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. 

As the sun disappears, Ann Marie gets out her guitar and we pass out song sheets.

Chris prays over us, and then we are free to go but no one does. We huddle closer around the fire, laugh, roughhouse, visit. Chuck rounds up the kids and they pile into the van to ride home. We linger longer, listening to Chris and Uncle Dave tell stories. At last we too gather our things and head home, the boys to their campers on the Granberry property, the girls a few miles down the road to our house.

"I planted the seed, Apollos watered it, but God made it grow." (I Corinthians 3:6)