It's 2:26 on a Sunday and I'm wearing makeup and jewelry and sitting on my bed at home listening to Needtobreathe and being aimless on Facebook. I'm not wearing my wood cookie and I'm not sitting in a cabin with little to no AC meticulously unpacking excited campers' belongings. This is not how it should be.
I miss having to hold onto my heart/wood cookie whenever I run or jump. I miss my friends.
I miss my first week campers, who will do anything if told to by their sister, who tuck their t-shirts into their underwear, who are blind but not slow and very spunky, who are brave and strong even though their hands are always shaking, who can't speak but teach me daily, who think they are my mother, who are troopers, and who shake their butts in the cutest little ways.
I miss my only shoe options being green Chacos or red Chacos.
I miss my second week campers, who tell me I look like I'm twelve years old, who shake their naked booties in my face, who won't tell me if they wet their pants, who think they are Indian princesses, who tell me to go die but love me twenty minutes later, whose only words are, "What?" "Hey!" and "No way", who don't know my name, and who can't pronounce their H's and R's.
I miss not having time to brush my teeth until rest hour.
I miss my kids week campers, who won't even try to learn my name, who link arms with me and call me their boyfriend, who show up to Camp in a wheelchair super unexpectedly, who tell me to "zip it" all the time, who consistently wear their shoes on the wrong feet, who don't understand the concept of twins (that they are individual people with different brains and the capability to make decisions independent of each other), who legitimately cannot sit still, and who are so picky that they basically just don't eat.
I miss sleeping so lightly that I wake up at any movement at all in the cabin just in case someone needs my help.
I miss my Odyssey campers, who feel comfortable enough with me to bite my fingernails for me and sit on my lap while naked, who write me letters during the school year, who have the most adorable and abundant freckles, who fight over who gets to hold my hand and play with my hair, who complain through everything but later tell me how much fun they had, who can't stand for anyone else to be sad, who were so completely shy when they arrived on Sunday and then on Saturday when they left danced and sang loudly with the best of them, and who want to be electrical engineers when they grow up.
I miss not shaving my legs.
I miss the campers I never got to have because I skipped a week of Camp to go to the beach.
I miss my total lack of personal space.
I miss my Sertoma campers, who constantly sassed me, who hugged me first thing when they woke up, who are ten years old and still wear diapers at night and at rest hour, whose belongings magically disappeared completely from human sight, who had hair too short to braid but insisted on it anyway, who sobbed their hearts out at one minute and the next ran around like crazy, who talked my ears off, who were terrible at listening when I asked them to do something, who always wore their hair in pigtails, and who took absolutely forever to get dressed.
I miss being called "Mommy" by a bunch of little girls.
Y'all. Life is sad when Camp is over. I mean, my stomach is absolutely and completely done with Camp food, I am so overly exhausted and covered in bruises and scrapes and scabs, the anklet made for me by a first week camper is really faded, and the real world is ready for me to come back. It keeps on nagging me with responsibilities. And a bouncing checking account. And my NCFs (Non-Camp Friends) miss me.
But life is sad without Camp. I have what Norman McGee calls PCSD (Post-Camp Stress Disorder) for reals. A few of my Camp friends spent the night with me last night and they all went home this morning. And I seriously don't know what to do with myself. I mean I have a to-do list (watch the SCAEYC video and email any critiques to Rose, email Cheryl when I'm coming to see her, figure out stuff for RUF music team, quit Fike, find out my bank account routing number and go see Greg about money and stuff, call my grandparents in Statesboro and ask if I can bring friends over for lunch next Sunday, call my aunt and uncle in Lexington and ask if they want me to visit them when I'm in town visting Cheryl, balance my checking account, blog, pay my mom back for stuff she so graciously bought me, clean everything ever, go look at my apartment, buy a princess poster, figure out stuff for RUF this week, unpack from Camp and then start packing for school, organize things, paint a bookshelf) but I just would honestly rather not do any of that.
Here are some songs that make me think of Camp:
Endless Love - Lionel Richie and Diana Ross - it might seem like I'm being obnoxious by saying that this song reminds me of my campers, but I'm not. I sing this song during shower time to my ladies. I want to share all my love with campers. I can't resist their charms because they are so lovable. They mean the world to me. I'm a fool for my campers. No one can deny the love I have inside for my ladies.
Forever Like That - Ben Rector - pretty sure this song was written for Ben's wife...but I like it for my campers. This is exactly how I feel about them. I loved the time we spent together at Camp. I want to spend my forever like that.
Souvenirs - Switchfoot - I realize that these song selections are getting cheesier and cheesier, but I mean them sincerely.
Cups - Lulu and the Lampshades - any sight would look prettier if my campers were with me. I miss them by their hair and everywhere. I miss them by their talk and by their walk.
These Hard Times - Needtobreathe - this song pops into my head when I'm really stressed trying to figure everything out and it always so comforting. It reminds me that there's someone greater in control and He's got it all figured out.
Time of My Life - Bill Medley and Jennifer Warnes - my campers are the one thing I can't get enough of. And Camp is cool without them, but really they're what makes Camp. I owe it all to them. With them I am not afraid to lose control. With them I seriously have the time of my life.
Love,
Lauralicious
Sunday, July 28, 2013
Saturday, July 20, 2013
Who Needs a Hairdryer, Anyway?
So I was at the beach last week, and it was awesome. It was beautiful and lovely and sunny and warm and I read a ton of books and I loved it. Yadda yadda yadda. And then...on the last night, somebody robbed my family's car and a couple of other cars, too. And I'm mad. Other people had more significant/expensive/valuable stuff stolen, so I can't even imagine their emotions right now, because mine are pretty intense.
Here's what was taken from me: a bunch of movies (that I know and love with all my heart!), three pairs of shoes (that's six shoes in all. I really like shoes), my hairdryer, and my makeup. My good makeup that I just spent a ton of money on at Ulta. It's legit makeup. And now it's gone.
Y'all, nobody is going to get the same joy I got out of all my stuff. No other girl has feet as big as mine, so it's not like anyone else on earth can actually wear those shoes. And there are not a lot of girls with faces quite as pale as mine. So can someone else actually wear my makeup? I'd like to think not. And my movies and my hairdryer...I loved those things. Not to mention the bag they were in. Mrs. Wall got that for me for high school graduation and it was really pretty with polka dots on it and it had my monogram on it. It was a really nice bag.
And now it's gone. My stuff is gone.
And I could be positive. I could say, "At least my Chacos weren't stolen." or, "Thank goodness nobody got hurt." But no, I would rather be bitter.
Just kidding. I mean, I'm not kidding, but I probably should be haha.
But then I started thinking about what if somehow through the robbery and whatever, somebody actually got hurt or even died? I thought about how that would affect the loss of my things. I enjoy movies because I watch them with people. And they're generally about and made by people. I need shoes because they're functional, but I like them because they're pretty. Also sometimes I wear them to impress people with my taste in footwear. And I like makeup. Even though I don't wear it during Camp, and have only worn it once in the past six weeks (I'm kind of proud of that fact), that doesn't mean I want it stolen from me. I like having it. Also it's a conformity thing, because, even though I feel perfectly comfortable without makeup on, everybody else wears it, and I want to be like everybody else because I like everybody else. (At least most of them.) But I digress. I like makeup because it allows me to very indirectly please people. I think there are some mind games in there. It's kind of like wearing makeup brings me closer to people because it makes me just like them. I use my hairdryer because I'm too prideful to let my hair dry with just normal air and I'm too insecure to not fix it up the way I like. Even if that means leaving it down. It's kind of like the makeup thing; it gave me control over my appearance. And lastly, I like bags because they hold all my stuff. And I like stuff. I'm kind of a pack rat. Also bags are pretty. I like pretty things because then when I carry them and other people see them, those other people think I'm nice and cool and classy.
So...all of the stuff I don't have anymore allowed me to be close to or bond with people. They all started out as good things but I turned them into bad things because I have a sinful nature. Like I can't even help it, no matter how hard I try, and how sincerely I try to live. I'm helpless against my sin. I've been this way since forever. Since birth. I'm still wondering exactly what newborn infants do that is sinful, but I don't doubt that they are. Anyways.
And now I'm getting frustrated because come on, is there seriously no aspect of my life that sin has not ingrained itself into? Everything I do and everything I say and every stinking time I put on shoes or blow-dry my hair or put on mascara or carry a bag or watch a movie, whether or not I realize it, there's some sin in there. Just embedded deeply and quite sneakily, I might add. My motives are never pure. Neverrrrrr!
And that makes me mad because I like to think I'm pretty cool. I was looking at myself in the mirror recently (without makeup!) and I told myself that I have bright, eager eyes and full lips...not Angelina Jolie full, but adequately full. Maybe even prettily full. And I'm pretty nice to people on a general basis, and if I don't like them, I just suck it in like I suck in my waist when I'm pretending to be Scarlett O'Hara. Because sometimes I like to do that.
I'm really good at a lot of things: talking with my mouth full, being passive-aggressive, loudly saying really dumb things that are also offensive to people without even thinking first, slouching, and letting any encouragement I receive go straight up to my head. There's another area of my life containing sin: the encouragement department. People encourage me, and I thank them and act all sweet and humble and cute, and then verbally but not quite sincerely give the glory to God, whatever that means. But all the glory goes to God. Anything good about myself goes straight to Him because any good thing about myself is Him. Any and all of it. Even for the things that I had the idea for. Because it wasn't my idea. I just like to think I'm original and nifty. I can't even help it. But everything I do is God through me. I'm a conduit. So it's not me who's pretty cool most of the time. It's me who is terrible always, and God who swoops in and picks me up and makes me tolerable. And whole. And pure.
In the part of the Bible where it says, "but lay up for yourselves treasures in heaven, where neither moth nor rust destroys and where thieves do not break in and steal" somebody should have starred, highlighted, underlined, and tabbed that verse. Actually I take that back. If I did that with every verse that was insanely relevant to my life that like one, my whole Bible would be starred, highlighted, underlined, and tabbed.
And now to address that verse (Matthew 6:20) - if I read my Bible more often, maybe I would have remembered to actually obey that verse and store up some freaking treasures and quit storing stuff down here. Because there's just no point in storing stuff here on earth. Sometimes basements flood and water damage happens to stuff. Sometimes your sisters borrow your stuff and never give it back. Sometimes moths eat your clothes that were sitting in the back of your closet that you were never going to wear but wanted to keep anyways. Sometimes you get a pretty pink and purple bike for your fifth birthday, and then suddenly you're nineteen and the bike is really rusty and gross. Sometimes dumb people steal your shoes and your hairdryer and your movies and your brand new, really nice makeup and the pretty bag that you got for graduation and you realize that you were attached to your stuff, like a barnacle. In an unhealthy way.
And there ain't nothing you can do about it. Except for get bitter, which I was all day. Maybe not out loud so much, but inside I was mad. I just don't appreciate knowing that somebody else has my stuff. It's mine! Here's something I'm not good at: sharing. I'm good at sharing hugs and cookies, but that's about it. I don't like people taking my stuff because...it's mine. And that's the best reason I can come up with. Pretty lame.
If I actually used my brain every once in a while, I would recognize and realize that it's just stuff. It's just stuff. Just stuff. Just stuff. I don't bold or italicize or underline words a lot, so you know I really mean it when I do.
For reals though, it's just stuff. It doesn't even matter. In ten years, will I remember those pretty teal shoes I bought at Target that looked like Keds that weren't real Keds but just as cute and fun? Well, to be honest, I probably will. I have a pretty good memory when it comes to things that don't matter even a little bit (and a pretty bad memory when it comes to math formulas). I will remember them fondly. I might remember what happened to those shoes, and if I do, I'll look back and think about the lesson I learned when those shoes were stolen. The lesson I'm learning right now, as I type. It's a pretty big one, it turns out.
So what I've learned is: don't get so attached to shoes, because they'll all break or get stolen anyways. They can't last forever, and if they do, those are some pretty impressive shoes. And they're still not going to Heaven with you, which is where your actual treasure is. Being united with God in unending worship is your treasure! I hate to say this because it means that I was wrong (again), but praising God forever (forever!) is better than three pairs of shoes, eight movies, a hairdryer, $120 in makeup, and a pretty polka-dotted bag with my monogram on it. Actually, it's better than everything I own, have ever owned, and ever will own. Significantly.
Love,
Lauralicious
Here's what was taken from me: a bunch of movies (that I know and love with all my heart!), three pairs of shoes (that's six shoes in all. I really like shoes), my hairdryer, and my makeup. My good makeup that I just spent a ton of money on at Ulta. It's legit makeup. And now it's gone.
Y'all, nobody is going to get the same joy I got out of all my stuff. No other girl has feet as big as mine, so it's not like anyone else on earth can actually wear those shoes. And there are not a lot of girls with faces quite as pale as mine. So can someone else actually wear my makeup? I'd like to think not. And my movies and my hairdryer...I loved those things. Not to mention the bag they were in. Mrs. Wall got that for me for high school graduation and it was really pretty with polka dots on it and it had my monogram on it. It was a really nice bag.
And now it's gone. My stuff is gone.
And I could be positive. I could say, "At least my Chacos weren't stolen." or, "Thank goodness nobody got hurt." But no, I would rather be bitter.
Just kidding. I mean, I'm not kidding, but I probably should be haha.
But then I started thinking about what if somehow through the robbery and whatever, somebody actually got hurt or even died? I thought about how that would affect the loss of my things. I enjoy movies because I watch them with people. And they're generally about and made by people. I need shoes because they're functional, but I like them because they're pretty. Also sometimes I wear them to impress people with my taste in footwear. And I like makeup. Even though I don't wear it during Camp, and have only worn it once in the past six weeks (I'm kind of proud of that fact), that doesn't mean I want it stolen from me. I like having it. Also it's a conformity thing, because, even though I feel perfectly comfortable without makeup on, everybody else wears it, and I want to be like everybody else because I like everybody else. (At least most of them.) But I digress. I like makeup because it allows me to very indirectly please people. I think there are some mind games in there. It's kind of like wearing makeup brings me closer to people because it makes me just like them. I use my hairdryer because I'm too prideful to let my hair dry with just normal air and I'm too insecure to not fix it up the way I like. Even if that means leaving it down. It's kind of like the makeup thing; it gave me control over my appearance. And lastly, I like bags because they hold all my stuff. And I like stuff. I'm kind of a pack rat. Also bags are pretty. I like pretty things because then when I carry them and other people see them, those other people think I'm nice and cool and classy.
So...all of the stuff I don't have anymore allowed me to be close to or bond with people. They all started out as good things but I turned them into bad things because I have a sinful nature. Like I can't even help it, no matter how hard I try, and how sincerely I try to live. I'm helpless against my sin. I've been this way since forever. Since birth. I'm still wondering exactly what newborn infants do that is sinful, but I don't doubt that they are. Anyways.
And now I'm getting frustrated because come on, is there seriously no aspect of my life that sin has not ingrained itself into? Everything I do and everything I say and every stinking time I put on shoes or blow-dry my hair or put on mascara or carry a bag or watch a movie, whether or not I realize it, there's some sin in there. Just embedded deeply and quite sneakily, I might add. My motives are never pure. Neverrrrrr!
And that makes me mad because I like to think I'm pretty cool. I was looking at myself in the mirror recently (without makeup!) and I told myself that I have bright, eager eyes and full lips...not Angelina Jolie full, but adequately full. Maybe even prettily full. And I'm pretty nice to people on a general basis, and if I don't like them, I just suck it in like I suck in my waist when I'm pretending to be Scarlett O'Hara. Because sometimes I like to do that.
I'm really good at a lot of things: talking with my mouth full, being passive-aggressive, loudly saying really dumb things that are also offensive to people without even thinking first, slouching, and letting any encouragement I receive go straight up to my head. There's another area of my life containing sin: the encouragement department. People encourage me, and I thank them and act all sweet and humble and cute, and then verbally but not quite sincerely give the glory to God, whatever that means. But all the glory goes to God. Anything good about myself goes straight to Him because any good thing about myself is Him. Any and all of it. Even for the things that I had the idea for. Because it wasn't my idea. I just like to think I'm original and nifty. I can't even help it. But everything I do is God through me. I'm a conduit. So it's not me who's pretty cool most of the time. It's me who is terrible always, and God who swoops in and picks me up and makes me tolerable. And whole. And pure.
In the part of the Bible where it says, "but lay up for yourselves treasures in heaven, where neither moth nor rust destroys and where thieves do not break in and steal" somebody should have starred, highlighted, underlined, and tabbed that verse. Actually I take that back. If I did that with every verse that was insanely relevant to my life that like one, my whole Bible would be starred, highlighted, underlined, and tabbed.
And now to address that verse (Matthew 6:20) - if I read my Bible more often, maybe I would have remembered to actually obey that verse and store up some freaking treasures and quit storing stuff down here. Because there's just no point in storing stuff here on earth. Sometimes basements flood and water damage happens to stuff. Sometimes your sisters borrow your stuff and never give it back. Sometimes moths eat your clothes that were sitting in the back of your closet that you were never going to wear but wanted to keep anyways. Sometimes you get a pretty pink and purple bike for your fifth birthday, and then suddenly you're nineteen and the bike is really rusty and gross. Sometimes dumb people steal your shoes and your hairdryer and your movies and your brand new, really nice makeup and the pretty bag that you got for graduation and you realize that you were attached to your stuff, like a barnacle. In an unhealthy way.
And there ain't nothing you can do about it. Except for get bitter, which I was all day. Maybe not out loud so much, but inside I was mad. I just don't appreciate knowing that somebody else has my stuff. It's mine! Here's something I'm not good at: sharing. I'm good at sharing hugs and cookies, but that's about it. I don't like people taking my stuff because...it's mine. And that's the best reason I can come up with. Pretty lame.
If I actually used my brain every once in a while, I would recognize and realize that it's just stuff. It's just stuff. Just stuff. Just stuff. I don't bold or italicize or underline words a lot, so you know I really mean it when I do.
For reals though, it's just stuff. It doesn't even matter. In ten years, will I remember those pretty teal shoes I bought at Target that looked like Keds that weren't real Keds but just as cute and fun? Well, to be honest, I probably will. I have a pretty good memory when it comes to things that don't matter even a little bit (and a pretty bad memory when it comes to math formulas). I will remember them fondly. I might remember what happened to those shoes, and if I do, I'll look back and think about the lesson I learned when those shoes were stolen. The lesson I'm learning right now, as I type. It's a pretty big one, it turns out.
So what I've learned is: don't get so attached to shoes, because they'll all break or get stolen anyways. They can't last forever, and if they do, those are some pretty impressive shoes. And they're still not going to Heaven with you, which is where your actual treasure is. Being united with God in unending worship is your treasure! I hate to say this because it means that I was wrong (again), but praising God forever (forever!) is better than three pairs of shoes, eight movies, a hairdryer, $120 in makeup, and a pretty polka-dotted bag with my monogram on it. Actually, it's better than everything I own, have ever owned, and ever will own. Significantly.
Love,
Lauralicious
Sunday, July 14, 2013
Let Us Love
When I'm at Camp, even though I'm in Clemson, I don't hang out with my non-Camp friends a lot, and sometimes they try to make me feel bad about neglecting them. So I do the same by saying, "I'm changing lives. What are you doing with your summer?" I'm kind of a jerk when I say that. Because, really, my life is the one being changed. I just like to be a jerk sometimes.
On an unrelated note, I can't go anywhere in Clemson without seeing someone I know. Which I love. Specifically at Walmart and Chick Fil A. It's gotten to the point where I'm kind of in a competition with myself and if I don't see someone I know at either of those places I get very sad in my heart.
On another unrelated note, have you ever been to Walmart late at night? It's creepy. I usually try to not go alone if possible and go in and out quickly with a minimal amount of impulse items.
So, a couple of weeks ago, on my night off from Camp, I had to run quickly to Walmart to grab some stuff on my way back to Camp. It was 11:30 and pretty sketchy. I was getting sad because I didn't see anybody I knew in there. Usually at least I know some of the cashiers because I went to high school with a lot of them, but I didn't know any of the cashiers that night, so I was walking out with a sad, long face, because I had finally gone to Walmart and not seen someone I knew. My spell was broken. That's when I saw two people I had gone to high school with.
It was a guy and a girl. The guy was in my grade, and he had played football all four years and was really good. The girl was in my brother's grade, so two years younger, and she was holding a baby who looked a couple of months old. It was a super cute baby, but it was a sad scene. I mean maybe they were babysitting together and it wasn't actually their baby, but still, it's not really okay to bring a little baby to Walmart at 11:30 at night. And, because the girl and I had been in the same creative writing class together two years ago and I was in the same grade (we had a graduating class of 263) as the guy, there was no avoiding eye contact or at least recognition. So I tried to muster up a smile for them but I probably just looked incredibly uncomfortable.
And suddenly, all of my pride was just drowned by shame. I felt so bad for being rude to my friends and saying that "I'm changing lives" all the time because obviously there are lives all over the place that need changing. I'm no better than anybody else just because I go to a special place where troubles melt like lemon drops and I have encouragement from people who do the same thing with their summer to stay strong and let the joy of the Lord shine through me.
So what I'm saying is: just because I'm doing a good thing at Camp doesn't mean I'm curing the world or that I'm certified to act like it. If I start acting that way or even just thinking in that uppity, superior mindset, then I'm doing Camp for myself instead of for everybody else there, which is why I started working in the first place. I started working so that I could more concretely and intentionally be a conduit of Christ's love and grace in my life into the lives of others as well. I have the opportunity to daily shower with love and patience so many campers who need it more than I need chocolate, which is a lot. I'm not even kidding. And then when I leave, I am so blessed because I am equipped with the skills to do the same with people outside the gates. And I can't remind myself of that enough.
"And he said to all, 'If anyone would come after me, let him deny himself and take up his cross daily and follow me.' " - Luke 9:23
AKA: quit getting cocky, Laura. Not cool. Be daily humbled by your Savior and His great grace to your heart. Show love and joy and peace to everybody you come in contact with.
Camp is love. Love is Camp.
Love,
Lauralicious
On an unrelated note, I can't go anywhere in Clemson without seeing someone I know. Which I love. Specifically at Walmart and Chick Fil A. It's gotten to the point where I'm kind of in a competition with myself and if I don't see someone I know at either of those places I get very sad in my heart.
On another unrelated note, have you ever been to Walmart late at night? It's creepy. I usually try to not go alone if possible and go in and out quickly with a minimal amount of impulse items.
So, a couple of weeks ago, on my night off from Camp, I had to run quickly to Walmart to grab some stuff on my way back to Camp. It was 11:30 and pretty sketchy. I was getting sad because I didn't see anybody I knew in there. Usually at least I know some of the cashiers because I went to high school with a lot of them, but I didn't know any of the cashiers that night, so I was walking out with a sad, long face, because I had finally gone to Walmart and not seen someone I knew. My spell was broken. That's when I saw two people I had gone to high school with.
It was a guy and a girl. The guy was in my grade, and he had played football all four years and was really good. The girl was in my brother's grade, so two years younger, and she was holding a baby who looked a couple of months old. It was a super cute baby, but it was a sad scene. I mean maybe they were babysitting together and it wasn't actually their baby, but still, it's not really okay to bring a little baby to Walmart at 11:30 at night. And, because the girl and I had been in the same creative writing class together two years ago and I was in the same grade (we had a graduating class of 263) as the guy, there was no avoiding eye contact or at least recognition. So I tried to muster up a smile for them but I probably just looked incredibly uncomfortable.
And suddenly, all of my pride was just drowned by shame. I felt so bad for being rude to my friends and saying that "I'm changing lives" all the time because obviously there are lives all over the place that need changing. I'm no better than anybody else just because I go to a special place where troubles melt like lemon drops and I have encouragement from people who do the same thing with their summer to stay strong and let the joy of the Lord shine through me.
So what I'm saying is: just because I'm doing a good thing at Camp doesn't mean I'm curing the world or that I'm certified to act like it. If I start acting that way or even just thinking in that uppity, superior mindset, then I'm doing Camp for myself instead of for everybody else there, which is why I started working in the first place. I started working so that I could more concretely and intentionally be a conduit of Christ's love and grace in my life into the lives of others as well. I have the opportunity to daily shower with love and patience so many campers who need it more than I need chocolate, which is a lot. I'm not even kidding. And then when I leave, I am so blessed because I am equipped with the skills to do the same with people outside the gates. And I can't remind myself of that enough.
"And he said to all, 'If anyone would come after me, let him deny himself and take up his cross daily and follow me.' " - Luke 9:23
AKA: quit getting cocky, Laura. Not cool. Be daily humbled by your Savior and His great grace to your heart. Show love and joy and peace to everybody you come in contact with.
Camp is love. Love is Camp.
Love,
Lauralicious
Thursday, July 11, 2013
The Worst Job in the World
I hate my job.
Every Sunday afternoon,
Instead of taking my Sunday afternoon nap,
I am charged with the care and keeping of
Eight crazies.
I get paid to make sure they put their shoes on the right
feet
And try two bites of all their food
And brush their teeth before they go to bed
And participate in activities that I don’t always even like.
I have to keep them out of harm’s way
Until Saturday,
When whoever takes care of them comes and takes them home.
No one told me this is how it would be.
I was not adequately warned of the dangers of this job.
When I interviewed,
Thomas Martin did not tell me:
“Be careful. You will fall in love.”
Actually, maybe he did. But he should have forced me to
listen.
When I interviewed,
We went through theoretical scenarios
And talked about why I wanted this job.
And I really wanted it.
And now here I am.
Three years later.
Every Sunday,
The most beautiful
Happy
Pure
Joyful
Souls are placed in to my care.
It’s my job to make sure they go back home
Better than they were when they were given to me.
I am put in a position where I
Can’t
Not fall in love.
I am put in a position where I
Cry
Every time a car containing the heart of one I love
Drives in the direction away from me.
And then I’m left with all of these others,
Who are just like me,
But who understand
And we hold each other
While we
Cry.
And then it’s time to get ready for more
Love and
Friendship and
Songs about little green frogs and
Trying new things and
Outpouring of emotions and
No sleep.
And we will die empty.
I love my job.
Love,
Lauralicious
Saturday, July 6, 2013
Concouragement
This week was so rough. On Sunday when campers arrived, I felt really stressed out trying to greet everyone enthusiastically but also pay attention to everything ever (specifically medicine) and then a camper showed up with a walker and moved really slowly which is not okay at Camp. So when Leslie asked me how I was doing, I had to fight within myself to not break down on top of her shoulder.
Then Monday happened, and I was just so tired all of the time and I got really frustrated when trying to work with a camper and ending up crying in front of her. Which did not speed up the process of me convincing her it was time to go. On Tuesday, I was irritable and sleepy. I was not my nicest self. Then on Wednesday, I decided on the perfect hiding place to save for one day when I absolutely can't take it anymore and need to go away and not be found. Thursday, I had time off and it was wonderful and renewing, and then Thursday night was crazy and Friday morning was worse and then all day Friday I just kept on getting wet because it would not stop raining. And then today, Saturday, all of my campers left. And, to be honest, I was ready for them to go. I was sad to see them leave, but I was just ready.
In other words: not my best week. It wasn't my worst week either, but also not my best. A lot of my campers were honestly just annoying and frustrating and I didn't feel like being patient with them and explaining to them the reason that it's totally not okay to bite people. So instead, I just harshly told them to not bite. Most of the time the way I felt about my campers was this: I loved them, but I didn't necessarily like them all the time.
Included in my life plan is working as long as possible at Camp. But at one point on Friday, I realized that maybe I'm the worst counselor ever. I had never had a thought this drastic before. I've had doubts about myself before, but now I was thinking that I shouldn't come back to Camp after this summer. I was thinking that I was not cut out for this and absolutely no one was benefitting from my being here and that the reason no one had told me this was to spare my feelings.
It was so frustrating. But then I was convicted/encouraged. Concouraged, maybe?
Because I'm more annoying than the camper who asks me with incredible persistence to inject hemorrhoid cream into her butt (which I just as persistently refused to do. Because no.). I'm more frustrating than a camper who won't eat anything but peanut-butter and jelly sandwiches. I'm more tiring than a camper who legitimately cannot sit still for longer than two minutes. I'm more depressing than a camper who doesn't know better than to use the f-word when mad. I'm more hilariously exhausting than a camper who laughs so hard she poops her pants all the time. I'm more slow (and heavy) than a camper who needs to be pushed in a wheelchair everywhere she goes all week long. I'm more irrational than a camper who won't get out of bed to go eat breakfast in the morning even though she admits how hungry she is. And I'm more loud than a camper who has no talking voice, only a yelling voice.
And yet, God gives me grace. He chooses to look past all those things about me and love me. Even when I know better than to do all the things I'm doing and I'm honestly just testing how manipulative I can be. And for that I am forever grateful. So I can express my gratitude by doing the same to my campers. I can love them and love them more and continue to love them until they leave me. Despite the fact that they're being annoying on purpose and they know exactly what they're doing. I can just smother those babies with love.
I realized last week that not a lot of campers are sang lullabies and tucked in at night. And then I had one camper this week who was really annoying. Seriously. Just so annoying. It was easy to be impatient with her and tolerate instead of enjoy her company, but then I realized that probably everyone she knows is like that to her. Critical and short and unpleasant. So then I decided to do my very best to be as patient with her as I could. I was about 60% successful. So all of that was my conviction.
And then came the encouragement. Every Friday night, all of the counselors and supervisors have a meeting to plan for next week, and before the meeting is officially started, each counselor gets a Tajar, which is kind of a run-down on the past week. So we read the front of our Tajars, and then on the back of it, we write any suggestions we have for Camp to be improved and then kind of just how we're feeling and doing. Mine is always really long because seriously, there are a lot of emotions in my heart and brain all the time. After we're done, all of the supervisors read our Tajars.
So last night, I wrote in my Tajar about how discouraged I was for most of this week. And then later, one of the supervisors came up to me and told me she loves getting to read my Tajar, and then I kind of almost broke down on her and she was so encouraging. She hugged me (I've discovered that I need more hugs than the average person. I require a lot lot lot of hugs all the time) and then told me that she'll hug me anytime and it was just what I needed. And then today, it was time to get ready for next week, and one of my co-counselors told me how excited she was to work with both me and the other girl we're going to be with. She said that we're both good with campers and she was so genuine and I realized that maybe I can do this. Maybe I am a partly adequate counselor.
Conclusion: everybody gets sad sometimes. And yes maybe you have things to work on in your life and you could have been a better counselor this week but that doesn't mean you're the worst person in the world. And that is all.
Love,
Lauralicious
Then Monday happened, and I was just so tired all of the time and I got really frustrated when trying to work with a camper and ending up crying in front of her. Which did not speed up the process of me convincing her it was time to go. On Tuesday, I was irritable and sleepy. I was not my nicest self. Then on Wednesday, I decided on the perfect hiding place to save for one day when I absolutely can't take it anymore and need to go away and not be found. Thursday, I had time off and it was wonderful and renewing, and then Thursday night was crazy and Friday morning was worse and then all day Friday I just kept on getting wet because it would not stop raining. And then today, Saturday, all of my campers left. And, to be honest, I was ready for them to go. I was sad to see them leave, but I was just ready.
In other words: not my best week. It wasn't my worst week either, but also not my best. A lot of my campers were honestly just annoying and frustrating and I didn't feel like being patient with them and explaining to them the reason that it's totally not okay to bite people. So instead, I just harshly told them to not bite. Most of the time the way I felt about my campers was this: I loved them, but I didn't necessarily like them all the time.
Included in my life plan is working as long as possible at Camp. But at one point on Friday, I realized that maybe I'm the worst counselor ever. I had never had a thought this drastic before. I've had doubts about myself before, but now I was thinking that I shouldn't come back to Camp after this summer. I was thinking that I was not cut out for this and absolutely no one was benefitting from my being here and that the reason no one had told me this was to spare my feelings.
It was so frustrating. But then I was convicted/encouraged. Concouraged, maybe?
Because I'm more annoying than the camper who asks me with incredible persistence to inject hemorrhoid cream into her butt (which I just as persistently refused to do. Because no.). I'm more frustrating than a camper who won't eat anything but peanut-butter and jelly sandwiches. I'm more tiring than a camper who legitimately cannot sit still for longer than two minutes. I'm more depressing than a camper who doesn't know better than to use the f-word when mad. I'm more hilariously exhausting than a camper who laughs so hard she poops her pants all the time. I'm more slow (and heavy) than a camper who needs to be pushed in a wheelchair everywhere she goes all week long. I'm more irrational than a camper who won't get out of bed to go eat breakfast in the morning even though she admits how hungry she is. And I'm more loud than a camper who has no talking voice, only a yelling voice.
And yet, God gives me grace. He chooses to look past all those things about me and love me. Even when I know better than to do all the things I'm doing and I'm honestly just testing how manipulative I can be. And for that I am forever grateful. So I can express my gratitude by doing the same to my campers. I can love them and love them more and continue to love them until they leave me. Despite the fact that they're being annoying on purpose and they know exactly what they're doing. I can just smother those babies with love.
I realized last week that not a lot of campers are sang lullabies and tucked in at night. And then I had one camper this week who was really annoying. Seriously. Just so annoying. It was easy to be impatient with her and tolerate instead of enjoy her company, but then I realized that probably everyone she knows is like that to her. Critical and short and unpleasant. So then I decided to do my very best to be as patient with her as I could. I was about 60% successful. So all of that was my conviction.
And then came the encouragement. Every Friday night, all of the counselors and supervisors have a meeting to plan for next week, and before the meeting is officially started, each counselor gets a Tajar, which is kind of a run-down on the past week. So we read the front of our Tajars, and then on the back of it, we write any suggestions we have for Camp to be improved and then kind of just how we're feeling and doing. Mine is always really long because seriously, there are a lot of emotions in my heart and brain all the time. After we're done, all of the supervisors read our Tajars.
So last night, I wrote in my Tajar about how discouraged I was for most of this week. And then later, one of the supervisors came up to me and told me she loves getting to read my Tajar, and then I kind of almost broke down on her and she was so encouraging. She hugged me (I've discovered that I need more hugs than the average person. I require a lot lot lot of hugs all the time) and then told me that she'll hug me anytime and it was just what I needed. And then today, it was time to get ready for next week, and one of my co-counselors told me how excited she was to work with both me and the other girl we're going to be with. She said that we're both good with campers and she was so genuine and I realized that maybe I can do this. Maybe I am a partly adequate counselor.
Conclusion: everybody gets sad sometimes. And yes maybe you have things to work on in your life and you could have been a better counselor this week but that doesn't mean you're the worst person in the world. And that is all.
Love,
Lauralicious
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