Yes, it is true: I have the most adorable nephew in all the world!

Happy 1^st Birthday, Jay!

MN: From the Perspective of a Nomad, Part 9

Well, it seems my time in Minnesota will qualify this state as #2 on the list of shortest-length-of-time-I’ve-lived-here, beating Indiana by a mere six months. Maybe it’s something about mid-western states…

I figured I’d round this series off to an even 10 parts. (If you’ve ever seen the show Monk you’ll know why round numbers are so very important.) So, I am going to come up with two more articles on the state that will be my home for less than four more months.

Thus far I have covered the holiness of the state, the unusually bland food, the local pastimes (snowmobiling, hunting, fishing and more fishing), problems with language interpretation, the amount of snow (from October to May), the infiltration of their children (who fish from the time they’re born and own boats before their able to ride a bike) and unusual botany. I think I will now describe miscellaneous phrases I’ve picked up.

First, the term “uff-da”. Now I may be spelling that wrong, and I apologize if I am (especially after I gave a small lecture on the proper way to spell “y’all” last week in the office). Along with not being sure of the spelling, I’m also not 100% sure of the meaning. They say this when they lift something heavy. Or when they find something to be overwhelming. Or when they’re surprised. Or they did something amazing. Sometimes they seem to use it for no apparent reason of all. And like the “wicket” of New England, there doesn’t seem to be any etymology or history to this term.

Secondly, a very common phrase I hear this time of year is, “Why do we live here?” That’s a very good question to ask when the temperature doesn’t get above freezing for four days in a row and 10 degrees is so warm out people go tubing in their swim trunks and t-shirts. (We have pictures at camp to prove this point.) Ironically, every time I hear this rhetorical question it comes from the lips of a native – one who was born here, has never lived elsewhere and will die here.

Lastly, the most annoying word I have discovered is “behg”. This word is actually spelled “bag”, but you wouldn’t know that when they ask you at the grocery store, “Would you like your milk in a behg?” Every time I’m asked that, I want to say with as much of a Southern drawl as I can possibly conjure up, “It’s a baaaaaag.” Thus far, I have managed to be polite, smile and say, “No, thank you.”

Secret Recipe Revealed: Camp's Famous Oatmeal

Oatmeal is one of my favorite “breakfast” foods. I’ll eat it just about any time of the day. So, I was quite delighted to find out the oatmeal is a breakfast staple at camp. There are huge pots of it at the end of the buffet line at every breakfast camp serves. And if I’m around for breakfast, that’s usually what I have: a bowl of oatmeal with fresh fruit on top. Yummy!

Ironically, oatmeal is the favorite of just about everyone at camp – from the six year old Adventurer campers to Mrs. Stone who is 95 and comes to Senior Week. I have parents ask all the time if our oatmeal will be served the week their kid is coming because that’s all the kid wants to eat for breakfast. And the ladies that come to camp ask Jim, our chef, for the recipe all the time. So, in the Camp Bell (our camp newsletter) this month, the secret of our famous oatmeal was at last revealed to one and all:

One of the frequently asked questions of the Camp cooks is "How do you make your oatmeal?" Some, of course, would think this a silly question since, really, how many ways are there to make oatmeal anyway? But Camp's oatmeal is, indeed, different from what you make at home for one basic reason: the water.

When we make oatmeal at Camp Lebanon we use only water from the very deepest part of Cedar Lake. That's right! Each morning the scheduled cook rows a boat out to a special secret spot and drops a bucket down to the very bottom, drawing up the clearest  and coldest water that Cedar Lake has to offer. This pure elixir is then carefully and secretly transported back to the kitchen where it is poured into waiting double boiler kettles.  Rolled oats are added and cooked slowly for over one hour. The result is the creamiest, most delicious oatmeal in Central Minnesota, and to hear our guests talk, maybe even in the whole world.

An element of difficulty is added during the cold winter months, when the assigned cook must strap on a headlamp and snowshoe out to the secret spot to auger the hole even in the fiercest of conditions. The risk of life and limb is of no bother, of course, for no amount of difficulty is too much for our beloved guests.

Now, will that be one scoop or two?

Actively Thankful

The last couple of weekends at camp have been full of kids. Like 130 of them from the ages of 8 to 12. I wasn't here for whole weekend, just for Friday night registration when they come pounding through the doors, loaded down with sleeping bags, backpacks and winter gear. They come in various shapes and sizes (although up here a majority of them are blond). And they come in various states of dress and undress: some are already fitted out in full winter gear. Other comes in a only a hoodie (if it's 20 degrees, you don't need a coat). Some never remove their hats as if they're glued on until winter comes to a conclusion some time in May. All of them clump around in heavy snow boots.

After a long car ride (most come from the cities, which can be a two hour drive), they are full to bursting with energy. They run up and down the halls, roll carpetballs with a little too much energy and playing pool with pool sticks is too slow - they treat them like carpetballs. They tell "big" stories. (Like the boy that spilled his coke in the car on the way up - now, that was a HUGE deal.) And they can get in trouble in a matter of five seconds flat. (Like the two older girls pulling along a cute little boy with a crush on one of them.) Camp echoes with shouts, and chatter, and laughter. It's what I'll miss most when I leave...

Kids have such a simple look on life. Yes, their problems are big in comparison to their size; but we shake our head at them and know everything will be fine. But they don't know that. Their best friend has hurt them. They're teased at school. Their parents favored their siblings over them in a fight. They have just as much trouble being thankful in times of hurt as we do.

And that was Bill's challenge to them these past weekends: to be thankful. To have an attitude of gratitude. To actively look for ways to be thankful.

Last night was a miserable night. I think I clocked three hours of sleep. I had a million things running through my head. Seems like my lists aren't getting any shorter, which is irritating to me. Lots of HUGE changes coming down the pike, and I'm not sure what to do with half of them. Faking that I know what I'm doing is only good in public. Once I'm alone, I easily break down. And having not even been up here a year yet, I often feel very alone. The last thing I felt like this morning when I rolled out of bed was being thankful. Then I had a e-mail in my inbox this morning.

It was from a mom who had brought her 9 or 10 year old little girl up to camp this past weekend. The Lord touched young Tori's heart and she went home bound and determined to find ways to be thankful. And she took a video of one of them. In the snow around the front curb of her house, she had painted in the snow a message to her mailman: "Thank you for delivering our mail."

I have much to be thankful for. The credit card machine at the post office that hadn't been working all morning worked when I went in to stock up on stamps for camp (prices go up Saturday!). And she had the brand new Love stamps that just came out so I could buy some for wedding invitations. I have a warm place to be when the temps are 25 below zero. My car starts every morning. The snow is lovely. My sister Katey and I had a great conversation yesterday. And my God never changes.

So much to be thankful for.

Where to Begin? Where to End?

As I was reading through the book of Revelation at the end of the year, I marveled at what a wonderful book that is to read as another year comes to a close and you’re thinking about the future. Now, as I’m reading the book of Genesis, I have marveled that the book is so ideal to start a new year with: “In the beginning, God…” What more do you need to start a new year?

We learn at a very young age that a story has a beginning…and a story has an end. But that’s not strictly true. As a writer sitting in writing classes, you learn that every character has a backstory. And it’s a backstory you should know if you wish to create a well-rounded character. But that backstory isn’t usually in the book you’re writing. It’s in notes scribbled somewhere or in your own imagination. And, if you’re a writer, you know that your characters don’t end with the book’s final chapter. In more scribbles and more imaginings, you know their future. It just might never be written in a book.

So it is with us. God knew His people before the foundation of the world. So, even before “in the beginning”, He knew us. And after “the end”, we have the rest of eternity to spend with our God. We can’t even imagine eternity.

Life is like a book and it can be hard to tell when one chapter begins or another ends. I have waited a long time to post this blog…and now I’m not even sure where to begin. Or where to end.

You see, every time I start this story I begin with the day we went to play mini golf. But it starts before that when he asked me. And when I sat in the pew in church, my mind spinning faster than it ever has before. You see, in all my nearly 31 years of life, I had never had a guy ask me to play mini golf. Or to dinner. Or to a movie. Or even the time of day. Not sure how many thoughts a person can have in five seconds, but I’m pretty sure I maxed it out.

Well, safe to say, we did play mini golf the following Saturday. I brought a friend a long. That was in November of 2010. I had no idea the chapter that day started.

Or, perhaps, book. For the next three years could fill a book. Climax. Anti-climatic. Laughter. Tears. Roadblocks. And roads that made no sense at all. But a God who remained the same throughout it all. I will never suggest my long-distant, lengthy courtship to anyone. But I would share my God with everyone.

The story ends a week ago Saturday, January 4 in the middle of the frozen Cedar Lake at Camp Lebanon with a marriage proposal and a beautiful engagement ring. And a God who remains the same as the new chapter begins: Planning a Wedding.

By the way, his name is Edward Camus and goes by “Ed”. He lives in Pittsburgh where we will be getting married on June 7^th. He loves my God, and we are trusting Him for a future together. No matter what it holds.

Today is a very special day...

Happy 60^th Birthday, Mom!

Surprise Blessings

Before I even arrived in Minnesota to take the job here at Camp Lebanon, Lisa (head of women's ministries) wanted to display my dollhouse at the Fall Quilt Retreat. Why? Well, the theme was "Home Improvement". I'm not sure if that meant my dollhouse needs improvement or because it's a work in progress...

So, at the end of October, my dollhouse came out of the box it has been safely kept in and was put on display for the hundreds of women that passed through camp. I did a few "devotionals" (I'm not sure what you call a talk on a dollhouse that's supposed to be spiritual and never did make a clean connect there) that got the women talking about dollhouses they had, or wanted, or knew someone had. It's funny that a dollhouse turns grown women into little girls.

Of course, being quilters, I had lots of questions about the quilts that were going to go on the beds (that I don't have) in the bedrooms of my house. They asked about size and chatted with each other about how a quilt that small would be made. Not being a quilter, I just listened.

Well, this week I got a gift from one of the quilters. I was so surprised and blessed by her gift of time and beauty that I hardly knew what to say. I mean, how do you even write a thank you card for something like this:

The dollhouse is back in it's box now, awaiting it's next move in May. (Yes, May. Told everyone not to put this address in ink. More on that next week...) And the quilt and pillows will go in the box with my other dollhouse furniture to await a future bed...a reminder of the blessing my short stay in Minnesota.

Memories of...Grace!

Today my sister Grace turns 24 years old, and I thought I’d share some of my favorite memories of her.

• I was so excited to have another sister on the day she was born, I wore my favorite skirt and red, Scotty dog sweater to school.
• On her first Christmas, she liked nothing better than standing beside the tree with the jumping jack ornament’s ball in her mouth. (The ornament remained hanging on the tree.)
• One of her favorite games as a kid was playing switch board operator with the Chinese checker set. (This was thanks to the Deanna Durbin movie For the Love of Mary. 
• Ever since she saw Greer Garson in Blossoms in the Dust when she was about six or seven, Grace has wanted to work with orphans. Hopefully, she can go to Kenya soon!
• No one can read like Grace: put the book on the floor and rotate your way around it – she never could sit still.
• No one in the world gets as excited about Christmas as Grace. She would get so excited, she would work herself up into a headache!
• Grace has many great one-liners. She’s very astute with comebacks. But one of my favorites was when she was a little girl and she said of somebody, “Oh, he dropped the pillow.” (Interpretation: He threw in the towel.)
• Grace longed to be a twin. Ironically, she was the one with the bib that said, “Thank God I’m not a twin.”
• Grace and I have logged many miles on our bicycles – she was my first workout buddy!
• Grace spent the one of my summers at Ridgecrest with me. I loved having her there!

To be honest, Grace is one of my favorite sisters. Who knows why, but she has been with me through many things (including many cemeteries she’s suffered through as I roamed). And I am so grateful she is my sister!

Snapshots of Christmas

I guess you could say I’ve started off 2014 right: stayed home all day and got all kinds of little things done so I’m ready for 2014. I have only a couple of things left to do (backing up things from my computer onto zip drives) and I’m set. I’m even ready to do my taxes as soon as all that stuff comes in!

So, I thought I’d get one last thing done and post some pictures from Christmas. I didn’t get to it while I was there (too busy doing nothing…) and I caught up at work yesterday (mostly). But here they are:

Getting ready for our Christmas Eve dinner. Please note Caleb’s wonderful apron.

 

Got to find just the right gift to open on Christmas Eve.

Jenny’s scarf collection. Who says you can’t where them all at once?

 

Well, we have grown up a little…yes, we got Twister for Christmas. But only three of us fit on the board at once!

Caleb’s gift to Abby: a game called “I’m with Stupid”. You have to play it with Abby. (E.g.: I read from the card, “I’m so stupid it takes me 2 hours to watch ’60 Minutes’.” Abby’s response, “Yeah. All those commercials.”)

My favorite: most of us at home. (Left to right back row: Caleb, Sally, Jenny, Mom and Dad. Front: Abby, Grace, me)