Thoughts
Thoughts
Even when I'm not sure I can stand, or even crawl, God picks me up and breathes life back into my aching bones.
Zombies, Comas, and {Somehow} Surviving
Zombies, Comas, and {Somehow} Surviving
I love camp.
Honestly, I do.
The past four summers have been some of the most growing seasons of my life.
The after effects, however, as sometimes detrimental to my health in ways.
The thing is - I don't do things halfway.
In most situations, that's good.
When I'm at camp I give it my all.
Every last drop of energy.
Every last breath.
Every thought.
Every emotion.
All get invested in my week of campers.
By the time the weekend rolls around I'm entirely out of any sort of emotions.
My cup is dry.
I have nothing left.
All I can do is collapse and hope that sleep and God time will rejuvenate me enough to make it through another week.
This summer especially has been super draining.
I went into camp at the same point that I normally end it.
Burned out and with a laundry list of things I need to process.
As you can guess, it's been hard.
It's a daily battle to open my eyes and get out of bed.
It's a fight to have any sort of energy.
It's a struggle to not just curl in a ball and cry.
But every day, by the grace of God, I wake up with enough energy just for that day.
He provides what I need in each moment.
It's not always fun.
It's not easy.
It's painful, even.
My heart will need an AED in order to reach a functional level again.
But today, tomorrow, and for the next two weeks - I can't focus on me.
I can't take time to deal with my exhaustion.
I can't take time to focus on myself.
My problems.
Instead of my usual peaceful and slow decent into an emotional comatose at the end of the summer,
this one has been abrupt.
It came on early.
As in - before staff training even started.
It's been a battle.
I've definitely learned to rely on God's strength and not my own,
because I literally have absolutely nothing left.
I'm as dry as a desert with no oasis' in a couple hundred miles radius.
I'm an emotional zombie,
just stumbling from day to day -
trying to survive.
The coma beckons me.
It's tempting, and at times it's all I can do to not give in.
It's warm embraces calls out to me telling me to sleep,
rest,
take care of myself.
But I can't take care of myself when so many other people are depending on me.
So I will continue fighting.
I will make it, but only because God will give me strength.
Even if I have to pray for strength and energy in every breath, in every moment, and in every day - I will fight. I will survive. I will make it.
Then, I will sleep and rejuvenate.
Survival techniques are kicking in.
It may be all I can do to make it out alive.
I just need to survive.
Honestly, I do.
The past four summers have been some of the most growing seasons of my life.
The after effects, however, as sometimes detrimental to my health in ways.
The thing is - I don't do things halfway.
In most situations, that's good.
When I'm at camp I give it my all.
Every last drop of energy.
Every last breath.
Every thought.
Every emotion.
All get invested in my week of campers.
By the time the weekend rolls around I'm entirely out of any sort of emotions.
My cup is dry.
I have nothing left.
All I can do is collapse and hope that sleep and God time will rejuvenate me enough to make it through another week.
This summer especially has been super draining.
I went into camp at the same point that I normally end it.
Burned out and with a laundry list of things I need to process.
As you can guess, it's been hard.
It's a daily battle to open my eyes and get out of bed.
It's a fight to have any sort of energy.
It's a struggle to not just curl in a ball and cry.
But every day, by the grace of God, I wake up with enough energy just for that day.
He provides what I need in each moment.
It's not always fun.
It's not easy.
It's painful, even.
My heart will need an AED in order to reach a functional level again.
But today, tomorrow, and for the next two weeks - I can't focus on me.
I can't take time to deal with my exhaustion.
I can't take time to focus on myself.
My problems.
Instead of my usual peaceful and slow decent into an emotional comatose at the end of the summer,
this one has been abrupt.
It came on early.
As in - before staff training even started.
It's been a battle.
I've definitely learned to rely on God's strength and not my own,
because I literally have absolutely nothing left.
I'm as dry as a desert with no oasis' in a couple hundred miles radius.
I'm an emotional zombie,
just stumbling from day to day -
trying to survive.
The coma beckons me.
It's tempting, and at times it's all I can do to not give in.
It's warm embraces calls out to me telling me to sleep,
rest,
take care of myself.
But I can't take care of myself when so many other people are depending on me.
So I will continue fighting.
I will make it, but only because God will give me strength.
Even if I have to pray for strength and energy in every breath, in every moment, and in every day - I will fight. I will survive. I will make it.
Then, I will sleep and rejuvenate.
Survival techniques are kicking in.
It may be all I can do to make it out alive.
I just need to survive.
Insufficiency and Devotion Preparations
Insufficiency and Devotion Preparations
It's weird to me to look back on past summers and see how much I've grown.
Sanctification is a process, and at times it's slow, other times its painful, but the changes that take place are undeniable.
It wasn't until last summer and this summer that a new fear instilled itself in me.
What if I teach something incorrectly?
What if I say something heretical?
What if I somehow hinder a camper in their walk with Christ?
To the point that it debilitates my ability to share His word.
Oh Satan, how you manipulate me.
I've come to the conclusion that God is in control.
He will convict in ways He needs to.
He will give discernment to the girls in my cabins.
He will teach what He wants taught some way or another.
It's not up to me to say the right words or give the perfect devotion,
but to be open to God working through me.
My insufficiency is so evident, but I find rest in the fact that His glory is magnified in comparison to my weakness.
Ohboy.
Here we go.
Sanctification is a process, and at times it's slow, other times its painful, but the changes that take place are undeniable.
It wasn't until last summer and this summer that a new fear instilled itself in me.
What if I teach something incorrectly?
What if I say something heretical?
What if I somehow hinder a camper in their walk with Christ?
To the point that it debilitates my ability to share His word.
Oh Satan, how you manipulate me.
I've come to the conclusion that God is in control.
He will convict in ways He needs to.
He will give discernment to the girls in my cabins.
He will teach what He wants taught some way or another.
It's not up to me to say the right words or give the perfect devotion,
but to be open to God working through me.
My insufficiency is so evident, but I find rest in the fact that His glory is magnified in comparison to my weakness.
Ohboy.
Here we go.
I can't, God can, I think I'll let Him
I can't, God can, I think I'll let Him
Every week as I watch my campers leave,
a deep feeling of distress fills my stomach.
What if I didn't communicate the gospel effectively?
What if I didn't represent Christ as much as I should have?
What if they didn't learn anything?
What if I turned them away?
Every week I'm filled with a desire to shake my kids until they confess a deep faith in the gospel of Jesus Christ.
Every week I want to see incredible growth and reverence for our Father in Heaven.
Every week after they leave I'm filled with the same guilt, sadness, and helplessness.
The realization I've had to make is this:
I can't do it.
I fall short.
I have no control.
All I can do is plant the seed,
God's got it from there.
I can't force my kids to follow Christ.
I can't force them to bow to His infinite power.
I can't force them to see the truth that is found soley at the foot of the cross.
All I can do is trust God.
Trust that He's working.
Trust that He can teach them through my inabilities and weaknesses.
Trust that He is in control.
Lord, take this burden and make it light.
I will rest in the knowledge that God's in control.
I can't. He can. I think I'll let Him.
a deep feeling of distress fills my stomach.
What if I didn't communicate the gospel effectively?
What if I didn't represent Christ as much as I should have?
What if they didn't learn anything?
What if I turned them away?
Every week I'm filled with a desire to shake my kids until they confess a deep faith in the gospel of Jesus Christ.
Every week I want to see incredible growth and reverence for our Father in Heaven.
Every week after they leave I'm filled with the same guilt, sadness, and helplessness.
The realization I've had to make is this:
I can't do it.
I fall short.
I have no control.
All I can do is plant the seed,
God's got it from there.
I can't force my kids to follow Christ.
I can't force them to bow to His infinite power.
I can't force them to see the truth that is found soley at the foot of the cross.
All I can do is trust God.
Trust that He's working.
Trust that He can teach them through my inabilities and weaknesses.
Trust that He is in control.
Lord, take this burden and make it light.
I will rest in the knowledge that God's in control.
I can't. He can. I think I'll let Him.
Wack-A-Mole Idols
Wack-A-Mole Idols
I've recently felt deep distressed over my idolatry.
I've had to reconcile myself to the fact that, no matter how hard I try, I'm always going to be idolatrous.
I'm never going to desire God as much as I should.
I'm never going to defeat my sin nature completely.
Sanctification is a process.
It doesn't happen overnight.
It isn't completed on this earth.
Idolatry is like a game of wack-a-mole.
The mallet is the Word. The name of the game is life.
Every time I knock down one of those pesky moles,
two more pop up.
And two after that.
And two more after that.
The game isn't over until my time on this earth is over.
I'm going to struggle.
I'm going to fail.
I'm never going to defeat my deeply imbedded sin nature until my last breath has gone.
Idolatry is a weed.
So often I pluck the stem, the leaves, or even the flower.
The reality is - the roots are deep.
They've burrowed their way into the depths of my heart and anchored.
They've laced their way through my veins.
So many times when reading the Old Testament, I judge the Israelites on their struggles.
"Why would they ever choose that stupid calf over God?"
"How can they be that dumb?"
And so on and so forth.
The reality of it is: I'm no better than them.
I choose things over God all the time.
Shoot.
Lord, help me.
I can't do this on my own.
I've had to reconcile myself to the fact that, no matter how hard I try, I'm always going to be idolatrous.
I'm never going to desire God as much as I should.
I'm never going to defeat my sin nature completely.
Sanctification is a process.
It doesn't happen overnight.
It isn't completed on this earth.
Idolatry is like a game of wack-a-mole.
The mallet is the Word. The name of the game is life.
Every time I knock down one of those pesky moles,
two more pop up.
And two after that.
And two more after that.
The game isn't over until my time on this earth is over.
I'm going to struggle.
I'm going to fail.
I'm never going to defeat my deeply imbedded sin nature until my last breath has gone.
Idolatry is a weed.
So often I pluck the stem, the leaves, or even the flower.
The reality is - the roots are deep.
They've burrowed their way into the depths of my heart and anchored.
They've laced their way through my veins.
So many times when reading the Old Testament, I judge the Israelites on their struggles.
"Why would they ever choose that stupid calf over God?"
"How can they be that dumb?"
And so on and so forth.
The reality of it is: I'm no better than them.
I choose things over God all the time.
Shoot.
Lord, help me.
I can't do this on my own.
The Mask
The Mask
Something I've realized about myself over the past year is this:
I don't often show my true feelings.
Yeah, I show excitement, and sadness.
But aside from that - the times that people actually know how I'm feeling are far and few between.
For the longest time, I've worn a mask.
I've felt like, as a Christian, in order to be a "good" Christian, I need to be happy.
I've felt like I need to hide struggles, trials, and shortcomings.
That weakness was wrong.
That unhappiness was a sin.
I've realized, however, that no one is perfect.
Everybody struggles.
Everybody goes through trials.
Everyone falls short.
Instead of drawing people to Christ, my mask pushed them away.
I still haven't found the balance.
I feel like I'm a fire victim, scarred by the flames of life.
I need to find the balance between showing people all my scars, and none of them.
I don't know all the answers.
I don't know what it looks like.
But I'm learning, and growing, and slowly but surely I'm able to keep my mask off for longer periods of time.
To be vulnerable.
To be open.
To be real.
To allow God to work through my weaknesses, and shine His strength when I have none.
God is strong. I am not.
That's okay.
I don't often show my true feelings.
Yeah, I show excitement, and sadness.
But aside from that - the times that people actually know how I'm feeling are far and few between.
For the longest time, I've worn a mask.
I've felt like, as a Christian, in order to be a "good" Christian, I need to be happy.
I've felt like I need to hide struggles, trials, and shortcomings.
That weakness was wrong.
That unhappiness was a sin.
I've realized, however, that no one is perfect.
Everybody struggles.
Everybody goes through trials.
Everyone falls short.
Instead of drawing people to Christ, my mask pushed them away.
I still haven't found the balance.
I feel like I'm a fire victim, scarred by the flames of life.
I need to find the balance between showing people all my scars, and none of them.
I don't know all the answers.
I don't know what it looks like.
But I'm learning, and growing, and slowly but surely I'm able to keep my mask off for longer periods of time.
To be vulnerable.
To be open.
To be real.
To allow God to work through my weaknesses, and shine His strength when I have none.
God is strong. I am not.
That's okay.
Peace & Serenity
Peace & Serenity
Peaceful serenity.
The rest that comes soley from God's presence.
What a week.
As a quad leader, I scarcely had a moment when I wasn't running around helping people, listening to sessions, or listening to people recite their passages.
Don't get me wrong, I love being a quad leader, but it's super draining - especially after going straight from college to camp.
After 12 hours of sleep, a shower, and a load of laundry in the dryer - I'm finally beginning to feel like myself again.
No stress.
Just deeply breathing in what God exhales through His word.
What a beautiful, beautiful gift it is to be able to spend this morning with the Lord.
The birds are singing and the sun has scarcely met the top of the trees.
I sit in wonder and awe at the beauty of creation.
Mmm. So good.
6 campers this week. My first thought was "I can do it", then I realized how completely absurd that is.
There's no way, no matter how few campers I have, that I can make it through the week without completely surrendering and rely on God's strength to get me through.
If there's anything I've learned in the last week, it's my own weakness.
Man.
"Blessed are those who hunger and thirst for righteousness, for they will be satisfied."
(( Matthew 5:6 ))
"Come to Me all who are weary and heavy-laden, and I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you and learn from Me, for I am gentle and humble in heart, and you will find rest for your souls. For my yoke is easy, and my burden is light." ((Matthew 11:28-29 ))
I've heard that passage so many times, but it isn't until I fully reach the depth of exhaustion that I can come to more fully understand this. I am weary. I am burdened. I need rest. I've tried time and time again this week to work to please others. To please my boss. To please the area directors. To please the counseling staff. But at the end of the week - I've come to realize that I can't do it. That if at the end of the summer I can say I've worked to please God, then no one else matters. In the process of living to glorify God - everything else will fall into place. His yoke is easy, and His burden is light.
It's not until I acknowledge the depths of my spiritual poverty and bankruptcy that God can work. I don't have to try to save myself. My works, no matter how hard I try, won't get me to heaven. That's not grace. That's now how it works. Even if I please everyone and make it through the summer as the best quad leader ever, or something equally as absurd, my works would still be filthy rags. Works come from my desire to glorify God. As I work to glorify God, everything else will fall into place in spite of my own depravity.
God can either work through me or in spite of me. I pray that it's the first.
The rest that comes soley from God's presence.
What a week.
As a quad leader, I scarcely had a moment when I wasn't running around helping people, listening to sessions, or listening to people recite their passages.
Don't get me wrong, I love being a quad leader, but it's super draining - especially after going straight from college to camp.
After 12 hours of sleep, a shower, and a load of laundry in the dryer - I'm finally beginning to feel like myself again.
No stress.
Just deeply breathing in what God exhales through His word.
What a beautiful, beautiful gift it is to be able to spend this morning with the Lord.
The birds are singing and the sun has scarcely met the top of the trees.
I sit in wonder and awe at the beauty of creation.
Mmm. So good.
6 campers this week. My first thought was "I can do it", then I realized how completely absurd that is.
There's no way, no matter how few campers I have, that I can make it through the week without completely surrendering and rely on God's strength to get me through.
If there's anything I've learned in the last week, it's my own weakness.
Man.
"Blessed are those who hunger and thirst for righteousness, for they will be satisfied."
(( Matthew 5:6 ))
"Come to Me all who are weary and heavy-laden, and I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you and learn from Me, for I am gentle and humble in heart, and you will find rest for your souls. For my yoke is easy, and my burden is light." ((Matthew 11:28-29 ))
I've heard that passage so many times, but it isn't until I fully reach the depth of exhaustion that I can come to more fully understand this. I am weary. I am burdened. I need rest. I've tried time and time again this week to work to please others. To please my boss. To please the area directors. To please the counseling staff. But at the end of the week - I've come to realize that I can't do it. That if at the end of the summer I can say I've worked to please God, then no one else matters. In the process of living to glorify God - everything else will fall into place. His yoke is easy, and His burden is light.
It's not until I acknowledge the depths of my spiritual poverty and bankruptcy that God can work. I don't have to try to save myself. My works, no matter how hard I try, won't get me to heaven. That's not grace. That's now how it works. Even if I please everyone and make it through the summer as the best quad leader ever, or something equally as absurd, my works would still be filthy rags. Works come from my desire to glorify God. As I work to glorify God, everything else will fall into place in spite of my own depravity.
God can either work through me or in spite of me. I pray that it's the first.
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