thank you!" By the end of the week some have stopped and asked for prayer; others have thrust a stack of smoked salmon fillets through the open window as you drove the trailer through the Rez to pick up the bags of trash. Hatchery employees slung a bag of fresh salmon from the back of their pick-up truck into your van, filling your cooler to overflowing.
Another day you paint at the Boys and Girls' Club, doing a little painting and a lot of supervising, trying to help 19 team members keep busy. You pour paint refills, wrap brushes and rollers that have been left unattended, move tarps and ladders, point out areas that still need paint.
You keep working for another couple of hours after a sack lunch break, then head down the road to the community center to clean up a little before kids' club.
The vans caravan to the Boys and Girls' Club at 3:30; you pull up and the kids come running. You man the craft table, or wander with your camera taking pictures for the end-of-the-week slide show, or help Lauren organize kids for the skit, or play tag with Andrew. "Everything is base!" he says, running from tree to fence to post to bush. Then he grabs a branch off the bush and invents portable base. It's a rigged game, but Andrew's smile makes it worthwhile.
One afternoon you have to call off a boy who liked to jump rope but kept jumping in out of turn and annoying the other kids who were jumping. Before you leave you learn that his name is Terrence and make a point of saying goodbye to him, hoping to have a better interaction to end the day on. "You're going?" he asks. "Who do you have to see now?" You tell him you're going back to the church where you are staying to eat dinner and spend the night. He doesn't want you to leave.
At 5:30 you pile into the vans and drive back to Madras. You arrive around 6:00 and hurry to unlock the kitchen door. You check the roaster, hoping dinner was cooking all day while you were gone. Scott and Lauren come in to help set drinks on the tables and get the buffet ready. You find serving spoons, cut the dessert, finish chopping things for the salad. Team members file in after cleaning up a bit, and you pray and they flood the buffet table, eagerly emptying bowls to fill their plates. You eat a quick dinner and supervise kitchen clean-up, go over your kitchen plan for the next day, chat with Scott and Lauren, or join the casual worship and sharing gathering. If you have time and are feeling brave and dirty, you head out to the shower trailer. There are no showers in the church, and the solution is a four shower head trailer with insufficient partitions and (supposedly) solar-heated drums. You wear a bathing suit and hold your breath as the cold water hits you; it's actually refreshing and feels especially clean to shower out under the open sky.
Then you brush your teeth and head to the girl's quarters. It's maybe 10:30, and some are in bed but there's still plenty of energy. Around 11:00 (if you haven't fallen asleep in the midst of the noise by then) you remind them that it's lights' out, and fall asleep.
It's 7:00, time to head into the kitchen. Lauren joins you, and maybe a team member appears in the doorway volunteering to help, so you pull out your list and parcel out jobs: wash lettuce for supper, bake a dessert, fill the roaster with chili or spaghetti sauce or meat and beans for taco salad, hard boil eggs for breakfast. Another team member has signed up to set out breakfast, so you direct him to the cereal, yogurt, eggs, fruit, and toast and he readies the buffet table. At 8 Scott prays for the group, 33 people from churches in Ohio, Tennessee, and Mississippi; they eat, and you hurry through the line after them and get back into the kitchen to supervise breakfast dishes and setting out lunch supplies, which are also team-manned chores. Lauren loads up her bins of kids club supplies and then helps with whatever is left in the kitchen. It's past the scheduled departure time of 8:50, so you fill up your water bottle, make sure your work pant pockets are loaded with cell phone and chapstick, and circle up in the parking lot.
Scott prays for the group and they load into their 5 vans; the 3 interns climb into the '89 15 passenger Ford van and lead the way to the Warm Springs Indian Reservation, about a 20 minute drive from the First Baptist Church in Madras where you're staying. First stop: Public Utilities building where Scott finds your contact man (a Warm Springs Indian who also happens to be the assistant pastor at the First Baptist Church) and gets the marching orders for the day. You meet the teams just down the hill at the park and Scott parcels out the jobs. You follow along, finding a place to work for the day.
Maybe it's picking up trash along the side of the road as passersby honk and wave and call out, "Thank you!" By the end of the week some have stopped and asked for prayer; others have thrust a stack of smoked salmon fillets through the open window as you drove the trailer through the Rez to pick up the bags of trash. Hatchery employees slung a bag of fresh salmon from the back of their pick-up truck into your van, filling your cooler to overflowing.
Another day you paint at the Boys and Girls' Club, doing a little painting and a lot of supervising, trying to help 19 team members keep busy. You pour paint refills, wrap brushes and rollers that have been left unattended, move tarps and ladders, point out areas that still need paint.
Fellow intern Lauren
You keep working for another couple of hours after a sack lunch break, then head down the road to the community center to clean up a little before kids' club.
The vans caravan to the Boys and Girls' Club at 3:30; you pull up and the kids come running. You man the craft table, or wander with your camera taking pictures for the end-of-the-week slide show, or help Lauren organize kids for the skit, or play tag with Andrew. "Everything is base!" he says, running from tree to fence to post to bush. Then he grabs a branch off the bush and invents portable base. It's a rigged game, but Andrew's smile makes it worthwhile.
Craft table
Playing catch
Foursquare
Kickball
Fellow intern Scott
Story time
Andrew waits for his turn to come on stage
Tag with Andrew
One afternoon you have to call off a boy who liked to jump rope but kept jumping in out of turn and annoying the other kids who were jumping. Before you leave you learn that his name is Terrence and make a point of saying goodbye to him, hoping to have a better interaction to end the day on. "You're going?" he asks. "Who do you have to see now?" You tell him you're going back to the church where you are staying to eat dinner and spend the night. He doesn't want you to leave.
Face painting
Turning the jump rope
Terrence jumping
At 5:30 you pile into the vans and drive back to Madras. You arrive around 6:00 and hurry to unlock the kitchen door. You check the roaster, hoping dinner was cooking all day while you were gone. Scott and Lauren come in to help set drinks on the tables and get the buffet ready. You find serving spoons, cut the dessert, finish chopping things for the salad. Team members file in after cleaning up a bit, and you pray and they flood the buffet table, eagerly emptying bowls to fill their plates. You eat a quick dinner and supervise kitchen clean-up, go over your kitchen plan for the next day, chat with Scott and Lauren, or join the casual worship and sharing gathering. If you have time and are feeling brave and dirty, you head out to the shower trailer. There are no showers in the church, and the solution is a four shower head trailer with insufficient partitions and (supposedly) solar-heated drums. You wear a bathing suit and hold your breath as the cold water hits you; it's actually refreshing and feels especially clean to shower out under the open sky.
Checking out the shower trailer before we pulled out in Wapato
Saturday, May 28, 2011
Bonfire at Sunset
We've had two days of orientation - gathering in the Granberry's living room with notebooks, Bibles, and listening ears. Mary fixes meals for us and we eat them at three tables, our dining room sprawling the width of the house, from entry way to office nook. Slowly the awkward silence punctuated by icebreaker questions shifts to shared smiles and deeper sharing as common ground builds (or as we recognize the common ground we all shared to start with). After lunch we try not to sleep, sitting on couches and cushions and folding chairs and taking in more words about culture or the youth group, Isaiah 58 or intern guidelines. Then Chris says, "Let's take a half hour break. Anyone want to play volleyball?" and we take our positions in the grass on either side of the net. Sun and wind and laughter revive us, and we gather again, maybe on the deck this time, to brainstorm about a team covenant or discuss the questionable reliability of first impressions.
And then it is ten to six, and the kids are arriving. About twelve from the youth group will be joining us for dinner tonight. They come in smiling, wanting to know our names, but shy; we are shy too, not wanting to trespass against cultural rules, unsure of how to build bridges. Then again, I think, maybe it is more like planting seeds than building bridges. You prepare the soil, get the seeds in contact with the dirt, tend and nurture, and see what God will grow, what fruit He will produce.
After barbecued pork sandwiches, mac and cheese, fruit and jello, we migrate to the volley foursquare court. It's a fast-moving variation on volleyball with four teams of four playing on a two-net court and rotating around the four squares to the king square. The wind blew cold, but there were smiles on everyone's faces. Chuck, the youth leader, announces it's time to move to the bonfire Chris as prepared for us, and we circle up in the setting sun to roast marshmallows and get smoky and warm.
"I planted the seed, Apollos watered it, but God made it grow." (I Corinthians 3:6)
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