We had braved the rapids (ok, mostly calm waters) by rafting down the Little Miami River.
We sported smiles and stored away happy memories (but not pictures since, well, getting wet was a foregone conclusion. This picture was after our canoe experience).
We were happy, but we were exhausted.
We were happy, but we were exhausted.
And wet (river rafting + rain will do that to you).
All we wanted were some dry clothes and down time in our cabin.
But on our way back, the counselors for the 4th grade girls were informed that bedbugs had been discovered in our cabin, so our cabin and clothes were unavailable.
All the other villages returned to their cabins, but we made a game out of NOT going.
"Let's practice our songs and our memory verse so we can present them at dinner!"
"Okay!"
We led out with joy and strength and spontaneity, and the girls followed along, unaware that there was any problem.
We led out with joy and strength and spontaneity, and the girls followed along, unaware that there was any problem.
On to dinner...in our wet clothes (on an uncharacteristically cooler summer day). We were wet, but we were wet together, and the girls didn't even seem to mind.
After dinner, though, they started asking about going back to our cabin (which was still unavailable). So, we made up another fun game to do in the meantime, and the girls again happily followed along.
On to evening jam time...in our wet clothes. The high energy worship experience and dramas and videos and teaching time left no room for grumbling, although I was starting to get a little antsy. This can't last forever, right?
Finally, after jam time, it was dark-thirty, and we had the go-ahead to return to our cabin. I was informed, though, that all of our clothes and sheets had been washed (but not put away) and all of our non-clothes items were in ziploc bags.
Again, I led up and told the girls with enthusiasm, "Guess what? The folks at base camp washed all our clothes and sheets! Wasn't that nice of them? We'll have to put the sheets back on our beds before we can go to sleep, but we can help each other!"
Their response mirrored mine -- cheerful and grateful and content. They were unaware of all the drama and stress and to-do of that afternoon/evening. Later, we informed the parents of the situation, but the campers didn't need to know all the details. They just followed along, trusting their leaders.
It was a shining leadership moment for me.
And I wish I could say that I always operate that way.
At the beginning of this Covid season, I did. I led our boys with enthusiasm and spontaneity and creativity and joy and Guess-what-we-get-to-do?!
But, eleven months' worth of persevering is a whole lot more than an afternoon and evening at camp (even though that felt long at the time).
And now, I'm leading not a crew of giggly girls but our house-o-boys.
And it's not a sunny summer day at camp -- it's the bleak midwinter, and the past two weeks have consisted of ice storm upon snow/sleet/ice storm upon winter storm. The Groundhog was right, and spring/post-Covid era/normalcy seem so far away.
My joy is waning...
My contentment is out the door...
My creative juices are dry...
My patience is thin...
My fuse is short...
My default mode is grumbling...
and my boys are following my lead.
Child development experts say that boredom paves the way for creativity. That might be the case for Day 10 or 52 of Covid, but on Day Whatever, I'm in a rut. Christmas, birthdays, and Valentine's Day have passed with nowhere near the hoopla I usually muster.
These words were part of a Digital Diary for the Pandemic Journaling Project
“Right now. Right now feels like every other minute of the day, of the week, of the month. Right now feels like forever. … Right now feels so long and without any end in sight, without a change.” — Teacher and mother of four, in her 30s, from Massachusetts.
This was from May 30, 2020, y'all. And it still feels like that in the following February. And it could've said "Teacher and mother of four, in her 30s, from Kentucky" (that'd be me).
I don't have the answers. I don't know how to whip myself into shape, or even if that's what is necessary.
I feel like I'm stuck in wet clothes from a day of rafting, and I'm starting to shiver, and I don't have the energy to lead with strength and joy and spontaneity and creativity this time around.
Jesus, I'm at the end of myself. I have nothing more to give. Fill me to overflowing with Your creativity, peace, and perseverance. Give me joy in the journey, that those following after me would learn to enjoy the ride, too. Help me find beauty in the bedbugs, boredom, and bleak midwinter.
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