My Thoughts on Workcamp

I went to Group Workcamp two years ago in Connecticut. I have to be honest: I was miserable. I didn't want to go again...ever. But Dan wanted to go this year, and Group staff's spouses can only go for free if the staff member also goes. So off we went, my expectations low.

By Wednesday I was looking at the 2012 brochure to pick which camp we should go to next year.

There are a few things that made a big difference.

1) My role was a good fit for me. Last time I was the program team member. That's the person who goes around to all the sites taking pictures. It was fun, but let's be honest, I'm no photographer. But more importantly, that role requires you to round up kids, get their energy up to take fun pictures, and just be an outgoing person. I tried my hardest, and it was so draining for me.

As cafeteria host this year, most of my work was behind the scenes. My free time was when the kids were off site, my working time was when they had free time. So I didn't have to force myself to mingle. Instead, I could build relationships while helping kids gather their lunch items or guiding them through the dinner line. That distraction was good for me. Ironically, I felt like I built more relationships this year than I did last year, because instead of seeing each kid once when I went to their site, I was seeing the same 1/6 of the kids come through the lunch line each day. I'm much better at mingling once I know who people are.

2) I gelled quickly with the other red shirt staff. Don't get me wrong - the summer staffers at my last camp were awesome people. I loved them. But it took me a few days to feel like I was friends with them. And by then, the week was half over. And there were a couple volunteers that year that kind of got on my nerves. This year, I loved everyone I served with, and I felt like we all connected on the very first night. Having that "team" feeling from the get-go makes a HUGE difference.

3) I was comfortable. I'll admit it - I'm a selfish person. If I'm not comfortable, I have a hard time giving of myself. I'm not saying I need a 5-star hotel - an air mattress will do - but the room I shared with 4 other girls this year was twice the size as the room I shared with 12 other girls last time. Which meant last time was so cramped, and I never had a chance to re-coup from the energy I was exerting trying to be outgoing.

The room we stayed in last time had AC - but it was in a separate building from the showers, office, and cafeteria. This meant a lot of walking and that never-feel-dry feeling after a shower. Which was communal. This year, there was a private shower room right off of the room we slept in. Which meant I could take real showers and step out into the nice, dry, AC.

Bonus: as cafeteria host, I could have them set aside some leftover pasta from Monday night so I had something to eat instead of Tacos on Tuesday and BBQ on Thursday. Yum!

I know I can't guarantee that #2 and 3 will always be that way. But this year was a great experience, and I'm willing to take the chance at another workcamp.

Decay

Dan and I had the privilege of serving in Youngstown, Ohio last week with Group Workcamps. When we picked up our rental car and told the agent where we were headed and why, her response was, "Oh good, they really need help there."

When we got to Youngstown, it was quite a site. This was nothing like being in Groton, Connecticut, site of our last workcamp, where some of the residents' houses were quite nice, and even those living in trailers had huge flat screen TVs with satellite dishes.

No, Youngstown was falling apart. A few decent neighborhoods sprinkled here and there, with average sized houses that were well-kept. But for the most part, Youngstown was comprised of abandoned homes, shot out windows, and ready-to-collapse buildings.

But the thing we noticed as we drove around was how huge some of the houses were. Giant mansions, obviously once the home of very wealthy residents, were now decrepit and boarded up. It was obvious that Youngstown wasn't always the poor city we were seeing. In my mind's eye I could almost visualize it back in its heyday, and it must have been beautiful and abundant.

I don't know the history of Youngstown. I don't know what happened that caused so many houses to be forgotten and abandoned. I don't know how the 4,000 squarefoot mansions were degraded to the homes of raccoons and spiders.

But whatever happened, I doubt anyone intended for it to happen. It probably snuck up as a result of ecomonic troubles when the steel industry lost its oomph. And little by little, without anyone meaning for it to happen, beauty became rot. Wealth became poverty.

It struck me that the same thing could happen to my heart. If I'm not paying attention, rot and decay can sneak up on me, too. The mansion of my heart that I invited Jesus to live in could be declared an unsafe residence with boarded up windows. It is my prayer that my heart never becomes like Youngstown.

Service

I always find it interesting to watch the dynamics of a missions trip where you're serving alongside people you just met. You've got the people who are just super loud and excited and outgoing, and are instantly popular. You've got the people like me, who prefer to be quiet and behind the scenes in these settings, and find it hard to mingle. And you've got people who aren't naturally outgoing or loud, but try to be because they want to be popular.

I've been there. I've been the one forcing myself to be someone i'm not just to be popular. It doesn't work. In fact, it looks really forced and awkward if that's not how you naturally are. And worst of all, at least in my experience, people who do that aren't doing it to generate energy and build impacting relationships. They're doing it because they want to be liked. This is the danger. This is when your focus becomes centered on yourself.

I'm not saying this to judge. Like I said, I've been that person. And even though I'm not this time, I'm self focused in other ways...like retreating to get some time away from the crowds that are so uncomfortable to me.

But when I do mingle, I've made it a point not to try to be someone I'm not. It's obvious that it's fake, and it's not a good way to be. God made me the way he made me, and those outgoing people the way he made them, so that when we come together as a team we can serve him the best. If we were all the same...it just wouldn't work right.

Punctuation

From time to time at work, this question floats around: If you were a punctuation, what would you be and why?

We've got a ? who always questions things, a ... whose always wondering what's next, and a & who likes to include everyone.

And me? I've decided I'm a period. I like things defined. Clear. Decided. Done. I'm set in my ways. Once I form an opinion, that will likely be my opinion forever. Period.

How about you? What punctuation are you, and why?

Willingness

I've been working on Buzz Curriculum, on Gross Me Out (Grades 3 & 4). One of the questions I wrote into it really got me thinking.

The passage is on this story where God asks Ezekiel to do a number of weird and gross things (bread cooked over poop, anyone?) to send a message to Israel. One of the things he has to do is lay on his right side for 390 days, then flip over and lay on his left side for another 40 days. No stretch breaks, no cable TV...just stillness, soreness, and boredom.

And he does it! But the question I put in the lesson is something along these lines: Explain whether you'd be willing to be that uncomfortable for over a year if God asked you to.

My honest answer? I wouldn't be. The Sunday School answer queen in me wants to say "Of course, because I'd do anything God asked me to do!" And truth be told - if God asked me to I might even bake my bread over a fire fueled by cow poop. Maybe. As long as none of the poop touched the bread.

But lying on my side, bored and uncomfortable, for over a year? I just don't think I could do it. (And did I mention that 8 oz of poop bread a day is all the guy got to eat during that time?) I'd make excuses. I'd weasel my way out. I'm not saying that's the right thing to do. Obeying God is always the right thing to do. But I highly doubt I'd do that particular task willingly. I'm way too into my own comfort for that.

What's your honest answer - and if you truly think you could do it, how would you bear with it?

Pep Talk

Does anyone else give themselves pep talks? Like when you have a lot to do, "Just keep going, you can get through it all." Or if you have to do something hard, "Come on, you can do it."

I think I do this on a daily basis.

And I've noticed that when I pep talk myself, I call myself "Al." I've been thinking about this lately, and I wonder if it has something to do with my sisters. As kids, they mostly called me "Al." I wonder if subconsciously, I'm associating their encouragement and support with my effort to boost my own morale.

Confessions

I have a confession to make: I am an incredibly selfish person. It manifests itself in all kinds of ways. But there's one thing in particular that I feel should be so easy to fix, and yet it hasn't been.

When people say "Hi, how are you?", I almost answer with just a "good" and no reciprocal question. I first noticed this in middle school, and decided I needed to correct my habit. I thought it would be pretty simple to correct. Just teach myself to ask "And you?" Two little words to show I care. How hard could it be?

Well, seeing as it's been 13 years, I'd say pretty hard. Maybe it's because deep down, I don't feel like that question expresses genuine concern. But I don't think that's all there is to it. For example, the barista at Fireside Cafe recently asked me how I spent my weekend. That's a much more involved question that shows genuine interest, not a status quo question which will be answered the same way 99% of the time (regardless of the truth). (Though I hear in Japan they actually stop and have a conversation when someone asks a similar question.) Anyway...after telling her about my weekend, it wasn't until I was almost back to my desk when I remembered I should've asked her what she did over the weekend.

It's not that I don't care about people. It's just that I'm so selfish that I just get caught up in talking about myself. So I'd like to apologize to anyone I've offended by my behavior...and please know I really am trying to grow.

Identity

One morning when I was a freshman in high school, the vice principal came and pulled me out of biology class. He looked at me sternly and lectured: "You skipped detention yesterday. That was your last chance - now you're going to be expelled."

I was horrified. Here I was, this teacher's pet, goody two-shoes, and I certainly hadn't been given a detention, much less used up my "chances." With a panicked look on my face and a chipmunk voice, I cried, "I didn't have detention!" Something about my countenance made the VP quickly realize he'd made a mistake. Turned out there was a senior at my high school named Alin Bennett - pretty close to Alison Bennett - and they'd grabbed the wrong kid. Alin and I would never have been confused if you saw us together - I'm about as pale white as they come, and was a teeny little freshman girl, he was a huge black guy that could've (and maybe did) play linebacker for the football team.

A few months later I got called to the office for another discipline problem, but quickly brushed it off, saying, "Oh, you mean Alin Bennett." A couple years later, my mom saw him in the arrests section of the newspaper. Good thing the police didn't confuse us then!

On the other hand, there was a time in college where I had a couple books that were WAY overdue. Months. I calculated the fine at about $20. But when I went in to pay, they said I didn't have any fines. I later met a staff member named Alison Bennett, and in conversation found out she'd been slapped with my $20 fine. (Which she got out of when she told them she hadn't checked out a book in years.) That was definitely a good time to have my identity mixed up!

As I was reflecting on these experiences last night, I was thinking about identity. About who I am. (It's clearly much more than my name, maiden or current!) I feel like I have a pretty good grasp of who I am. I always have, really. Even as a kid I had a pretty set personality. When I liked something, I went straight to obsession. When I didn't like something, well, everyone knew that, too.

And while I know I have lots of room to grow, I'm pretty comfortable with who I am at my core. And even though I consider myself a pretty open book with the events of my life, my opinions, and my feelings, I think there are few people who really know me. There are times I've been hurt, feeling like once people have gotten to know me they realize they don't really like me...and I think as a result I kind of hide Me under a shell. No, I'm no Alin with his expulsions and arrest records...but I've felt from a young age that even though I like me, others don't find me likeable. So I wrestle with insecurity and confidence, all at the same time.

But ultimately, like it or not, I am who God made me. Accept it or don't, but I'm gonna be the me God made me to be.

Wonder

Recently I was working on a lesson for Buzz (Raiders of the Empty Tomb) about Jesus raising Jairus' daughter. I was reading through the passage, trying to brainstorm an interactive, meaningful way for kids to dig into the Scripture, and there was something about one of the verses that caused me to wonder about something.

And then God inspired me. What if that was what the kids did? After each verse, stop and think about what they wonder about it. What questions they have about it. So I read back through the passage again, pausing after each verse to do just that. And for every verse, I thought of at least 3 things I wondered about. I decided that would be a great way for 5th and 6th graders to explore the passage - especially since the point was about faith in God.

I absolutely love this method of reading Scripture now. It really gets you to think about what you're reading in a new way. Will you find answers to most of your wonderings? Probably not...but that's where the faith comes in. The enriching part of this exercise wasn't in getting answers, but in thinking about how much bigger God's plan is than what we can understand.

Treatments

When I was in 3rd grade, I started a Save the Animals club and kicked out my mom when I caught her spraying ants. But my love for creatures of the insect variety ended shortly thereafter. Hence my declaring war on Miller Moths.

It should come as no surprise if you know my Dad. But for those of you who don't, I thought I'd enlighten you.

When bugs landed in our pool but were still alive, squirming to get out of the water and be free...well...we didn't free them. We didn't even kill the mercifully. We applied a "treatment." Treatments were different torture methods my dad and I devised. Like taking the net and trapping the bug under it at the bottom of the pool. Watching him search for an escape until he suffocated. Or putting him in a plastic Easter egg with water, and soaking it in the sun until the water boiled him to death. Or putting him in said egg with just a little water, and shaking the life out of him.

My dad and I also enjoyed gathering the fake lady bugs into an envelope until we had like, 50, and then dumping them in the toilet and watching them all swirl together to their doom.

So when I was complaining about bugs the other day and my co-worker said that camping in my parents' backyard this summer would be buggy, I had to laugh and say, "Oh no. Not in my dad's backyard."

No...he's got giant traps to catch the horseflies, so that problem is eradicated. He has this special garlic spray to spray around the perimeter of your campsite, and mosquitoes won't cross it. And after many years of our annual "burning of the worms" ceremony (where my dad took a blow torch to their nests in our trees), those worm nests won't come near our property.

It should be noted that before my dad bought the traps for the horseflies, he walked around the yard wearing a hat with a blue cup drenched in sticky bug-catching stuff on it. Because horseflies are drawn to the color blue. He wore it when he mowed the lawn, too. He looked ridiculous - but it was all in the name of trapping horseflies.

So if you're wondering where the gene comes from to wage war on bugs...it's a Bennett thing.