Fading Night

This is a poem I wrote after Writing class a few weeks ago. Yeah, yeah, I used to say I didn't really do the whole "poetry" thing...but then I read some poetry that was actually really good, and my opinion about it always being overly wishy-washy and gag-inducing changed a bit. ANYHOW, it's been a LONG TIME since any new material has been posted here, so I kinda figured it was time....and, considering this is one of my very first (and quite possibly very last) poems written, please bear with me...

The sun's authority closes the day; all life is laid to rest. As darkness pours into every crevice, who am I to protest? If Earth is blackened empty space, the sky above is full; pulling every illumined sphere to its heart, leaving none below. So I draw mine eye to the cylindrical glass; magnified portal to the moon. When the sun alights the breaking morn, it will have come too soon.

Noble Earth

Eyes uncover, revealed to a roughly sketched world;

Not colorless, but shades of every light wavelength smeared like a confused prism.
Heavy, heavy, your arms, and weighted your chest with a beautiful pain that only you and the rest of existence knows; a bittersweet everyone tastes, and some even crave, until it touches their lips and its potency is far too strong. Steady now your wavering knees and fickle courage. Weak and brave you are to ask for it again; your exposure proves both honesty and folly as your uneasy feet inch stoutly before you. If these steps never reverse, bless the ground ahead and continue on; but if they do, bless it anyways and run again to this place, where you may simply be and wait in expectation of nobler earth to tread.

Of Destruction and Vacancy

Not sure if I'll keep the above title for this one...but that is what it shall be called for the time being. As for this piece, like many of the others that have been posted here, it may be changed, revised, etc. to some degree at a later time...however, it is also likely that I will never touch it again. As to why it was written, well, I'm not going to explain this one. It just is, and shall remain that way.

Another week, another row unravelled; six more seams torn out and fabric rotting. Patches don't last and mending heals little. Knots help just till the thread turns brittle. A lifetime pulled apart, piece by piece. Scraps float to the floor until it is covered with an incomplete puzzle of memories. Another day, and it is gone. Swept up and pushed out of sight, leaving empty table, empty floor, empty hands without their master. Grasping for the last remaining shreds could not rebuild it, or even save the tiniest remnants. Melt into the floor-boards, you pile of an ended life. Break into unseen dust, and leave only the knowledge of your former brilliant existence to take your place in this empty room.

The City

Whoa nelly, it's been a long time since I've posted anything on here. I guess there just hasn't been a whole lot of time for writing recently after an early spring full of family stuff followed by a maxed-out late spring. So now, as things have wound down a bit, I have finally composed the following which is a brief, incomplete description of the city which I live near, and I wrote it while flying above my city in an airplane on my way to see my best friends. So, without further ado: The City.

         They lived in a carved-out forest, clusters of evergreens and concrete buildings rising up from the ground as they each pushed to claim the majority of land. The City's atmosphere was secure and comfortable, if not fairly mundane. Despite a few curious locations and the ever-present panoramic views of the Mountain, valley and hills, the area remained, as it had always been, a collection of knolls, woods and city blocks, criss-crossed by bridge-spanned rivers and protected by an almost permanent, though often cracked, cloud cover.
        Nearly all of the city's residents, providing that they had lived there long enough to become accustomed to the weather, could, for the most part, really take or leave the cool, damp climate they were forced to embrace day after day. Some, however, found the grey, rainy skies quite unbearable, indeed, and could usually only be found in a cheerful humour on the few cloudless, sunny days they were privileged to experience in any given year. Still fewer thoroughly enoyed living out their lives driving in early-morning fog, and slogging through mudpuddles in calf-high wellies like some two-legged, advanced evolution of a newt.

Young Goodman Brown: Alternate Ending

Hey! So, a few weeks ago my English class got to do a super fun project, which was choosing a short story we read this past semester and rewriting the ending differently. One of the requirements was to attempt to write with a similar "voice," or style of writing as the original author, so that the story would still read smoothly as though all of it was penned by one author. So, for anyone who has read "Young Goodman Brown," hope you enjoy the twist on the conclusion of this classic short story by Nathaniel Hawthorne. If, however, you have not read "Young Goodman Brown," I definitely recommend it! It doesn't take super long to get through, and the symbolism and descriptions that Hawthorne uses are very interesting. Again, I am most grateful to my wonderful English teacher who corrected the rough draft, and made completing this project both fun and challenging. I'm also really hoping that this turned out well, although this is definitely not as good as Hawthorne's writing. So....enjoy! (hopefully ;-)  )  p.s. (The first sentence or two are Hawthorne's, not mine. I had to begin with a few words from the original story so that my teacher would know where the original left off and the alternate ending began).

He staggered against the rock, and felt it chill and damp; while a hanging twig, that had been all on fire, besprinkled his cheek with the coldest dew. What an awful dream had come upon him! He forced his body upright, and with a great deal of effort collected his thoughts enough to make his way out of the forest by the same path that his mind had traveled so sinfully earlier. How long had he been asleep? Minutes? Hours? Try as he might, he had no sense of what time of night it was, how long he had been away, or how he had taken leave of consciousness during his walk. Only one thought remained clear in his mind: he must return to his Faith at once; he must see that she is safe after all.

As he walked briskly up the road, his senses heightened, a slight breeze which, under ordinary circumstances, he would have never thought to pose a threat, swept across the trees above him, stirring the leaves as a whirlpool stirs the sea, causing evil whispers to escape into the air which seemed to quickly elevate into a violent hiss all around him. He couldn’t escape this night fast enough and his heart gave a glad jump of joyous relief when his house finally came into view. Oh, to be safe in his warm bed again! Oh, to see his beloved wife’s face! Goodman Brown leapt swiftly over the last few paces to his front door, which opened into darkness deeper than the night sky. Sweet Faith must be asleep, the dear. He made his way carefully down the hall toward his bedroom, halting twice for almost stumbling over rugs and furniture. His right hand ran along the wall as he neared the bedroom, and soon the edge of a doorframe came under his palm. He reached for the doorknob, but as he touched it the door pushed freely open, and he tip-toed quietly inside. The moon’s ghastly glow came through a lone window in the far wall, and shined directly onto a vacant bed.

“Faith?” He shouted anxiously. “Faith!”

 His heart thudded harder and his voice trembled more with each call of her name. He yelled for his beloved in every room of the house and out the door into the ever-oppressive night, but she was nowhere to be found. Surely he was still dreaming. Yes, he would simply lie down and rest, and when he awoke in the morning, this terrible nightmare would finally be over. He went to his bed, pulling the covers tightly around himself in an attempt to keep out the icy feeling that had penetrated both his skin and his chest, and fell into a fitful sleep, his only comfort being the hope of seeing his Faith once again.

His eyes fluttered drowsily open as rays of sunlight shone through the window onto Goodman Brown’s face the next morning. As he turned over, his heart was struck with sudden panic that he was still alone in the bed, and he sat up quickly, searching his surroundings for any sign of his wife, and again called her name. Over and over he called, but the only reply given was his own voice echoing throughout the empty walls of the house. He reluctantly ran out of his secure home, still wearing the previous day’s clothes which were now wrinkled, dirty and torn, and continued into Salem Village, glancing anxiously about himself.

The sky overhead was ironically bright, and pushed glaring light against his eyes as if trying to hinder his gait. Everywhere he looked, droves of people were running about frantically, a few crying uncontrollably while the rest shouted the names of loved ones. Running up to an older woman sitting on a nearby bench, he pleaded that she tell him what had caused this commotion.

“What on Earth happened?” He demanded, but the woman began to sob and could not speak.

“I beg of you, please tell me!” he yelled fearfully, his voice breaking.

“They’re- they’re gone.” She croaked.

 “Who?” He pressed sharply, “Who is gone?”

“Friends, family, neighbors; dozens of them, gone!”

He could hardly take in what he was hearing. It wasn’t just Faith; a whole bundle of the townspeople had simply disappeared. He gasped. It couldn’t be!

“And isn’t it terrible,” the woman continued, “The Reverend and Deacon are missing, too! Who can we look to in a time like this? What will become of our congregation?”

Goodman Brown stood as a statue, stunned by the news, as the cruel world seemed to press in all around him. What he had seen the previous night hadn’t been a dream, but a grim, evil reality. His Faith was truly gone. He tried to make his way back home, but his wobbly knees would not permit his traveling more than a few yards. He collapsed to the cold, unrelenting ground in heaving sobs, muttering: “Faith, Faith.” with every shaking breath, and laid there for hours before being carried home by neighbors.

Weeks, then months, passed after that horrible morning, and never were the lost ones found. Many presumed their loved ones to be dead, and held services despite the absence of a body, as they had no sign of their being alive otherwise, and gradually Salem Village’s inhabitants returned to a state of near-normalcy, while many formed tales and legends about the morning when so many had disappeared, most of which revealed the town’s belief in a common enemy: Indians.

“Make sure to keep a rifle handy.” was advice frequently given among community members. “Never know when the savages might be about.”

However, although this was the most accepted idea, no one ever knew for certain or had evidence of any kind that might aid in proving it as fact, and the mystery lived on for all. For all, that is, except Goodman Brown.

He became a slave to his own fears; locked inside his house which, despite its now dusty, unkempt atmosphere and lonely space, was seemingly far safer than the outside world would ever be again. Countless villagers came by to check on him, but the only answer their knocks received was a dreadful shout from within, warning: “Stay away! I don’t want you here, now leave me be!”
            “Poor fellow,” They would often say, “Driven mad by the loss of his wife.”

            But it wasn’t long before their pity was replaced with annoyance and their compassion turned to frustration, and soon they began to resent his unresponsiveness to their friendly attempts. His life continued to be resigned solely to his home, and he rarely set foot outside its walls apart from an annual venture, on the anniversary of his Faith’s conversion, when he would stroll to the head of the forest path and stand, sometimes for over an hour, with eyes that traveled down the trail, yet pierced backwards through time so much further as he revisited his haunting memories. No one else ever understood what fascination the woods held for him, or why he had shut himself into a hermit’s existence, refusing to move beyond the mysterious incident of years before, but Goodman Brown knew. He was not just the only witness of a horrendous ritual. He was the lone survivor of the devil’s company.

Autumn In the Field

I wrote this a week or two ago for a descriptive essay assignment in English class. It's pretty much just a culmination of my childhood memories of autumn days that I spent in a field near my old house. Anyways, I hope it turned out okay, and I'm super grateful to my English teacher for her great advice and constructive criticism in my rough draft which helped me write this final draft. So, here it is. "Autumn in the Field."

Looking out her window, the young woman could see many things which made up a scene that she had come to know well. She knew every tree, every hill from this view that had become familiar over the past five years, and she now felt at home in the midst of a setting which had at one time been unknown to her. The leaves sailing gently down to the wet bark dust reminded her of autumns in her past, and the picturesque place that she was once a part of. Alone with her thoughts, soon she was there again, in the field she had occupied often as a child, taking in her surroundings of years before.

She rested atop a steep wave, floating above an expansive sea of grass which stretched out long and wide before her eyes and below her person. Down the slope in front of her and beyond the knoll where she sat, lay countless short pieces of green, a natural carpet that rolled on for acres before reaching its end as the edge of the field ran under rows of vertical wooden planks on the other side, the numerous carpet fibers seemingly tucked snugly beneath the fence posts. A soft wind bent down and brushed the ground, pushing the tops of the small springy strings up and down, back and forth, ever so slightly that they became a mass of flickering candle flames. As the girl leaned back, placing her palms behind her for support, a stiff green spear stood out proudly from among the soft, docile blades which made up the majority of the vast field, and jabbed the edge of her thumb forcefully, all but puncturing her skin.

            She returned her hands to her lap, the dark blue denim beneath them feeling warm against her cold fingers. A sudden gale picked up and glided over this ocean like a sea breeze, but instead of harshly hitting her nose and cheeks and smelling of salt water, the wind’s icy fingertips gently touched the girl’s face with the crisp scents of autumn trees, fog and nigh-frozen ground, and the savory smells of lingering chimney smoke and various plants so sweet they could almost be tasted. Just before departing, what remained of the breeze swept past, and with its tail tapped each of the dry, brown leaves on the tall, robust oak tree standing behind her, sending a few soundlessly to the hard dirt below and rattling through those still attached to limbs.

            Directing her sight toward the ground from where the tree sprang up and was rooted, she noticed how the oak’s numerous legs pierced the dirt and became trapped in the tightly packed earth, leaving only a few knees visible above the surface. Were it not for its feet being buried under countless inches of heavy soil, the mighty oak may have shaken off the mosses and dirt which plagued it and held it captive, and ran free, but as it was the tree was completely powerless to move the smallest distance, and resigned itself to the wills of nature, standing as a solid statue against any rain storms or forces of wind that may come against it. She reached out to press her hand against its trunk, and found the bark to be as rough and hard as it appeared. Her eyes rolled up and up, following the tree trunk higher and higher until she had to tilt her head back to take in the uppermost portion. The top was sparsely decorated with the odd leaf here and there, as well as with dots of moss, some of which were the dark green hue of pine trees, the rest a peculiar shade of grayish aquamarine, much subtler than the vibrant colors which brightened the patches of sky peeking ‘round the edges of leaves and limbs above her.

            Brilliant shades of pink and purple ran together like a watercolor painting in the western sky, set off by the shining wide arch of bright golden yellow that occupied the lowest portion of the horizon and touched the darker strips of color on its upper border, the lower part alluding to the warm ball of light from where it originated, now out of sight below the point where the sky met the mountains. Delightful colors penetrated the cotton-like clouds near them, their light permeating through the fluffy balls of water vapor and saturating each with a distinct hue. Gradually the sky became dimmer and the colors combined to create a dark, mysterious purple-gray dusk just above the distant mountain range. As the girl saw that daylight would soon disappear altogether to make way for twinkling illuminated dots to appear overhead, numerous as the blades of grass and sprinkled throughout the wide dome of sky, she realized that she, too, must vacate the outdoor world, and she left the cold, empty field, unaware that her future visits to this place were to be limited in number.

            Now she awoke at once from her nostalgic daydream, wondering at this flood of precise memories. It had been so long ago since she had actually beheld this scene, yet it came back to her mind instantly when thought upon. Would she ever have the opportunity of revisiting that sacred place of her youth? Only time would tell. For now she would step outside and become a part of this newer, yet extravagantly beautiful setting that she currently inhabited, and ponder the similarities and differences between this fall and autumns of old.

           

           

           

Camp

A couple months ago, I had the incredible opportunity to help at a nearby summer camp for families, and it was…amazing. Please forgive me if this seems a bit rambly…I’m not going to take much time proofreading this or revising, because unlike most of what I’ve posted so far, this is not really any kind of formal composition, but rather a description of what was quite possibly the most fulfilling weekend in my life so far. Also, I'd like to tell you up front that this is a long post. No, seriously, this is the longest post I've added so far, and (hopefully) the longest that I will ever add to this blog (I usually try to avoid droning on and on and putting people to sleep), and if you would much rather read something on this blog that you could easily get through in a minute or so (and I can't say that I would blame you), please skip over this and find something that you might actually enjoy. However, in the case that you'd like to kick back for a few minutes and hear about a teenage girl's seemingly insignificant weekend which turned out to be an awesome adventure and life-long memory, and possibly an inspiration for her future ministry, stay tuned.  So here’s a look at family camp; well, through my eyes anyway.

All summer my sister, who was coordinating the activities for kids at camp, had been at a loss for anyone to help her over the camp weekend. It wasn’t that she didn’t want to lead the games, etc, but she was already teaching a class and due to the physical impossibility of being in two places at once, really needed at least 2-3 other teens and/or adults to work with her.  One of my best friends generously offered to help, and my sister gladly and gratefully took her up on it. Meanwhile, I had been contemplating going to a different camp (attending, not helping) which happened over the same weekend. I had already been there two years prior, and had an amazing time getting to spend time with people my own age (when you’re homeschooled, being with peers can be a rare luxury), discovering God more, and having a much-needed break from family (don’t get me wrong. I love my dad, mom, big sister and three little brothers dearly…but when you’re around them ALL THE TIME…well, it was nice to be away for a week). Last year, I had planned to go to that same camp once again, but as luck would have it, came down with a virus the day before I was to leave. So this summer, I was really hoping for a nice, quiet, relaxing week away from my family for the first time in two years. Alright, alright, a teen camp’s probably not exactly what one would call “quiet” or “relaxing,” but you know what I mean. Long story short, I discussed this with my parents, who said that if I really wanted to go, I probably could, although it would be really nice if I would stay and help my sister instead. Now, I could take this opportunity to say that I chose to teach at family camp purely out of the goodness of my heart, but that wouldn’t be entirely true. I mean, I would have helped her even if my only reason for doing so had been the desire to get my sister out of a pinch…however, I cannot honestly say that that was the entire reason behind this vounteerage (I don’t think that’s a word, but work with me here).  Truth be told, I had always wanted to work at a camp, from the time I was about six years old, so in a way, this was a dream come true. But apart from all of that, after praying about it I felt kind of like God was nudging me toward volunteering (I could also feel my sister nudging me in that direction…no, really, she literally nudged me). But seriously, it was like He was saying that there was work for me to do there for Him, and that it would be very meaningful. So while my sister ran around to various craft supplies stores, and filled a Rubbermaid bin with miscellaneous camp necessities, I packed clothes, etc. for camp, and grew increasingly excited at the prospect of the coming weekend. When we pulled into the camp parking lot, we were heralded by the old sign that had been there for who knows how long, and it was like vague déjà vu, as I had been there years before as a little girl when my mom was volunteering at a different camp event. What I noticed first were the differences. They seemed to have done quite a bit of remodeling in the past decade or so, and at first glance, I didn’t even recognize parts of it. The second thing I noticed was the size. I mean, it’s a pretty big camp, but it seemed a lot smaller now than it had when I was seven (things look a lot bigger when you’re in second grade.) My sister immediately pointed me to the gym, where my friend and I would be leading the more active games. We had barely been there fifteen minutes when ten preschoolers showed up, some ready for fun and socialization, others not so much. Soon, however, everyone was having a great time on the playground, their favorite being the merry-go-round, and I had settled into a feeling of contentedness, and concluded that leading gym time was a lot easier than people had made it sound. The hardest part was keeping four children swinging at the same time, but even that was easily taken care of by my walking back and forth behind them, giving them each a push when they needed it. One little girl chattered away, telling everyone about her special blanket, her Barbies, and other possessions that are important to a five-year-old girl. Another little girl, aged four, loved telling me about her family, especially her little sister. The oldest boys enjoyed just seeing how high they could each swing, while the younger two were fascinated with the slides, climbing up the ladder and sliding down countless times over the course of the morning. Soon, it was time to switch off age groups. My friend led the preschoolers to their other class and stayed there to help them with painting and story time. While the little guys were lining up to walk to their next class, however, all fourteen of the elementary-aged kids had eagerly run over to the gym from their quiet story and craft class, and when I re-entered the gym, I felt more than a little overwhelmed. You see, I had somehow gotten it into my head that because they’re older, are able to better participate in group games, and can readily communicate any needs they may have, that the older kids group would be even easier than the wiggly, energetic preschoolers…I was DEAD WRONG. It wasn’t that they were intentionally not listening, or trying to ignore me, it was just that the sheer noise of fourteen kids (twelve of them boys) bouncing basketballs in a closed, echo-y gym, shouts of joy and indistinct chatter that made my loudest attempts at getting their attention inaudible. It was also then that it occurred to me that my sister had promised that she would give me a whistle in case I needed it, and that I had never received said whistle. Eventually, I managed to be heard enough above the din to make sure that everyone who needed to use the bathroom had done so, and gathered everyone to go outside. Now, I didn’t used to be a real advocate for “head checks,” feeling the counting of the number of people, rather than knowing them by name, somewhat impersonal. However, I had done several “head counts” with the preschool class, as well as learned all of their names, and had felt pretty confident that I would be able to do the same with the older crowd. To my disappointment in myself, I never did learn all of the elementary kids’ names, and found myself counting heads every thirty seconds or so; but I think given the fact that it was a class of 14 and I only knew them for two days, I did pretty dang good about getting to know them personally, and should probably cut myself some slack. Also, it was a good thing that I counted so frequently, because on that first morning, three turned up temporarily missing when they ran out the gym door and up the hill and didn’t come back until much later (at which time their parents spoke with them). That was definitely the most nerve-wracking part of the whole experience. Although I figured that they’d probably be fine, as they seemed pretty accustomed to the camp and appeared to know where they were going, it was still scary not having any idea where they were for about forty minutes. Anyways, the treasure hunt that we had planned didn’t pan out, because while half of the group was discussing various tactics on how to bring the three runaways back, and planning an ambush on them, the other half was curiously searching for and finding treasure hunt clues outside, until they had uncovered every last one. Can’t say as I blame ‘em, though…despite my best efforts, I’m sorry to say that their first gym class was probably pretty boring, between the missing kids, the difficulty of efficiently moving a group that large through each activity, and their wide variety of interests, each with their own idea of what would be” fun” to do. In the end, we all just went to the playground where they could each pursue their own activities, provided that they stayed within view. Throughout all of this, there was a little seven-year-old boy who followed me around, asking me to play this game or that with him, which I gladly did while keeping an eye on the rest of the group. His favorite game was Twister, and we played round after round of that until the end of class. After the older kids’ gym session, my job for the day was over, and I got to spend the rest of the day having lots of fun with my friend, including a massive glow-in-the-dark Capture the Flag game which played out under a beautiful meteor shower. The next morning, I awoke feeling more prepared, and only a little bit stiff. Right after breakfast, my friend and I strolled over to the gym just in time for the little guys to file in for gym time, most of whom seemed more relaxed and ready for the day than they had the previous morning. I have to admit that it did seem only slightly hectic at a couple of points during this morning’s class, because while the day before had been sunny and suitable for our spending most of the time on the playground, today it was drizzly and a bit cold, and as we were stuck inside with limited activities, it was a little difficult to find things that would interest every age and every attention span (which differs greatly among 3-6 year olds). But, alas, I think they enjoyed themselves, and I felt so fortunate to be able to witness their little “jokes” and the witty conversations that they had amongst themselves, which none but them could fully appreciate. After the first session was over, I watched with a touch of sadness as they walked out the gym door to their next and final class at camp, and it occurred to me at that moment that though camp had barely started, it was also nearing its end, and any memories that they had made thus far in gym time were all they were going to acquire; for this year, at least. Again, the elementary class ran in and I could not help but admire the enthusiastic energy that they held for almost everything they did. Whether that was basketball, bingo, tic-tac-toe or twister, each one seemed to harbor an inner strength and passion for whichever game they chose. After all had arrived and I had again resumed the near-constant counting of occupants to ensure their safety, one of the camp directors walked in and, in what I can only assume was in response to the previous day’s scare when a few kids up and left, kindly offered his game-leading assistance, for which I was very thankful. Don’t get me wrong, I loved leading gym time and didn’t mind teaching alone in the least. But there was a sense of relief when his voiced reached much further than mine ever could so that the entire gym could be easily aware of the activity plans for the morning, plus they could actually see him, as opposed to me who stood about 2-3 inches shorter than the tallest student. And so, thus we continued out to the field which was growing steadily warmer, and prepared to play our version of a “human board game.” By the end of the game, all but two of the kids had left in pursuit of monkey bars, swings, tetherball and slides, but they were all having a blast, and it was a lot of fun to see them explore and play. It was during this time that something that was a strange combination of awkward and adorable happened. The little boy (the Twister fanatic) had been following me around the entire class time, and occasionally bringing me beautiful bouquets of dandelions and other flora. As I stood near the merry-go-round, on which over half of the class had crowded on to, the little boy stood up, jumped into my arms, and by reflex (I have little brothers who do that sort of thing all the time), I caught him. He proceeded then to profess that he loved me, and asked for my hand in marriage…I replied that, no, I would not marry him, but tried to say it simply and kindly, and figured that he had been kidding and would let the matter drop. He did not, and asked me many more times if I would marry him, or at least be his girlfriend, at which an 8-year-old on the merry-go-round exclaimed: “She probably already has a husband!” I avoided pointing out obvious reasons why I am not married, and attempted once again to move on to other subjects. Eventually he stopped asking, but by that point several of the other boys had started teasing the little guy, and I felt more than a little bad for him. But after a few minutes, everyone seemed to forget about it, including him, and the rest of that gym time was fairly uneventful. I taught them a really fun game that I had learned at the camp I attended two years before, and was glad that they seemed to be having a ton of fun. As the morning drew to close and they left to join their parents for lunch, I again felt much the same way that I had earlier upon the preschoolers’ departure, except this was different in the way that unlike the little guys, these kids did not hug me good-bye, look back and wave or show any other sign that they might share some of the same sentiment of something coming to an end. And while it wasn’t as if I’d never see them again, as I would actually run into many of them throughout the rest of the afternoon, I was no longer involved in their games, interactions or fun, at least not in the same way. I began to pack everything that we had used over the course of the past two mornings into the “camp bin,” that my sister had put so much time and thought into, when a third grade boy, the same one who had assumed me to already be a married woman, and had also been one of the three who had gone “adventuring” the previous morning, asked if I would play basketball with him for a little bit. I, knowing next to nothing about the sport, agreed while apologizing in advance for my lack of knowledge and skill. I’ll tell you right now that he won fair and square, 6-0, which probably could have been readily predicted from the beginning. I did, however, learn quite a bit about basketball during the experience, as he explained some of the rules, gave me tips, and even tried to let me win a couple of times. After about ten minutes, his dad came to pick him up and he walked out the door, just as the others had. Well, that was it. It was over. Though camp would continue for the rest of the day, with many more activities for kids, adults and families, this “job” to which I had been assigned was completed, and all too soon. Now when one of the kids ran up to me and exclaimed: “Teacher! Teacher!” it was bittersweet, because in just a few hours I would leave, and even if I did teach there again the following year, they were going to have a full year of new experiences, new memories, and life between now and then, and the majority would probably not remember this weekend at all twelve months from now. Still, the afternoon was enjoyable, if not fairly mundane and relaxing, which was great because to be honest, I was pretty exhausted. My sister was still in her classroom cleaning up, and my friend, who had been begged by my brothers to take them to do some of the other kids’ activities, went with them to do just that. My parents returned with my youngest brother to where we had stayed the night, and settled in for a much-needed nap, while I found myself alone, surrounded by near silence and a deserted playground, and took full advantage of this and played on the swing for a long time, staying there until a while later when my sister treated my friend and I to smoothies, and thanked us again for our help over the weekend. After the drinks were finished, my friend, my sister and I got to spend some relaxing girl time together, and played in the water until almost dinner time. When dinner was finished, the last event of the day was to take place, and I had planned to drop off my littlest brother at the nursery and go help my sister with the kids’ evening movie. In the understatement of the century, however, my brother had separation anxiety, and would not let me leave him, so I gathered up him and his diaper bag, and took him to the playground where we played tag, went down the slide, and I showed him how to turn somersaults in the grass. After a while, he became tired, and wanted me to push him on the swing. After I sat him down and pushed him for a little bit, I rested in the swing next to him, and what beheld us to the west was a glorious sunset, bright yellow with touches of pink and grey, and as the toes of my shoes grazed the dirt beneath me, I realized not for the first time since I had arrived how incredible it was to have the opportunity to be there. And by that I don’t just mean the water slide, or capture the flag, or any of the other fun afternoon events, as fun as each of those things were. It had been simply amazing to watch the kids have fun together, to walk up the beautifully forested hill each day, to be able to show God’s love to the children, and now to gaze upon the western sky, as the colors became deeper and then lighter again, while frogs croaked and crickets chirped, and the faint smell of campfires and pine hung in the gentle breeze. Not only was all of this awesome and humbling, it was a true blessing to know that I was meant to be there, that this was part of God’s plan for me, and that whether or not I ever do this kind of ministry again, at least for that weekend He used me and fulfilled me in a way that I could never have been otherwise. As my family drove home that night, the last two days felt too short, and I think I realized what I already knew: I would love to do something like that all the time. Who knows, maybe someday I will. But for now, I remain content in the knowledge that I was a small part of this ministry, and have discovered that God can use even my limited abilities for something that is both fulfilling for me and that glorifies Him.