One.

I’ve decided to do “installments” of blogs. because those fifteen days at NorthBay were too big for one blog. And I’m using the word installments because it’s 10 at night, I’m on medicine and it seems like the dumbest, best word I can find right now.

Well, blog, here we go.

Needless to say, I’ve been putting this off. Which is weird because I love to blog about things that happen to me.

I guess I just didn’t have the words to say this time. How does one put in to words the experience I just (more or less) had at NorthBay? I find that I’m struggling with that a lot, actually. On our last night while we were anxiously awaiting an anti-climactic climb to the top of a water tower (anti-climactic because it didn’t happen) a friend asked “what has the Lord been teaching you since you’ve been here?” and I couldn’t really answer. Not because I hadn’t learned anything, but because I didn’t really know what I had learned. At least not in that moment. 

It’s hard to say in words how living in community like we did made my heart smile so big, and how that 15 days of community will keep me going.

It’s hard to articulate exactly how wiping up a kid’s urine on the swing humbled me beyond what I thought was possible (or necessary, for that matter) and how that will always stay with me. But the least I can do is try:

Hands and feet of Jesus. That was our “slogan” on summer staff. And I found that to be more burdensome at times than encouraging. It was great when things were going really well, when kids smiled and waved at you or gave you hugs towards the end of the week because they remembered you and thought you were the “bees knees.” 

And when those very same kids you coached through the giant swing stood up at say so on the last day, you could say with utmost confidence “I was the hands and feet of Jesus this week.” 

But when a Capernaum camper relieves himself on the swing and doesn’t even know that he’s done it and you are the lucky one that gets to wipe it up, telling yourself (and even others, in my case) that you’re the “hands and feet of Jesus” starts to become a pride issue. 

Hands and feet of Jesus no longer means being humble and serving Him by serving kids, it no longer means having a servants heart and loving kids so that they’ll, in turn, see Jesus. It doesn’t mean that you are considering it a joy to do this work. It becomes an issue of pride. It equates me with the Lord of all creation. I put myself on a pedestal because I cleaned up a campers pee. I was not humbled by it; I gave myself credit for it. I patted myself on the back for it and expected others to do the same. When in reality, (figurative reality that is) that’s what all service should be. Whether I’m doing something “beneath me” like cleaning up pee or doing something beautiful, like carrying someone confined to a wheel chair on my back in the pool or at crud wars. It’s all so that kids see HIS glory. And it doesn’t matter who does it, or how bad it smells, or that you get in trouble for not wearing gloves when you do it. The point is that you do it. And it’s a joy. It’s a joy to be chosen by the creator of the universe to be His ambassador. To represent Him here on this earth. 

Real talk: Jesus would’ve cleaned up pee and then some. Jesus would’ve traded pants with this kid, so he didn’t have to walk around in his shame and embarrassment the rest of the day. Jesus would have told everyone that He was the one to pee in the swing. The kid would’ve gotten off scoff free. The beautiful thing? That’s exactly what He’s done for each of us. He has taken my soiled rags and exchanged them with His fine linens. He has not only covered my shame and embarrassment but removed it from me and taken it as His own. And He doesn’t care that I cleaned up pee. He cares that I love Him. and He cares that I love Him enough to want others to love Him. and it doesn’t matter what that looks like, it just matters that it is.

What did North Bay teach me?

Community.

Humility.

Service.

Love.

Maybe it wasn’t everything I expected it to be, but I’m so glad it wasn’t. I’m happy that I have friends whose absence makes my heart ache. I’m happy that I can look back at those fifteen days and see beauty. Not boyfriends, or crushes, or enemies, or a complete transformation in my life. But I see best friends, and redemption, and blessed conversation, and service, and I see God chipping away at my inadequacies. Inadequacies that might not be as big as they used to be, but are still there, and are still a stumbling block to me every day. But more than that, I see a God that hasn’t given up on my sinful, unreliable, ungrateful, prideful self. And there is so much grace in that.