Holding my own

Each year it gets harder and harder to process my time at Sumatanga. I don't know if it's because I'm getting older, or if my priorities are changing, or if it's because I'm the one creating the programs. I do have to say that it is incredible to see what was once a "hmmm, this would be cool" idea to a "woah, we just built a labyrinth in the chigger bowl out of chairs" moment. I admit that I do feel pressure to create programs like Heath or Debbie (pressure I put on myself). They helped mold me into who I am. I remember them being magical.  I kept telling Timmy this last week. I want the programs we put together to be magical for the campers. I don't want normal worship and speaking. I want them to experience God in ways they never imagined...in the chaos of chairs and candles in the middle of the chigger bowl, in the waterfall at the old pool, in Peter Rollin's parable of the Last Supper, seeing the last supper unfold before them. A cross is not the only place to find Jesus.

Dress down your pretty faith. Give me something real. Leave out the thee and thou and speak now.

When did we become the adults? Timmy and I have now directed a jr. high camp for 3 years. We are still learning how to be directers, how to train counselors, how to lead a week of camp. I still have a hard time believing that it's our week. I have realized that I have to work on letting go of control and trust the what needs to happen for God to appear will happen...after all Sumatanga really is God's place, not 'our' place.

Rain is no measure of his faithfulness. He withholds no good thing from us.



I am honored to be a director at Sumatanga. I am grateful to be able to direct with Timmy. We may not have the same vision for a program, but somehow we balance each other out and make things work.

Now it's back to the real world. I'm very grateful for the past week of camp. It may get harder to recover every year, but I wouldn't trade if for anything in the world.