Momming at Camp Meeting

I am sitting here listening to the washing machine running and waiting for Grub Hub to bring me a poke bowl. Event number three is in the books and I can finally take a deep breath and reflect.

This year kids' camp, Vacation Bible School and our Arizona District Church of the Nazarene camp meeting felt a little more squished together, nearly overlapping in preparations at times. This is the best kind of busy I could possibly be. This is the "worth it" category of exhaustion I mentioned in my last post. Because this is the busy that represents lives forever changed and decisions made to follow Christ. But, I've also discovered that for a lot of us who spend a little extra time in the trenches of this kind of ministry that the spiritual battles that follow are real. I now recognize that I tend to come off of this two month stretch of spiritual highs with a bit of an Elijah syndrome. If you are not familiar with this, see I Kings 18 and then read on a few chapters. Long story short, it looks a little like depression. And it doesn't make any sense. Sometimes the best way to battle this is a shower and a really good night's sleep. But sometimes I set up stones, like Jacob did after experiencing God or the children of Israel did as they crossed into the promised land. For me that looks like writing to remember.

My Nazarene denomination of Christianity has a rich history of camp meetings, starting with the early tent prayer meeting revivals not long after the civil war. In Arizona we're blessed with a beautiful camp where we've been repeating this tradition for 75 years. Camp Pinerock has a special place in my heart. I knelt at the same alters I knelt at this weekend when I asked Jesus into my heart in 7th grade. There have been friendships made, tears cried and freedom found throughout the entire grounds. For the past two years I've been able to bring up a team of preschool workers to teach the children during the morning and evening services. It's been a great bonding opportunity for our team.

The highlight of camp meeting was that feeling of family we had, particularly between the brothers and sisters in Christ who came up from my home church. There was a whole lot of co-momming going on all week. 

I mommed my birth kids. Yes, we spent a good amount of time looking for the epi-pen bag again. And microwaving Moses-safe meals. I reminded my twelve-year old to change his shirt sometimes. But others mommed them too. And I mommed others. I experienced the pull of a mom's heart from each stage of development, even beyond Daniel's twelve years.

There were the toddlers, who I fed spoonfuls of mashed potatoes to in the cafeteria or took turns holding during the Family Service. The squeals of greeting from some of our church family's littles the first time we ran into each other on the playground. The twenty preschoolers we all fell more and more in love with each day. We reminded teens and tweens to pick up their socks and that they "weren't born in a barn." We sat with them in services or picked up crying kids at the ga ga ball pit. There were times other moms got our kids towels and sunscreen and looked out for them like their own. And I felt the inner conflict of momming young adults, with their search for their own identity pulling them away from the nest, even if it might unsettle the rhythm of the family. I watched my friends mom and marveled at how they'd learned to mom each stage with such grace.
I did not make it in often to the big services. But I did get to hear each of the evangelists once, and every morning I made it a priority to join the faithful at the 7:30 prayer watch, where I heard a few wonderful devotionals. 

Three things that I heard stood out as pertinent to the place God has placed me as a mom to my own kids and as a person who moms as ministry. 

First, Dr. David Busic spoke on the lessons of the Shema found in Deuteronomy 6, for all of us entrusted with spreading the message to this new generation. He admonished that a "love for God must permeate the parent." Wishy washy faith of a parent was actually a bigger deterrent than non-belief. I felt pretty secure when he began emphasizing the importance in the Shema of talking frequently and naturally about our faith with our children. But then came the kicker. 75% of what they learn comes from modeling. I talk a good talk. But am I sometimes short tempered? Do I complain? Take God's blessings for granted? Yes, yes, and yes.

The second strong message came before our morning prayers when the pastor leading asked, "What are you trusting God for that is too big and too hard for you? That only he can do?" And I was reminded of what a burden I have for our preschoolers back at our own church. God, I remember crying out in my heart that morning, The harvest is plenty but the workers are few. This is TOO HARD for me. I can't match the need with a recruiting strategy or some good connections. It is absolutely too big and too hard. I want to mother the situation. But I need to trust that God is the good, good Father and does not leave us stranded.

The third message came this morning. I mentioned that in junior high I prayed to ask Jesus to take control of my life at the very same alters I knelt at each morning at 7:30 a.m. But I don't think I mentioned that the same pastor who knelt down to pray with me that night now is the camp director. And this morning he pulled a well-worn sermon out of his pastoral tool box that he shared at youth camp when I was a junior higher. And it's one that has always stuck with me. He pulled together a story of watching the Stanley cup finals with that feeling that will overwhelm us when we join that great cloud of witnesses who have been cheering us home. And he talked about the way the cup passes down in celebration from the MVP to the player who may have never made a single shot. But what stood out this time was the side comment that in that moment they weren't thinking of that one missed shot in game two at the beginning of the season. No. None of that matters once that victory is won. And our difficult days are going to fade away when we hold that crown of glory given us by what Christ has done to restore us to our Father.

There have been some hard moments in the past few months. As a mom. As a children's minister. At camp. Waiting for me at home and at the office. Sometimes I haven't known the right thing to say, I've run out of stamina or good ideas. There's too much stinky laundry in my house, too much to do, and not enough anything. None of the math is working out. But I'm not going to be thinking about those moments when I reach the end.

I'm going to be thinking about how I got to watch one of my students, who I've known his whole life, who has spit toothpaste in my sink and who the grocery store clerk thought was my son, get baptized. In the camp swimming pool, surrounded by a great host of witnesses. I'll be remembering the big tears of joy Moses had in his eyes as we walked from the Tabernacle to the pool to watch this baptism service. I'm going to be thinking about when I got to pray with another student who shared he'd felt God calling him to share Jesus boldly with his classmates. And, I'll think of my friends, the Albaughs and their babies who worshiped behind us at the family service. I'll remember Caleb, who's just began to put words together, who kept trying to get my attention during the music..."Christy...HI! Christy...HI!" for the first time. And his sister Paisley, with her hands raised high in praise as she watched us grown-ups, unaware that we were modeling this for her. And I will finally be able to wholeheartedly understand the words, " I consider that our present sufferings are not worth comparing with the glory that will be revealed in us." Romans 8:18