Camp Favorites 2009

The skits and passion play. We followed Moses and the Children of Israel to the Promised Land. I was Jochebed. Oh to raise a son like Jochebed. These daily skits all led up to the passion play which was seeing the plan of salvation through Moses' eyes. We saw the power of sin and the greater power of God.



Myers-Briggs. This summer all the staff got into figuring out their Myers-Briggs. It's a personality test. I am an ISFJ--Introvert, Sensing, Feeling, Judging. It cracked me up how we were always talking about it. "Oh, that's because you're an S!" "That was a very J thing to do..." Funny. It helped us to understand one another better. Most of the staff were Introverts. One day Joel came back from his day off to find Kristin reading, Christy off playing the guitar, me off talking with Olivia, and Shannon (one of the few Extroverts) playing volleyball. It had been a long day, I guess!

God time. I've been reading through Prophets and Kings along with the Bible. Right now I'm in Jeremiah and Ezekiel. The most fascinating thing to me is the idea of Israel playing a harlot--cheating on God and becoming like other nations in order to fill their need of a Savior. I pray that I can stay true to God and not search for other things to fulfill me.

The children. I made friends with a four year old girl named Olivia. She would follow me around and sit with me in chapel. "I'm going to pick where we are going to sit, k?" One night in chapel she leaned over and whispered in my ear "I luff you," in her sweet little French accent. What heart wouldn't melt? Jesus says to be like little children. We can learn from their innocence, willingness to trust, and their propensity to follow you where ever you go.


Wakeboarding. Getting up and heading to Barefoot Bay early in the morning when the water is like glass.







Red, Right, Returning! Driving (the Nautique of course) to Fish Creek through the channel is one of my favorite things to do. Water lilies flank the boat on either side as we slip through the no-wake-zone at 5 mph. The whole boat engages in pleasant conversation as we look for ducks, dragon flies, and turtles.


The last-night-of-camp-girl-bonding-activity. Enough said.



Lizzy. Kids camps wouldn't be the same without Lizzy. Lizzy has Down's Syndrome. The entire staff gathered around Lizzy as she left, many eyes glistening with tears.


SPs and NYSPs. We had secret pals amongst the staff. An uproar was created when people received gifts from people who weren't their secret pals! This was dubbed "NYSP," or "Not Your Secret Pal."

Jumping Pictures.

Showering in the lake.







Sleeping in the lean-to. Fresh air is the best.



The Loons.




Seeing God's power. God made Himself known this summer at camp. Getting the bathhouses done by the skin of our teeth, keeping us safe all summer, giving us wisdom, after all, it is His camp.

All to Jesus...

"If God has given me the gift of music, why would he ask me to give it up?" This was the question I asked Dr. Parker as I sat in his office. His response was a question. "Is music for God, or is music for you?"

Me. Music is for me. I love to practice. I love the challenge of taking something I can hardly sightread and practicing it until it's perfect. I love making music with other musicians in an ensemble. I started playing flute in third grade. Ever since then I wanted to be a music teacher. So naturally, I centered my life around flute. I loved band in high school. I played in a youth orchestra on Sundays. I majored in music when I got to Southern, and decided to go on to more school to be able to teach flute.

There was just one problem...I had not been accepted to any of the grad schools I applied to. I felt this strange feeling that I needed to be doing something more to hasten the soon return of Jesus. But there's no way I'd give up a career of music! Seriously, I would rather have my arm cut off than make the decision to not make a career out of music. It wouldn't have to be my choice. Then, ten years later when I'm working at an orphanage mothering hundreds of children I overhear one ask another "I found out that Miss Reynolds used to play the flute...what happened? What happened to her arm?" "Shhhhh! We don't talk about that. Miss Reynolds hasn't played the flute since the accident." (I guess that wouldn't be me surrendering...would it?)

After my talk with Dr. Parker I felt freer. Wahoo, I was going to give God everything. God was going to paint the picture of my life. Yay. I went on the Biology trail and had a nice talk with God.

Tuesday morning I got a message from a trumpet player. They needed a first flute for a gig in Soddy Daisy. I've played this gig before for two years. It's a blast--an Easter musical of the life of Jesus, complete with sheep, camels, warm people--and about $675. Problem: I would miss every single Pentecost meeting but the first weekend. Is this surrendering, God? Do you want me to give up this fun opportunity to make money in order to attend Pentecost?

I was doing fine until Tuesday night during orchestra. We were playing Brahms. What can be more moving than Brahms? Rich harmonies, complex rhythms, and beautiful melodies. Passion and love flooded my soul. No. I can't give this up. I won't. I almost started crying there in rehearsal. As I biked home I fought with God. How could you take away something I love so much? This was God's response: "Bekah, you love it too much."

The next day before my lesson I went to the music building to practice. I played about two measures and the beauty, fascination, and love overwhelmed through me. I broke down, sat on the floor, and sobbed. I can't imagine not doing this everyday of my life. God you can't take this from me! Please! I won't let you.

It's been several weeks now and I really believe that it took rejection for God to get my attention. I was putting music above Him--valuing it too much, especially my success in it. I still may end up at an orphanage mothering hundreds of children or I may end up trying for grad school again. Or maybe it's something totally different than I could ever imgine. But for now I'm taking this day and giving it to God.

a silly conversation about the meaning of lol

me: lol

see

if you would count how many times i have said lol

10:24 AM in this conversation

it would be a lot

Lorrie: true, u do say it alot but I do too so I don't notice. it's like routine of conversation for us

me: i just like to be responsive to what people say

Lorrie: natural IM response

me: i know...lol

Lorrie: and others may think you're hysterically laughing and think it is strange

me: LOL

10:25 AM Lorrie: heehee

me: oh dear

see

now if it's capitol

that's diff

Lorrie: true

thats like major outburst- may actually be laughing in real life

me: hahahahaha

yes

Lorrie: while "lol" is not usually real laughter

me: right

Lorrie: "LOL" is

yes

deflated dreams

Thursday afternoon Lorrie and I headed up to New York. We stopped in West Virginia at some peoples' house for the night. Our accommodations were an air mattress on the living room floor. We got there late and got to bed around 11:30. The air mattress wasn't very firm when we went to bed...

At 5:30 AM:

Lorrie: "Are you on the floor?"
Me: "Mmhmm"

Uncontrollable laughter ensued.

Yesterday, as I was waiting for convocation to start, I was having a somewhat vehement vent to Joe, who was playing piano for me. I was complaining about how Southern pushes student missions so much. "Be a student missionary--you won't regret it!" "Take time off, figure out your life!" "Southern sends out the most student missionaries, uphold the standard!" Southern Missionary College. (hmm, well maybe that's better than Southern Matrimony College. . . ) I suppose this bothers me because I was never an SM. I don't feel like I was called to be an SM. How come Southern can't stress being a missionary here, in the United States, and prepare us to be missionaries after we graduate? What if we're passionate about reaching people here? This prompted the question to Joe, "Well, why don't we learn that stuff here?" He said, "If you want to learn that stuff, you've got to go to Arise, or AFCOE . . ." "But that's STUPID!" I cut him off. "I'm going to an Adventist school. We should be learning that here." "It's because we they have standards they have to keep up with here, and they're too caught up in the academics." I shook my head, appalled.

Convocation started and a bunch of people announced different activities coming up. Then Dr. Bietz stood at the pulpit. He made some remark about all the activities and then said, "But don't forget the real reason why you're going to school here. . ." As he paused, I wondered what he was going to say. Spirituality? God? What's the reason we're going to school here? " . . .the real reason why you're going to school here . . . academics." There you have it. Straight from President Bietz's mouth. Southern is about academics. If Southern was about academics for me, I wouldn't be here. The music department? Pshhhh, I could be getting a much better and cheaper academic education else where. (I mean band? Really!)

So why did I come to Southern? I went to public school. In high school I decided that I wanted to attend an Adventist school. I thought to myself, It will be nice not to have to worry about doing stuff on Sabbath. It will be nice not to explain why I don't go to dances. It will be nice to have people who understand why I eat strange food. It will be nice to be around Adventist young people. But you know what, I've gained a lot more than just fellowship and acceptance of my "strange" ways. I've grown into a deeper relationship with my Savior. Grades won't matter in heaven. You won't show up with "Straight A Student" written on your crown. (I'm not advocating being a lazy student. . .) What matters is that person you helped. The encouragement you gave someone when he was having a bad day. The service you've done for others. The time you've spent with Jesus. So why are you at Southern? In my last months here I hope to take full advantage of the opportunities I am given to grow in Jesus Christ--to start being a missionary here at school. After all, it is Southern Missionary College, right?