in the heart of texas.

50 weeks.

It's as if I never left. Texas, that is. From the moment I stepped off the plane until this moment, the night before I head back to North Carolina, it feels as natural to be here as it did the day I was born.

Just as the BBQ place down the street from my mom's house says, "Texas isn't a state. It's a state of mind." As I drove around with my mom this past week, I realized (for the first time, I suppose) that Texas really isn't much different than any other state I've been to, especially not North Carolina. The land and trees are similar, even the people look the same. I had to second-guess all of my claims that Texas is just down right better than any other place you could go. It's just the God-blessed truth: Texas is just down right better. Why? Because we say so, because we put on a show bigger than anyone else, and we make sure we are seen, heard, tasted, felt and in some cases (out in West Texas in particular) smelled.

Texas pride aside though (and trust me, that's hard to do), it's so great because it's home. After months and months of being Texas-less, I needed some affirmation from home. I am being faced with some major life decisions that I never expected to face, and I need Texas to tell me it's okay, that Texas will still be here when all the dust settles and the clouds roll away. Texas maybe didn't come out with it, but the affirmation came through the love from my family.

I'm carrying that love with me back to North Carolina because it's by love that I can continue to do this work that I gave up everything for a year ago, and I am so glad I did it. However, in the coming months, it is for love that I will take my next step into this next year of my life.

on the road to beaufort.

48 weeks.

Today marks my 11th month at Camp E-Tik-Etu. It seems like a decade ago that I packed up Blanca with everything I owned and headed east toward the craziest adventure of my life to date.

I think I've become disillusioned with the program I am expected to implement each day with my kids. Over the last 11 months, I've seen more campers leave the program unsuccessfully than successfully, and I've seen more counselors leave unexpectedly than with proper notice. I have over 5,760 hours of memories that make me laugh, cringe, cry, steam, and ache. Every three months or so, I have looked for an escape route only to be pulled back into camp by the very thing that brought me here 11 months ago: campers who say (in their own way, of course) that they recognize the sacrifice I'm making and are grateful for my time and energy.

I've done the exact thing my mom told me not to do when I moved to the woods--I've fallen in love with a beach bum, and every week, I make the 3 hour trek to spend time with him in what I've come to consider paradise. Beaufort, North Carolina. Beaufort, a quaint waterfront town, is the third oldest in North Carolina. Complete with a fudge factory, historic homes, and various boats as small as a paddle-only dingy and as big as Michael Jordan's crewed yacht, Beaufort has stolen my heart.

As I approach my year mark in the woods, it's nice to know there's a place to go to escape from the madness in the woods. And as I grow fonder of Beaufort each time I visit, doors are opening that let me know that Beaufort is growing fonder of me, too.

heavyweights and turkeys.

45 weeks.

Thank God for 300 pound teenagers.

It's time for the Turkey in the Hole at camp this week, and for the past two weeks, we've been sending our campers off property to collect wood for our Thanksgiving celebration. On Monday night, we will be lighting a bonfire that rivals the great Aggie tradition, but the only differences are that the fire is in the ground, and that there will be 12 turkeys in it rather than the 12th Man. (I'm glad I could slide in that reference for all my Aggie buddies.)

I've never driven with a trailer in tow. As much as I have learned from my dad by watching him all my life, my skills in trailer-hauling are pretty lacking to say the least. A couple of days ago, I loaded all 12 of my campers into a 15-passenger van, hooked up the 10-foot trailer, and carried them a few miles down the road to a dirt path that I impressively navigated without a snazoo.

When we came back to camp to drop off the wood, things got tricky. My mind apparently only operates in Drive because Reverse had its way with me. To the tune of my kids yelling that a) I'm a sucky driver (I mean if a 12 year old can do it, why can't I?) and b) "you're going the wrong way, chief!" and c) gangster rap, I successfully sank my van into a foot of sand.

No worries, though. I have a 300 pound camper who saved the day. Not only does the kid know how to unhook a trailer, he can move the trailer on his own, and then hop on the back of the van and provide enough weight to easily allow the van to back on out of the huge hole I sunk it in.

He seriously made up for last week when he took off his shirt in a fit of anger, and I had to hold him back. Nightmares, I tell you. Two nights of them, at least.

my keepsake.

Friday was my 24th birthday, and yesterday was my great-grandmother's 99th birthday. Our birthdays are one day apart with 75 years to separate us.

I called Granny today, and we had the same conversation we had in June when I last saw her:

Granny, do you know who I am?
- No, honey, I don't.
I'm Lydia. I'm Vicky's daughter.
- Lydia? Oh. That was my mother's name.
I know. I'm named after your mother.
- Oh. That's right. You're my keepsake.
Yes, that's me, Granny. Your keepsake.
- From beginning to end...

It kills me that my Granny doesn't remember me. I grew up around my grandma and great-grandma, but since moving off to college, I haven't seen them as much as I did when I was home. Out of the 13 of us that call them Mammaw and Granny, my brother and I are the only ones who were lucky enough to be raised near them. Mammaw, Granny, my mom, and my aunts Celine and Phoebe used to spend hours playing Canasta and laughing harder than I have ever laughed with any other person or group of people.

I'm finding myself becoming super nostalgic these days as I think about home. It might be that the holidays are coming up, and for the first time EVER, I'm not going to be home for Thanksgiving, and I'm stressing a little about what Christmas will look like. I'm also spending a lot of time with other people's families and the special bond they share and are so willing to share with me makes me miss the first set of people who gave me the unconditional love I've experienced from so many others in my life.

I've got quite a few funny stories from this week, but I can't find it within me to be funny right now. Ask me later about how my kids can't tie their tennis shoes in 2 minutes, but can find the time to concoct a full-fledged drama about segregated cisterns in the time it takes for them to brush their teeth.

For now, though, if you're reading this, and you're from Texas, and I love you, and you love me, know that I miss you....

i chose the wine.

"I'm going to introduce you as my granddaughter today."

I heard this as I climbed into Ann's Oldsmobile this morning as we headed to her water aerobics class. My heart melted.

"Yes," I responded, "It's only right. It's too complicated to explain that I'm your grandson's best friend's girlfriend who has snuck into your life without permission and mooches off your home and food two days a week. Plus, I already claimed you as my grandma."

Today is Ann's 79th birthday. Ann is a woman with a heart of gold as big as the ocean. In her lifetime, she has taken care of 7 children and has taken in probably a dozen others into her home, including me over the past few months. As she says, "she loves young people," and you can tell when her face lights up everytime I walk in the door. For some reason, God has allowed me the opportunity to stumble into her life by way of my sailing/squatting boyfriend, and (although this is not the case) if the only reason he is in my life is so that I could know her, I count myself blessed.

As I looked around the pool this morning, I found myself surrounded by matriarchs (a royal description my mom uses to describe my real grandma and great-grandma). I was the youngest in the pool by several decades, and it was an honor.

I have always been mentored by some incredible women. I was raised by a strong and dedicated mother who has always been and will always be my foundation. I grew up around a sisterhood (my mother's sisters) of outgoing and passionate women who I know I can depend on if I ever needed anything. I am the luckiest because I grew up with my grandmother and great-grandmother intricately apart of my childhood and teenage years. At the end of this month, I will be celebrating my 24th birthday as my great-grandmother (Granny) celebrates her 99th birthday. In high school, I had a mentor (Julie) who inspired me to live and love passionately and think globally. When I lived in Dallas, I was blessed by two women (Rebecca and Terri) who invested in and cared about who I was and where I was going.

And now, I have Ann. It makes me miss the time I'm not sharing with my own grandmothers, but I am grateful for this North Carolina blessing because I can see myself in Ann's shoes 55 years from now. She and I share stories of the crazy kids we've loved, and she's giving me tips for healthy relationships and a healthy life.

My favorite tip thus far: "When you get old, you can either take a Valium every night, or have a glass of wine every night. I chose the wine."

from the woods to the water

I've been reading Eat, Pray, Love since I moved to North Carolina this past January. It usually doesn't take me much time to read through a book, especially an easy read like this one. Living in the woods makes it hard to read, though. Usually I'm dealing with problems or writing progress notes...or trying to sit still in the darkness, hoping the bugs won't notice my existence and attack.

As I look back on the last 8 months, I feel like in some kind of way, my time in North Carolina has mirrored the story told by Elizabeth Gilbert in her book. She takes a year to find herself, first in Italy for 4 months, eating her way through paradise. She learns to love herself, to enjoy the adventure life provides and to soak in new experiences.

My first four months in North Carolina were just that: traveling as much as possible, eating new foods (like shrimp & grits and pork barbecue, despite my disgust for all things pork), and soaking in the adventure of it all.

Gilbert then travels to India for 4 months. She lives in an ashram, dying of heat, covered in bugs, but simultaneously experiencing freedom and experiencing God. She makes lifelong friends and sees the adventure not just as a pleasurable experience, but one where she can learn commitment, devotion, and selflessness.

My last four months at camp have been just that. The heat and bugs have robbed me of not only my energy and blood, but my patience. In the midst of it all, though, I've learned what it means to survive under immense pressure and difficulty. I've come to better understand the reasons why I struggle to reconcile what I know of God and what I've been told of God. I've connected with people that I know will be a part of my life for a long time, and I've really learned to love my kids regardless of the problems they throw. I am a stronger woman because of this summer.

Liz and I have ate together, we've prayed together, and it looks as if we will love together for these last four months. I'm beginning to read about her travels to Indonesia for the last leg of her journey. I haven't read much into it yet, but some spoilers have told me she falls in love. I'm excited to see what she learns of love because true to our connected journeys, my heart has found a home away from the woods. My heart is with a man who lives on a sailboat, and as I begin this last leg of my first year in North Carolina, I'm spending my time either in the woods or on the water.

chief lydia vs. the box

33 weeks.

I've been a Taskigi for somewhere around 3 months now, and nearly every single day of those 3 months, I've been fighting an uphill battle of wastefulness.

My kids have no sense of conservation or maximizing resources. I find entire rolls of paper towels sitting in puddles of mud. Nearly three times an hour, I will pick up a bottle of hand soap, put the cap back on, and return it to its home by the cistern. Toilet paper goes down the box by the roll.

It turns out that toilet paper wasn't the only thing going down the box, though.

"Chief, can you huddle up your group on morning logs, please?" says my supervisor in the wee hours of Tuesday morning.

I'm dreading what his message might be. Clean up your tents. Pick up this trash. Sweep this out better. I hate when someone else comes into my campsite and picks up on something left behind that I passed up and didn't get my kids to take care of.

"Because you guys continue to throw things down the box that shouldn't be there, we are unable to pump out your bodily waste which is causing the box to pile up and will eventually overflow if you don't clean it out immediately. We are putting in a phone call today to have someone pump it out which means you have until dinner to clear out everything that is not toilet paper or human waste."

All of our faces dropped, mine included as I remembered the time Tutelos had to clean out their box. Rumors of sick, nasty, smelly treasure came to mind, treasure I wasn't quite ready or willing to scavenge for. Alas, part of my job is to joyfully follow leadership and role model a positive mind frame. Not to mention my fascination for all thing feces. There was a mission to accomplish, and I was ready and willing to do my part.

After breakfast, we all marched solemnly back to campsite--everyone very aware of what monster we were about to challenge. I worried about who would step up, who would be the brave and fearless souls to conquer the box. I worried I would be the only one. My twelve boys, my co-counselor, a visiting counselor, and I sat down near the box, each of us gazing around, all avoiding eye contact with Chief Lydia, knowing that meeting my gaze would mean meeting their fate. Finally, I broke the deafening silence, "Okay, fellas, who's up for it?"

Surprisingly, three of my boys stood up and accepted the poor excuse for protection I offered their trembling hands. We all put on the thin, plastic gloves and turned to face our nemesis. I looked back once more and realized that I was the lone chief stepping up to this challenge. Neither my co-counselor nor the counselor visit, both men (surprised anyone?), were standing up. Both avoided my hateful glare.

The battle commenced. I entered the box first, the fearless leader looking out for her little ducklings. If I can do it, they can do it. I took a shovel and began to blindly search the intestines of the dark abyss of the box hole. I brought up the first item: an empty plastic bottle of cleaning fluid. Its removal from the box unleashed the stench I was waiting for, but a stench I wasn't prepared for. Instantly, my stomach convulsed, not ready to accept the fowl intruder that invaded my nasal passages. I ran out of the box dry heaving followed by all three of my campers. "Oh no, no no no no no, Chief! We ain't doin this! F*** that!"

"No, guys, we can do it. We'll get used to it. Let's cover our faces." Now armed with t-shirt masks, plastic gloves, and shovels, we went to work.

2 plastic kitchen gloves, a winter glove, a hat, 4 plastic bottles, hundreds of plastic gloves similar to the ones we were wearing, and thousands of maggots (yes, maggots) later, I encountered a larger, much more complicated roadblock to our victory over the box.

The four of us stepped out to reset our approach. The object wouldn't come up with the shovel, but we knew it was big. Big enough to prevent the box from being cleaned out. Big enough that it needed to come out of there one way or another. After 3 minutes of counsel, I made a decision. I was going in...as far and for as long as I needed to get whatever that beast was out of the box. For the sake of the children and their freedom to poop without fear of a maggot crawling on them or being grazed by a floating plastic bottle, I was going in.

I put one hand in and grabbed on to the beast by the horns. It felt stringy, and at first, I thought it was an entire roll of binding twine, the material we use to tie lashings when building tents. I couldn't maneuver it with just one hand though, so in went my second hand while I tried to avoid any unnecessary skin contact with the toilet. By this time, any barrier provided by my gloves went to crap (pun intended) as the putrid liquid seeped into my gloves. It was too late now. I had to get it out.

It breached the surface, and I saw that it looked more like pine straw. Could it be the lump of pine straw I tried to burn months previous? Did my kids really throw it in the box? Why would they do that? Wait. No. Not pine straw. It's sewed together. That's strange.

I kept pulling, and it kept fighting back. I was no longer fighting a monster, but a broom. An entire freaking broom. I wrestled the broom head out then maneuvered it sideways to get the handle out. Filled with disgust, anger, shock, and poopy water, I threw the broom in the direction of my lazy campers and stomped off to disinfect my body amidst howls of laughter and fake vomiting.

Everyone refused to touch the broom of the trash bags filled with the contents of the box. Our campsite smelled for nearly 2 days until I finally gave in and took the broom and bags to the dumpster unable to handle the smell any longer.

At night, I still think I can smell the box coming to get me. I'll never forget that smell or that broom...or these kids and this camp.

so now, go...

31 weeks.

I'm itchy.

My elbows, my fingers, my ankles, my neck, my back, the palms of my hands. All itchy. Unbearably itchy. The yellow flies have had their way with me. The mosquitoes have sucked me dry, and I'm itchy. Unbearably itchy.

But more than that, I'm itching.

I'm itching to create. I've been doing a little research here and there, and one thing continues to ring true in my heart. I want to start something...create something. I want to bring life back into a program. I want to create something brand new; however, I keep finding myself in situations where I get caught under the weight of what someone else wants for a program.

Right now, I'm drowning in a program I don't really believe in--a program that is swimming in potential, but a program that just won't...or maybe can't...take off its floaties.

I want to start over--I want to go into a program where the expectations are for me to revive, strengthen, and create.

But now we wait...for that still small voice that has always been with me, guiding me like the wind in a sail. A wind that never ceases nor leaves me.

Just as it sent Moses into Egypt, it leads me:

"So now, go. I am sending you."

stick tight. motivate. have no conflict.

30 weeks.

Minutes before I'm supposed to report back for work today, I feel the need to talk about standards.

Before each activity, whether it be walking down trails or going into the classroom, my kids are required to set standards for that activity. So many times, my boys will just ramble out the right words, knowing if they don't say exactly what it is that we are looking for, we will sit there until the right standards are set.

Before we leave anywhere, you'll hear a chief say, "Someone set standards for trails." Immediately, the response is given, "Stick tight. Motivate. Have no conflict." Sometimes I wish the boys would actually listen to the standards they give before moving. Much of my personal growth has come from listening to the standards set by my kids. Standards, not only for trails, but for life.

Stick tight.

Stick with the group. Don't stray from the boundaries. Keep close to the people who know you, who can protect you. If you wander, no one can support you if something goes wrong. If you are within view, no one can accuse you of doing something you had no part of. Surround yourself with a community of people who understand the life journey you're on. We were not created to live alone--we were created to live united.

Motivate.

My favorite standard--Motivate. Walk with a purpose. Walk with a destination in mind. Walk as if something you care about is at the end of the trail. Take initiative. Be determined. Have ambition. Don't let life happen to you, but grab life by the reins, and live it as if it's yours to live.

Have no conflict.

Peace. Peace between you and the person in front of and behind you. Peace between you and the leadership you follow, those who follow your leadership. Peace between you and the trees. The foundation of peaceful living is communication. If there's one thing I've learned in my 24 years of life, it's this: Communication is everything. I said recently to someone I care about, "God gave me many gifts, but mind reading is not one of them." This goes for everyone. Conflict is avoided by communicating--communicating with one another, with Mother Nature, with our own spirit, and with the spirit of God.

So as I march back into the woods this morning, I'm clinging to these standards, hoping that they will lead me in the right direction in the coming months.

Happy 7 month Campiversary to me.

surviving...or something like it.

28 weeks.

My six-month campiversary has come and gone, and so has the six-month wall to accompany it.

I can feel myself drifting from the excitement and commitment I had back in January, and as I reach out to those who know and love me, I'm feeling a surge of support that has never wavered but continues to surprise me. The support that comes from my loved ones is unconditional, but there has been and continues to be a hint of "get out of there now!" that comes alongside their steady hands of guidance and love.

I'm starting to feel that same need for escape. I can't decide what is actually fueling it. There are multiple reasons. One might be the weather. I'm constantly sweating and itching. I can't get away from the heat or the bugs. One might be the staff. The numbers of gainfully employed crazies at camp are dwindling, and it doesn't seem like anything is being done to rehabilitate the program. One might be the kids. I'm running out of interest in riding the roller coaster of emotion that comes with every success and failure of ten different kids. When one kid is doing well, there is surely another who can't get his act together. When one kid has a problem, they all seem to get jealous and throw their own problem. It's exhausting, and just at the moment when I feel like I can't take it anymore, one kid decides it's all my fault and throws a giant "f*** you!" in my face.

Another might be the call to something next to normal. I've found some peace and love in my time off lately, and it's something I've come to long for while I'm working. I've come to appreciate the value of an 8 to 5 job for what it offers you as an individual. Nights and weekends. Freedom to grocery shop, to cook, to clean, to write, to play, to love, to be. Things I miss and need in my life.

I read this quote the other day that hit home:

People should not worry as much about what they do but rather about what they are. If they and their ways are good, then their deeds are radiant. If you are righteous, then what you do will also be righteous. We should not think that holiness is based on what we do but rather on what we are, for it is not our works which sanctify us but we who sanctify our works. - The Eckhart Society

I have spent my whole life saying that I wanted to have the hardest work in the hardest places with the hardest people. I don't want to give up on that, but I also don't want it to come at the sacrifice of the beautiful parts of me.

I'm surviving...or something like it, but to be sure, I've got some thinking to do.

justice shmustice.

25 weeks.


*Lydia drags soapbox from backstage left to stage front. Lydia proceeds to stand on soapbox.*

I am a little disenchanted with the justice system these days. Justice is based on truth, reason, and fairness, but what I've experienced and what these kids experience is neither true, reasonable or fair.


Last week, I spent two and a half hours in a court room filled with people who are still receiving continuances for crimes committed in November 2009 -- selling/manufacturing/possessing drugs, driving without licenses, alcohol abuse, etc. I sat there with a teenage boy who assaulted me 2 months ago. Upon pressing the charge, I was given a subpoena to appear in court on June 28 at 9:30 am. I showed up. I brought him with me. Two and a half hours later, our case still hasn't been addressed. I walk up to the woman leading the session after the long line of perpetrators finish their hearings. Oh, I'm sorry. What is his name again? Yeah, I see now. He's not on my list. Let's look it up in the computer. Hm...it looks as if the warrant has not even been served yet. You'll need to go talk to the D.A. and figure this out.


I'm usually full of patience, but I nearly lost my cool as my mind flashed back to the same month that I pressed the charge on this kid. I received a parking ticket about 1 minute after driving up to the Wal-Mart door to pick up my co-worker. Apparently, I was in a fire lane, and fire lanes are a big deal around these parts. 30 minutes later (thank God there wasn't a fire!) I was on my way with a court date 3 DAYS LATER. Obviously, I couldn't make it since I work 5 days a week, 24 hours a day, so I spend the next three days diligently calling the court asking to take care of it another way. The ticket wasn't even processed until a week later, so once again, if I would have shown up on that court date--nothing would have happened.

This whole dramatic world I've created has made me a bit self-righteous. Allow me a few moments to spin my wheels, if you will. I promise not to go on for too long.

I spend a whole heck of of a lot of time teaching the kids of North Carolina (one of the forerunners in child abuse, neglect, and teenage pregnancies, mind you) how to behave responsibly. These kids are passed down from these same courts that treat their court rooms like a cattle call---line 'em up, brand 'em, and move 'em along, but save one or two for the finale.

My words of wisdom for Elizabethtown and its sister cities: Get it together, and get your priorities straight. The time you spend trying to get as much money as possible from your citizens is taking away from the time you should be spending teaching your children how to live decent lives. Instead of making traffic citations a big deal, how about you make violence a big deal? Instead of ticketing me for pausing momentarily to pick up a friend in a mostly empty parking lot, how about you head down to the local McDonalds and teach your children how to get a real job instead of selling drugs in the drive-thru? How about you teach your children what it's like to live in a world based on truth, reason, and fairness?

*Lydia steps down from soapbox, and drags it back off the stage.*

my tree of life.

About a month before my college graduation, I asked my dad how he felt about me getting a tattoo before heading to the PeaceCorps the following summer. He basically told me he would kill me if I ever got a tattoo.

Fast forward 2 and a half years to last night when my dad accompanied me to Superchango Tattoo for my first tattoo. Inspired by the contents of from the forest comes life, I tattooed the "Tree of Life" on my inner left ankle. When I asked my dad again a few weeks ago about getting a tattoo, he said he approved on one condition: that he could be with me when I got it done. Deal. In the parking lot before we left, I had a chance to tell my dad precisely how grateful I am for him.

Growing up, I was a big-time Daddy's girl. I remember signing all of his birthday and Father's Day cards, "To Daddy Waddy from Wydia Wudy." I remember learning to read Green Eggs and Ham on his lap in our living room on Kury Lane. I remember all the baseball, softball, and basketball teams of mine he coached. I remember swinging practice in our lawn and catching drills on my knees in the dirt. Sometime in my teenage years, things started to change between my dad and me. We'd argue more often as my interests no longer aligned with his strengths as a father. Before we could recover from the downswing in our relationship, my parents filed for divorce.

A flood of thoughts, feelings, emotions, misunderstandings, and lies take over a child's mind during a divorce. All of my negative thoughts and feelings about my dad intensified during the divorce. Coupled with my dad's thoughts and feelings (which I won't go into given he's not here to defend or explain his side of the story), we dug our heels in and spent the next six years fighting for and against, for and against, for and against a healthy and lasting relationship. There were moments where he was ready to give up, moments where I was ready to throw in the towel. God never threw in the towel, though, and he and I both can testify to that grace and persistence being the reason I can write this blog today--a story of gratitude.

It is obvious to me which of my campers don't have a consistent and loving father figure in their life. They are the ones who are automatically repulsed by female authority figures, the ones who are too hard for their own good, the ones who don't understand how to give and receive love and respect. They are the ones who sit by and watch as a female gets threatened and assaulted. They are the ones who will graduate the program and still have miles to walk before they experience healing.

If I worked with girls right now, this may even hit closer to home, but the simple knowledge that the consistent factor in each of these boys' lives is the lack of a father at home stops me dead in my tracks. I can write for days about the hardships that my dad and I have been through. I can outline each negative obstacle we've faced and tackled. On the flip side, I can write out every single good deed he has done for me and for others, highlighting the generosity and caring nature of my dad. But today, I am grateful mostly for the small things. For the gift of an active and present father, I am eternally grateful.

So to you, Papa Bear. Thank you.

Thank you for being there even when it got hard, for coaching me to be strong, to stand up for what is right, to never quit when faced with a challenge.

Thank you for never giving up on me, for always supporting and providing for me, for teaching me how to support and provide for myself.

Thank you for taking the life you were handed and changing your stars, so that mine could be brighter.

Each day with you on my team is an example to me of God's love, grace, and persistence. Each day is proof to me that God is still working miracles and hope that miracles are being worked in the lives of my campers.

You and Mom are the roots of my Tree of Life--no matter how far those roots spread apart, they are still a solid foundation for the reach of my branches.

you were given life.

23 weeks.

You were given life; it is your duty (and also your entitlement as a human being) to find something beautiful within life, no matter how slight. Eat, Pray, Love; Elizabeth Gilbert

I think it is a testament to the dramatic shift in dynamics at my job that I can come home to Texas with a smile on my face and can laugh at the stories I tell to my family about my kids and the craziness at camp. I feel like I've done a really steady job of maintaining a positive mindframe about my work--seeing the bad and finding the good on daily basis, being intentional about wrapping everything up nicely with a positive spin. Obviously, some weeks are harder than others, and there was a solid 8-week stint of tough times that had my entire family wrecked with worry about what in the world I was getting myself into at this camp.

My mom asked me yesterday to rate on a scale of 1 to 10 how glad I was that I made the decision to go to this camp. I told her a 9, and she looked shocked. Her next words were, "I was ready to fly back up to North Carolina with you at the end of your stay and pack your things if there was any piece of you that looked unhealthy." Instead of looking unhealthy, she said I looked great. As much as I struggle with a number of things at camp, I'm happy there. Especially with my new group. I feel safe finally, and that is really all it took for me to begin to enjoy my job again. Safety was the ticket for my happiness to come back, my laughter instead of tears.

All but one of my kids went home this weekend, and I went home too. Much deserved on all parts, I believe.

In Eat, Pray, Love, there's a moment in Italy where the author has a conversation about how every city has a word that defines it, and that most people who live there also fit that definition. For example, Rome's would be SEX, and Naples would be FIGHT. She starts to try to identify her word, so that she can identify where she belongs. I found that profound--that we can all sum ourselves up into one word. Maybe mine is LOVE or DEVOTION, ADVENTURE or FREEDOM. I'm not sure. I feel that those are so...mushy, that they don't give testament to the darker parts of me that aren't always visible.

I think I'll spend the next few days in Texas trying to figure out what my word is...and maybe I'll find a place one day that is my match.

summertime lamentations

22 weeks.

I admit it. I am in complete shock at this turn of events. Honestly, I never would have guessed it or seen it coming. I predicted it all wrong and underestimated my strengths and weaknesses. I am utterly disappointed in myself.

I am going to be MISERABLE this summer!!!!

In preparation for my move to North Carolina in January, I dreaded the winter. I worried myself sick and asked everyone how to prepare, what to expect, what I should do, how I could survive the sub-freezing temperatures, the snow and the ice. Hailing from Texas, I thought that I'd be fine in the heat. I've lived in triple-digit summers for 23 years. I know heat. I know humidity.

Insert foot in mouth.

Dear Reader, please allow this lamentation for once--I must whine myself to sleep tonight, for I am dreadfully hot.

I sleep under a bug net where it's now too hot for a sleeping bag. I wear all my clothes to bed because I don't have the privacy to wear anything with less coverage than cargo pants and a t-shirt. I go to sleep sweating and wake up sweating (now, I know for some of you, this sweating thing may not come as a surprise. I've always been man-like in my sweating, but friends, dear friends, you ain't seen nothin' like this before). If I don't keep covered by clothes, I'll instead be covered in mosquito bites. I sweat all day toting around a filing cabinet in my book bag (metaphor stolen from my co-worker, Gary--but now that I think about it, he'll never read this, so let's just say I'm clever enough to have made that up on my own) and a medical satchel. I shower once a day, but usually it's mid-day, so I sweat in the shower and sweat trying to get dressed.

I am in a constant state of sweaty!!

Oh, but it gets worse. It's only June 11. Summer hasn't even begun. The triple-digits mock me as they paw the dirt waiting for release from Seasonal Purgatory.

And the bugs. Oh, the bugs. If it rains, it cools down the temperature, but brings out the bugs. What kind of trade off is that?!? If there really is a moment where I can ask God one thing, I may just ask him why we must sacrifice our bodies to the bugs in order to get a reprieve from the heat. I know we are called to be "living sacrifices" (Romans 12), but really, God? Really? Mosquitoes, Horse Flies, and Yellow Flies? Really?

Heat rashes. Bug bites and stings. Swollen appendages due to bug bites and stings. Living in constant fear of being attacked by campers and bugs.

I am a masochist. It is official. I'm really enjoying the beach and lake time I'm getting when I'm not working. I might actually get a good tan this year for the first time in a long...well...ever. That tan will be hard to see, though, behind the red bumpiness of my arms and legs. My oh my, this may be the longest summer of my life. 3 months might feel more like a decade this time around.

the house that built me

About an hour away from where I live now is the architect who designed my childhood home.


Set back on three acres on the shores of Indigo Lake in the woods of Magnolia, TX, my childhood home was captivating. A 2-story, white, Greek revival home with a lovely front porch and a back porch that looked out on green grass, tall pines, and lined up perfectly with the moon's reflection on the water, this house was the house where I wanted to get married and the home I wanted my kids to visit on long weekends with their grandparents.


My parents divorced at the beginning of my junior year of high school. My mom moved off first to Montgomery, TX then to Austin, TX, and has now recently returned to Montgomery. My dad stayed in that house until about 3 years ago, waiting for the right person and right time to sell. He now lives part-time in The Woodlands, TX and part-time on his boat.


Nearly a year and a half ago, I went back with a few friends from Dallas to Magnolia for an Ultimate tournament to support a child in my former youth group who needed medical assistance after falling out of a tree, resulting in paralysis of his legs. After the tournament, I drove my friends through my hometown, sharing stories of my childhood adventures and misadventures. We ended up at the same spot where I'd wait for the school bus, outside the gate where our family dog would run to get the newspaper each morning--the same dog we buried behind the garage that stood just a few hundred feet behind the iron gate where I now stood. I took a chance and pushed in the code to open the gate of my past...and it worked! The gate opened, and I drove in not really knowing why or what I was expecting.


Give me just a minute, guys. I need to at least try.


I knocked on the door and introduced myself to the woman who answered. Hi, this may be strange, but my name is Lydia Rudy. I grew up here.


She immediately invited me in.


A friend of mine recently told me that I would like Miranda Lambert's song House that Built Me. Listening to it on the radio today, I heard my own story from a year and a half ago:


I thought if I could touch this place or feel it
This brokenness inside me might start healing
Out here it's like I'm someone else
I thought that maybe I could find myself
If I could just come in I swear I'll leave
Won't take nothing but a memory
From the house that built me


My mom sent me an email this week with the writings of Jill Carattini called The Right Side of Pain. In it, Carattini talks about how she spent a good portion of her life after her family fell apart reaching out to the broken and the hurting, the poor and the helpless, in an effort to make sure that no one felt alone in their hurting like she did when she was hurting. She bounced from community to community after she felt like she had done all she could, given all she had, exhausted her love and resources. She concluded by saying that where she went wrong was when she invited the broken into her house--a metaphorical house that was built on her own strength, a house that had yet to be fixed, a house that was not ready for company. She instead needed to begin inviting those same people into the house of God:


...A house built not by human hands, but held up by the beams of the cross. Here our souls find a house with rooms prepared for them and a table set with room for our enemies. God has invited us into the kingdom; the doors of a great house are opened wide. And it is a house where hospitality is not a conditional sharing of personal pains, or a self-centered preoccupation with suffering, but an extension of Christ's invitation: Come to me, all who are weary and I will give you rest.


I'm the type of person who carries her hurt with her wherever she goes. Before moving to North Carolina, I spent two years learning how to let go of the hurt and find strength in the vulnerability that came with letting go. Unlike Carattini, I've been drawn to helping people since I was a child. I once told my mom that I wanted to travel to the hardest places to do the hardest work. Still, I find myself seeking out those opportunities and wanting to flee when it got too hard. Lately, I've been wanting to flee from this camp, from the hardest boys and run to a safer camp in Georgia where it might be easier.

After a week of deep consideration and a week with a new group of boys, I've decided not to flee this time and to stay at my camp in North Carolina. Starting over with a fresh perspective, I need to let go of the house I've built around me and start living in the house of God, so that I can invite these kids into a stable home, one that won't fall apart around them, one that hold plenty of room for me and for them.

chiefin' ain't easy

20 weeks.

Choosing something to write about once a week is really the only tough thing about my time off of work. On a weekly basis, the only other hard decision I have to make is whether to travel or relax at the time-off house. And honestly, it's never hard to decide to hop in Blanca and roll.

When it comes to writing, though, there are a handful of goals I aim to meet. I want to be able to process the past week. I want to be able to share my experiences with the people I love the most. I want to be able to look back on my week with a positive and fresh perspective, so I can tackle the coming week. I want to be able to laugh and make you laugh a little. I want to be vulnerable and honest.

So...my dear readers. Where to begin?

I could start with a recap of the week. I could tell you about the mini-riot my boys had on Sunday. I could tell you how many times my life was threatened. I could tell you how many times I heard a boy fart, curse, burp, how many times I asked someone to pull their pants up. I could tell you about the conversations I had about God and life and love. I could tell you about the inappropriate conversations I tried to stop by talking about my favorite cereal or what types of clouds were in the sky.

I could then divert to the way I'm feeling about my pending transfer to Georgia. I could tell you how torn I feel. Torn between fulfilling a commitment to this camp and to the kids whom I've given my heart and fulfilling a need to be where I want to be, doing what I want to do, and feeling good about myself, the program I work for, and the kids I work with. I could write about the differences between the two camps, the similarities, the reasons why I want to go, the reasons why I think I shouldn't, the reasons why I think I should. I could write about my frustrations, my sadness, my hope for a better experience, my disappointment in my current situation, my inability to make a decision.

For some reason, though, I feel the need to talk about love. I hesitate to do this--given the medium on which I write, but this is how the big whigs get their book deals, right? Maybe if I add a little spice to the writing, I'll get my ticket to fame. Ahh. I kid. I kid. But here goes anyways--maybe it'll help.

Using a term from my training buddies, "Chiefin' ain't easy." I feel that I've already illustrated to you that being a chief in the woods is one of the toughest things I will probably ever do in my life. This job is quite literally a sacrifice of all things normal in your life. I work 5 days a week, 24 hours a day. Do the math. That's 120 hours of my life each week in the woods with teenage boys.

120 hours!

That leaves me 48 hours to do laundry, peel the woods off of me, turn back into a female, and do something that makes me feel refreshed, energized, normal, loved, and part of something great. Usually that involves going to the beach, to the city, to a new place, eating good food, shopping, watching movies, hiking, swimming, lounging, vegging, drinking, goofing around. All good memories, right? What it doesn't involve? Love.

Now, I've never been much of a relationship girl. I've been in 2 real relationships in my lifetime. It's just never been a big focus of mine. I've dated here and there, but it's never been enough of a priority to compromise the life I wanted to live for the love I wanted to have. Even now, it's not enough of a priority to compromise this adventure, and at this point, with this path I've chosen, it's practically impossible to imagine being in a relationship. At the end of my shift, I have nothing left to give anyone and even if I did, I don't have the proper amount of time to invest in someone.

But man...after 5 days of no physical affection. Scratch that. After 5 days of physical aggression, constant verbal abuse, miles of walking, hours of feeling ugly and dirty, I wish I had someone around who could take my hand, tell me I'm beautiful, put his arm around me, kiss my forehead and just be with me. There. I said it.

....now where's that book deal?

the art of self deprecation

19 weeks.

Shower time is my favorite time of the day. The boys like to shower. They know they stink, and they know they need a shower. One of the only times of the day where we are all on the same page. The guys take their shoes off, line up, and one-by-one disappear into the shower house, leaving me twenty-five glorious minutes of quiet and alone time in my own personal shower house.

It's good to be a female chief for these twenty-five minutes.

About eighteen minutes in, I'm usually done with my shower, and I'll mosey out to the benches and lay down to watch the clouds roll by or play with my phone.

A few days ago, I heard a fellow Chief walking down trails, singing, as he headed to meet up with his group at the shower house. Much to my amusement, he entered the mud room (read: waiting room outside the showers) singing, and his campers said, "that sounded like shit." He responded immediately, "I know! It was terrible, wasn't it?"

About three times a week (at least), I'll find myself thinking, "Self, what does it take to be a good chief in the woods?" Normally, one might answer that question with words like consistency, dedication, patience. Chiefs who are honest might say that crazy is a requirement. My answer: the art of self-deprecation.

Self-deprecation is a key tool in deflecting camper attacks and redirecting their negative attention to a situation in which you have total control.

"Chief, your armpits are sweaty! You sweat like a man."
Yeah, I know. If you come within 4 feet of me, I can actually spray you down. Tread softly, child.

"Chief, you have a beard. You need to shave that thing."
Once I start shaving my legs, then I'll consider shaving my beard. Want to see how long my leg hairs are??
(Mom--don't worry. I still shave my legs. I haven't fallen off my rocker completely.)

"Chief, you're fat."
The better to body slam you with, my child.

"Chief, you've got problems."
Dude, tell me about it. Which one are you talking about?

"Chief, you're lame."
God, I know. I think I'm starting to get used to it, though. Sorry that you're just now having to adjust.

I will walk away from this camp one day grateful because I've learned how to love my imperfections or abnormalities (or whatever you'd prefer to call them), however extreme they may seem when they come from the mouth of a teenager. They are caviar for turning tables and regaining control just when you think you might lose it.

I hesitated to break the news to all of you that I'm fat, ugly, hairy, lame and weighed down with loads of baggage, but there it is. I know it may come as a shock to some of you. Do your best to deal. I have.

georgia on my mind

18 weeks.


I say Georgia, Georgia,

a song of you

comes as sweet and clear

as moonlight through the pines

Other arms reach out to me

Other smiles smile tenderly

Still in peaceful dreams I see

The road leads back to you


Nearly a year ago, I began thinking about making a transition from my current job as the Volunteer Coordinator of the North Texas Food Bank into a job that was more hands-on and that allowed me to be outdoors more often. I had been following the journey of a friend from college who had been working for Eckerd Youth Alternatives. Her job intrigued me, and it seemed that this was exactly what I was looking to do.


I applied online to work at one of three camps under EYA - one in Georgia, one in Tennessee, and the other in North Carolina--thinking that these three states were some of the most beautiful states in our country. The rest is history, and here I am in North Carolina.


To say that I am disappointed in my placement would be far from the truth. I love being within driving distance of big cities, beaches, and mountains. I love the kids in my group, and I love my colleagues. Just this weekend, 8 of us camped out on Carolina Beach, enjoying the company of the ocean, the stars, other (quite eccentric and inebriated) campers, and a lineup of local (fairly awful except for when I was able to play the bongo with them) bands.


However, an opportunity has come up to work at the camp in Georgia where I previously applied. This camp is a private camp (meaning the kids are sent there by schools and families rather than the courts) with more flexible hours (4 days on; 3 days off) and more opportunity for me professionally and personally.

So it looks like I may be moving to Georgia in the next month or so. Stay tuned...

Until then, let's take a moment to honor the great state of Texas. My flight is booked, and I'll be back in 1 month and 2 days!

pimento cheese and hippies.

I ordered pimento cheese grits for breakfast yesterday in honor of Mother's Day.

I grew up with my mom eating pimento cheese sandwiches. Every time, I'd be grossed out by the smell, the look, the idea of it all. It wasn't until I was out of college and living on my own in Dallas did I come to know the glory of pimento cheese.

This year, I didn't get to spend Mother's Day weekend with my mom, but I did get to spend it in Asheville, NC. Nestled in the Blue Ridge Mountains, sprinkled with varieties of ethnic cuisines and organic stores, walked by hippies, and adored by its visitors, Asheville is a place I'd like to crawl up into and never leave its side.

As I'd walk down the sidewalks of the sloping streets of downtown, I'd turn to my co-worker and friend, Alison, and say, "Look at how cool everyone looks!" Asheville is a happy place, as any place should be that reeks of this type of perfection.

The foodie in me was satisfied. The musician in me, pleased. The hippie in me, welcomed. The soul of me, full. I will return to Asheville. As soon as possible, really.

I only wish I could have taken my mom there with me. She would have loved the pimento cheese grits. The fruit salad that accompanied them looked strikingly similar to her own. She is a woman who would fit in really well in Asheville (except she'd need to find a hotel as opposed to the number of hostels I intend to visit--the woman loves her privacy and comfy bed option).

So, to my mother on this Mother's Day--I missed you dearly, but I thought of you the entire time. Let's do Asheville together next.

Love you, Mom.

the love that moves the sun and stars.

16 weeks.

As I approach my 4-month mark, I've decided to stop counting down the days until I've reached my two-year mark.

You might be asking yourself, "Self, why would Lydia stop counting down the days until she quits?"

Well, I'll tell you. I feel like over the last month or so, I've become a little sad about my current situation in the woods. The countdown made it feel more like a prison sentence rather than an opportunity, a certain amount of time I'm obligated to complete before I can move on with my life. I don't really want that as my perspective because I am exactly where I'm supposed to be doing exactly what I'm supposed to do--even if it is the gosh darn hardest thing I've ever done in my brief existence on this planet. Also, if I choose to shorten my term at camp, I don't want to feel as if I failed. In the end, if I choose to stay or go, that decision will not be taken lightly, and to leave will mean that I have exhausted all of what I'm able to give to these kids, and that, to me (and I sure hope, to you), is no failure. This camp is a stepping stone to more opportunities to serve kids and this world and, as the poet Dante describes, "the love that moves the sun and the other stars." (I'm currently reading Eat, Pray, Love where the author speaks of Dante's work. An honest note just so you don't start assuming that I'm now an expert on Italian poetry. Let's be real.)

I have returned from the great state of Texas, y'all. And it was good. So good.

Let's say that one more time, shall we?

It was so. so. so. so. dang. good.

You know? In four days time, I was able to be surrounded by a number of people who love me and who care about where I am and how I am, who took the time to pour into me if only for a few minutes. I am so humbled by the support I have back home. (Cheers to you, friends!) I even made a few new friends as we celebrated the joining of our dear Katy and Brad. These new friends even took the time (after knowing me for only a few hours) to pour into me and love on me. WHAT?! Who ever deserves such love and attention from practical strangers?! Apparently God is working overtime on making sure that I don't crater and fall before it's time.

Oh, and lots of Tex-Mex was eaten. Necessary to include, but not quite relevant. Let's move on.

Enter: Charles, the Economist from Chappell Hill. Southwest Flight 1067. Window seat.

A nerdy fella with his earphones in listening to Sigur Ros. Fast forward 2 hours and 55 minutes later. Charles has somehow kept me talking about my job, my life ambitions, my heart and soul, and has shared his opinions which were surprisingly optimistic and socially aware (as he says, most economists in the research field are shockingly similar to non-profit idealists). Charles will never ever know the impact this conversation had on me, but as I tapped my toe at the baggage claim, it hit me!

I have direction!

My mind was opened up just long enough to see what it is I want to do with all of this experience I'm racking up. God has always blessed me with incredible hindsight (aren't we all blessed with this type of 20/20 vision?!) where I can see his hands at work and how he had pushed me to be exactly where I should have been at the exact moment to bring me to the here and now. Is it possible that I now have a little foresight? This is exciting.

I'm not quite ready to share the direction, but I'm thinking that it will combine the best of both worlds that I've come to love--the wilderness and the city. Stay tuned.

As I transition back into camp, I'm clinging to some realizations I had at church this morning. I think that for the last few weeks, being in survival mode had distracted me from really loving my guys as God has loved me. I am here doing all of this because God first loved me, and the Gospel commands us to dedicate our lives to this type of work. Yes, I'm here for a change. Yes, I'm here to grow, but mostly, I'm here so that these kids can know a greater love. If I am distracted by my anger and sadness and disappointment that each day doesn't quite go as expected, I am not loving them as God loves me. He loves me with reckless abandon even when I run away. He sees me with forgiving eyes even when I spit in his face. He embraces me, even when I shove him away.

My friends. My family. Let me never, ever forget this.

I have a plan to take better care of myself on my time off--to do what I need to do and not get distracted by the ease of doing what others are doing.

I have a plan to do something with this life that has been given me, and right now, at 2:27 am on the last few moments of my vacation, I am excited about that.

And God has a plan to see me through to the very end (Philippians 1:6).

Heal my heart and make it clean.
Open up my eyes to the things unseen.
Show me how to love like you have loved me.

Break my heart for what breaks yours.
Everything I have for your kingdom's cause.
As I go from nothing to eternity.

-Hillsong United

texas on my mind.

15 weeks down. 89 to go.

I hesitate even to write tonight. Maybe I should hold off until next week when I feel better, but one week from today, I'll be celebrating one of my dearest friend's wedding back in Texas.

I wonder if that's what has me down. The more I think about the four days I'll spend back in Dallas, the more I think about how much I miss home. The double-edged sword of being a homebody and a wanderer, I suppose.

The brutal truth:

I'm exhausted. This six-week session, as you may have noticed, has been quite the trip on my body, my nerves, my existence, my everything. Lots of change, growth, transition. Too much, really. Too much at too fast of a pace where I find myself fighting to keep up, hoping not to lose myself in the storm.

Writing all of this seems pretty melodramatic, but hey, it's where I'm at tonight. I'm lonely. I'm tired. I miss my family and my friends, and I miss the opportunities to be me however I needed to be me. Here, I'm limited. I have 5 days a week to bring as much of me into a job with kid who don't really appreciate my personality and hobbies. I have 2 days a week to do things that I love to do, but to also build relationships inside and outside of camp. At the end of the week, I make a sacrifice one way or the other and pay a price for it eventually.

I know I'll be okay. I know I'll survive. I know it's worth it. I know that I won't give up. I just hope I won't let myself lose myself in the process.

Some inspiration in the form of music for myself--and for my mom, so she doesn't worry too much after reading this post:

When my life is like a storm
Rising waters all I want is the shore
You say I'll be okay
I'll make it through the rain
You are my shelter from the storm

Everything rides on hope now
Everything rides on faith somehow
When the world has broken me down
Your love sets me free

I am not my own
I've been carried by you all my life.

-Addison Road, Hope Now

my water bottle is hurt.

14 weeks down. 90 to go.

If I were my water bottle, I'd be thrown 50 feet into a tree.
If I were my water bottle, I'd be kicked repeatedly.
If I were my water bottle, I'd be covered in dirt.
If I were my water bottle, I'd be kidnapped and buried.
If I were my water bottle, I'd be dented and disfigured.

I'm glad I'm not my water bottle, but in so many ways, I feel like I am my water bottle.

I watched Clash of the Titans last night and found myself oddly relating to Zeus. In no way would I ever really compare myself to a god or supreme being or creator, but here I go:

Zeus's people--the ones he protected and cared for--rebelled against him and declared war on him after years and years and years of love, protection, and sanctuary. He then had the option to set Hades free over his people in an effort to win back their worship. Zeus was said to have loved humans too much.

To have loved them too much.

This morning I walked into the juvenile division of the courthouse and pressed assault charges on one of my campers, and as I walked out of the courthouse, I asked myself, "Have I loved them too much? Is that why all of this is happening?"

I feel powerless and helpless right now. The storm has yet to settle, and it feels like my campers have cut off my hands and feet. Some of my campers just don't get it. They don't get that for some of them, it's their last chance. They don't get that someone somewhere saw something within them that could bring hope and change into a damaged life. They don't get that there are individuals who have pushed pause on their own lives to live with them and give them 24/7 attention and help them walk through problems. And for some of these kids, they choose to continue on with these self-destructive choices without considering the consequences.

So here come the consequences, and it breaks my heart to think that the chances are greater that he'll repond negatively and end up in a facility that won't care about whether or not he succeeds.

I'm just not sure what else it takes to save this group. It's not as simple as riding out the storm. It's about finding the right way to fight at the right time to wake these kids up to see the consequences without bringing down the iron fist. It's about tough love. Unconditional love, but it's about realistic love. Love that still experiences consequences and pain and struggle and victory.

Have I loved them too much? No.
Have I loved them the right way? Not yet.

This program should not have to exist. This type of experience should never be lived. I should not be here.

But I am, and we're living it, and it does exist. And there are kids that benefit from this program. I watched one graduate this week and cried as I told him how proud I was that he took hold of this opportunity, and I know there are others like him who need this place, who get it, and who want this opportunity. I just hope I can figure out who they are before it's too late.

through the storm.

13 weeks down. 91 to go.

Hello, Civilization. I've missed you.

This week, I should have been climbing rock walls, zipping down zip lines, watching my campers complete low ropes challenges, watching them learn to trust one another, to trust themselves, watching them succeed individually and collectively.

Instead, I spent the week isolated in campsite in a state of chaos.

There are four stages to group development: forming, storming, norming, and performing. From what I've been told, a "performing" group is rare. It occurs when the group runs itself, where the campers are all so high-functioning that little supervisory intervention is needed. When I came into the woods back in January, my group was "norming." The group had been together for months without a new addition, and 4 campers were about to graduate. They knew each other and were functioning well. If you've been reading along, you'll know that I now have 7 new campers and 5 campers who have been around for more than 4 months. 2 of these campers are graduating this week. Over the past 3 weeks, my group has been recreating it's identity. Each camper has been trying to find his role in group, and it hasn't been what I would call smooth. Over the last week, my group has been transitioning from a "forming" group to a "storming" group.

True to the word, it feels like I'm caught in a hurricane. Violent campers, out-of-bounds campers, extreme defiance, dangerous behavior, and overall chaos and craziness. This week, we've had to simulate our trip in campsite, cooking all of our meals over the fire, staying in campsite away from community and camp life.

A storming group + isolation + previous bad behaviors + frustration over not going on the trip = Insanity.

One night out of 6 nights, the group went down to bed before 11 pm when they usually are down by 9 pm at the latest. Three campers were restrained by staff to prevent dangerous behavior, one of which is now sitting in detention for 5 days to cool down. I am beat up and bruised because of campers putting their hands on me in aggressive ways. My things were stolen and buried. Kids were caught with tobacco. Beds were damaged, sheets soaked in water and decorated with toothpaste curse words. Kids refused to wake up, refused to go to sleep. I was called every sexually inappropriate name you can imagine and even those you can't imagine. My life was threatened at least once a day. A decapitated skink tail was rubbed down my arm. Kids were threatened by other kids. Kids were kicked by other kids and intimidated with violence. We sat in huddles for hours waiting on campers to come and pay attention. We never ate breakfast before 11 am (normally eaten at 8:30 am) and usually had all three meals within a 5 hour window.

Oh. My. God.

I don't even really know what to do now that I've survived this week. Part of me wants to run away and say, "forget this!" Part of me realizes that this may be the worst it could get besides campers getting seriously hurt.

One of my campers who is graduating this week is the reason why this camp exists. He has transformed himself and his life in his 9 months and 22 days at camp. I know that when he leaves camp, he has the tools he needs to do something different with his life. He's not going to be the President, or a CEO of a Fortune 500 company, but he is going to be one less man in jail and one more person impacting another life because of his experience.

Knowing that he had the opportunity to change and took it gives me hope for this group of new campers. Right now, they are just at the beginning of a long road, and I need to be there at the end of their journey. I need to see them to the end, and I need to know that I was a part of the entire journey of a child's transformation. Through the storms. Through the fire. And through the celebration of their transition back home.

love them anyway.

11 weeks down. 93 to go.

I'm about to hit my three month mark, and I'm told that there's a wall that comes along with that milestone. I feel the wall coming and hope to jump over it effortlessly instead of crashing into it headfirst and falling on my rear end.

About a year ago, I made a list of things about me, so that I could be more "self-aware." One of the things on the list was that I hate change, but love starting over. I have loved the last 11 weeks because everyday is a new day, every weekend off has been a new adventure, and I continue to learn more about my job and my kids all the time. Alas, there is change in the air, and I am suffocating in a world of dislike. Change sucks. I am transitioning prematurely into the chief-in-charge of my group, more new kids are joining the group, more kids are graduating, and I am standing in the middle of it all as the winds whip around me, shifting my world around, challenging me to comply with the change.

Change is pressure for me. Change is uncomfortable for me. Change is not my friend. I feel as if I've been so distracted by the changes, that I haven't embraced the freshness of it all. I have a group of campers that need me to know who they are, and each time a new camper comes into my group, I have a chance to start over. I missed that chance with a few of them, but hopefully there's time to recover and begin to build a relationship where they can trust and respect me as their authority, but an authority who cares.

Matthew Fox comments on Pierre Boulez's definition of what life is about: "The goal of life is not happiness; it is living." And living implies suffering. In fact, the creative person--and that hopefully is all of us--takes on additional burdens of suffering by entering fully into living.
-A Spirituality Named Compassion

It's a tough thing each week to commit to living fully for these kids and for myself, to put their needs ahead of my own, but to satisfy my needs enough to be healthy and capable of loving them and taking care of them. It's a delicate balance that I haven't mastered, and may never master, but somehow each morning, I need to remember that it's important.

It's important even when they cuss me out all day everyday when I hold them accountable for their negative behaviors.
It's important even when they run out of bounds for three hours, forcing you to re-focus your entire day towards getting them back in group.
It's important even when they say they hate me and sit in problems for an entire week.

People are unreasonable, illogical, and self-centered.
Love them anyway.

If you are kind, people may accuse you of selfish ulterior motives.
Be kind anyway.

If you are successful, you will win some false friends and true enemies.
Succeed anyway.

The good you do today will be forgotten tomorrow.
Be good anyway.

Honesty and frankness will make you vulnerable.
Be honest and frank anyway.

What you spend years building may be destroyed overnight.
Build anyway.

People need help, but may attack you if you try to help them.
Help them anyway.

In the final analysis, it is between you and God.
It was never between you and them anyway.
-Mother Theresa

dogwoods in bloom.

10 weeks down. 94 to go.

Spring has come, and it is most obvious that it has arrived. The grass is turning green, flowers are popping up along the road, and most impressively and spectacularly, the Dogwoods are in bloom. Rows of trees that only a week ago were barren and brown are now covered in white blossoms. The earth is transforming around me, and I have a front row seat to watch the presentation.

As the earth transitions, I'm feeling some transition in my world as well. A few counselors have left the program. A few new counselors are coming in. I'm no longer the newest counselor, and spent the last 10 days of work alone in group. That alone made for some interesting stories.

More than all of this, though, my group is in transition. 5 of the 11 campers remain who were in group when I first arrived. 5 new campers have joined the ranks. With this many new campers, the dynamic of the group is changing, and most worrisome is that my oldest camper, my leader, is graduating within the next month.

Everytime I think about this, my heart breaks and my brain explodes. Camp is successful when it functions the right way, when the standards are upheld. This camper knows and holds standards better than I do. He's taught me just as much as my co-counselors and my training. I don't want him to go. I fear what will happen to the group when he leaves. I wonder if there's a camper that is ready to step up and lead the group, and I wonder if that next leader is the leader this group needs.

What worries me most is whether or not I am ready to develop a new leader. I am still learning, still mastering the routine, still finding the happy medium between what is black, white, and gray so that I can be consistent for my campers. For camp to run well, it needs counselors to be consistent and to stay. As this transition commences, I know that when the dust has settled, I will be the chief of my group, and I hope I don't fail my campers.

What gives me hope is this: I have the heart to do this. I have built up some emotional strength to get me through the hard times. I am learning the patterns of problems and am gaining the experience to handle these problems. And so very important: I am supported by my peers and supervisors.

I have survived the winter. Challenges are still to come, but the Dogwoods are in bloom, the skies are blue, and things are going to be all right. It's the little miracles in life that keep you going, and I am surrounded by miracles each day. The sun that brings light into the night sky, the Woodpeckers in the distance, the playful Cardinals in the trees, the laughter of my kids on a good day, the accomplishments of my kids on a bad one, the slow creep of darkness into the day, the light of lanterns at night, and the sounds of the woods at night once the kids are asleep. God is all around me, and I am tuned in.

flying logs and trust walks.

8 weeks down. 96 to go.

I'm sitting in a coffeshop in Chapel Hill, NC. Chapel Hill is a very, very neat town. Home of the UNC Tarheels, the town has a lot of pride in the beautiful school and has a lot of pride in itself. The thing I love about towns like Wilmington, Wrightsville Beach, and Chapel Hill is that they really do try to keep the charm of their cities alive. That's the perfect word for them: charming. I've been charmed by them, at least.

I find that these cities are my safe haven after a hard week of work. This week was hard. My co-counselor went on vacation for two weeks, leaving me alone with my campers. Just writing that sentence made my head hurt. Being alone with my campers is tough, tough, tough. When I'm away from them, I can start thinking about how I can better communicate with them and lead them, but when I'm with them, all of those thoughts go down the drain as it turns from an educactional program to a survival challenge. When I wasn't dodging flying logs and traffic cones or asking someone to sweep the floor for the bajillionth time, I think there were a few small victories. One being a trust walk. I may or may not have forced my campers to walk back to campsite in pairs with one partner blindfolded. They refused to do it until we threatened to pack them out for dinner if they didn't participate. While they didn't quite stay settled or respect the "trust" aspect of the walk, they completed it, survived, and even thought about what they learned for more than 5 seconds.

I have three days off this weekend because I'm working a six-day on, one day off, four days on shift in the next 11 days. Ouch. I'm going to sleep all day tomorrow.

For now, though, I'm enjoying Chapel Hill. I went "contra" dancing last night with counselors from another camp in NC; it's beautiful outside; there's an Ultimate game in 40 minutes; and there are new friends to meet and new experiences to be had. Life is good today.

my mini revolutionaries.

7 weeks down. 97 to go.

"The same love that motivates us to preach the gospel and meet some basic
needs should also motivate us toward getting behind the needs to their
causes...The questions don't stop with the structures of society that make
victims out of people. The questions continue right down into our lives, into
our own homes, into the ways that we personally participate in and benefit from
the way the structures are set up. It is painful because we might discover that
we are guilty of being a part of an unjust system."

John Perkins, What We Might Discover from A Quiet Revolution

This week, we had a quick lesson on Frederick Douglass, a black man born into slavery who educated himself, helped educate other blacks, drew white's attention to the issues of slavery, and served as a leader in a number of equality-focused movements. I spent a good portion of my academic career studying the civil rights movements in the United States, the political and violent revolutions in Latin America as well as the Holocaust experience. I believe that the revolutionaries and survivors whose stories I have read are people on the fringe--the marginalized. They are the ones who were not supported by their governments, and when they began to stand up for themselves, they were oppressed further before they were ever given a better shot at life. Some never got that chance and were killed in the fight. I realized that the revolutionaries of the past were people who were independent, free-thinkers, creative, defiant, who acknowledged the laws of the land, but followed the laws of their experience. A lot of horrible things happened during these movements, but in the end, a great majority of them brought positive social change.

I realized that the kids I am working with are mini revolutionaries. Right now, they are rebellious teenagers, but given the right motivations, appropriate direction, and productive activities, these kids could change the world for the better. I believe that there are two types of justices in this world. There is one that this country was built on that gives everyone a chance at life, liberty, and happiness. And then there's the justice that allows people with power and influence to go free and people who are minorities without money or education to be lost in the system. Some of my campers have experienced that justice. This justice that says, "Because of the color of your skin or because of the neighborhood you live in, you don't deserve the same chance as the rest of us." It's the justice that allows people I know personally to do the same activities as some of my campers and never reap the consequences of their choices while my campers are sent to spend nearly a year in the woods to face their consequences.

I am not saying that my campers do not need to be at this camp. They need to learn how to take responsibility for their actions. They need to learn how to successfully engage in our culture. They need to be there. I am simply making an observation that a lot of them have had an unfair shot at life--a lot of them are and were victims of their own environment, victims of the system. On the other hand, it is this system that is giving them a second chance at life. I just wonder sometimes why these kids have to spend a year in the woods and my peers were able to clear their records at the right price.

The question now is how can I help mold these rebels into the revolutionaries they were born to be? By "revolutionary" - I am not referring to the overturning of government. I am more focused on the fact that these kids are creative and thoughtful enough to make positive social changes in our country. They fight for what they believe in, but right now, their belief system is focused on negative activities. What if they fought for equal rights, for education, for life?

At one point in our discussion, I agreed with a point made by my co-counselor, and a camper turned to me and said, "Man, shut up. You don't know what we've been through." I turned to him and said, "You're right. I don't know. I'll never know what it's like to be in your shoes. But I do understand white privilege. I understand that I have been given a different opportunity at life than you. I've dedicated my time in college to learning about the ways our society works and how it has dealt you a different hand than me, and I have dedicated the rest of my life to making sure I am doing all that I can to make sure as many people as possible get the chances that I've had in my life. And I am dedicated to understanding you."

my lighthouse came to visit.

6 weeks down. 98 to go.

I decided two days ago that I like my job. I wrote this to a friend yesterday evening, but upon more consideration, I think it's better to say this: I convinced myself two days ago that I like my job.

I've never chosen to do something that I'm not a "natural" at. In everything I've done, I'm usually very good at it--otherwise, I don't do it for very long. I am, hands down, not a natural at this job. But no one is. It takes about a year to be good at this job. As my supervisors have said, even the very best at this job still experience the worst moments of this job. I can do everything I should, and the kids will still curse me out, they will still run out of bounds, they will still have their problems. What makes you good at this job is how you handle yourself and their problems in the same moment.

All of this said, at the end of every day, I feel like I accomplished something. 12 kids were fed three meals, took showers, and didn't die. Some days, they actually go to class, play a game, build something. Those are great days.

The challenge is this: identifying the positives of each day and making the positives overcome the negatives of the day.

The positives: My kids are hilarious. They crack me up multiple times throughout the day. They surprise me. They are clever--they come up with ideas that I could never think of on my own. They are talented artists, musicians, creators. I live in the outdoors--I see the sun rise and set each day. I am outside ALL DAY LONG in mostly beautiful weather (we shall not discuss the torment of winter at nights or what will be come summer time with yellow flies :-/). I spend very little money and eat way too much food. I have co-workers that encourage me and know the ins and outs of what I'm experiencing. I get to see kids succeed at overcoming their triggers and obstacles every single day.

For now, these are much more valuable to me, and they overcome all that is negative with this job. All that is difficult. All that is draining. My goal is to make this last as long as possible--a year at least, hopefully more. I do not want to look back 20 years from now and wish I would have stayed longer than I did.

I write all this from a coffee shop in Wilmington, NC. Sitting across from me is my mom. She came to visit me this weekend. It is so good to have her here--if only for a little while. My mom is my lighthouse. The bright light that shows me where the ground is, that warns me when I'm headed towards some place I don't want to go. A solid structure that withstands all of my storms, that is still standing when I feel like everything else has crumbled. I am so glad she came. She reminds me that I can do this, even when I know deep down she wishes I were still in Texas.

this is love.

5 weeks down. 99 to go.

This week was my first full week on the job. 24 hours a day. 5 days. I spent every evening in the woods, and I survived. A noteworthy accomplishment, I'd say.

As Valentine's Day is upon us, I've decided to spend this weekend loving on myself, so I went to Raleigh and got a hotel room. Tonight, I bought myself sushi and met up with a friend. A good evening. Tomorrow, I'll go to church and play a game of Ultimate before heading back. Life is good.

The two days a week that I have off are essential to my survival. For five days, all I can care about is my campers. For two days, I can care about me. This weekend I need this time in a big way.

Two of my campers are no longer in my group now. One graduated. He completed his time at camp and can now move on with his life--back home, back in school. I won't ever get to know how he does unless his family worker updates me. In this case, no news is good news. I'm proud of him and hope he makes good choices for his life.

The other has been transfered to a mental health hospital. My heart shattered as I left his hospital room on Friday evening. After spending all day with him and two other campers at the hospital waiting for his papers to come in from the magistrate, I couldn't bear the thought of never knowing how he is. He promised he'd write me. I hope he does. Over the past month, I've watched him struggle with and overcome some demons inside of him that have kept him from progressing at camp. I've seen a lively, talented, hilarious young man crumble underneath the pressures of his past that he's holding captive within. No child should suffer as many of my kids suffer. No child should be taken from one hospital to another in shackles without their family to support them. I left him with a ball and a note that contained a list of things that I felt made him great. He left me with a hole in my heart longing for his healing and his freedom.

Earlier today, I was talking to my mom, and she helped me to summarize how I feel about my job. She said she heard 4 main things each time she spoke with me:

1. I think that the work I'm doing now is work worth doing.

2. I know deep down that this is exactly where I should be.

3. I am horrified at what I experience each day.

4. I wonder how the heck I ended up here and what the heck I'm doing.

She pretty much nailed it. As I walked out of the hospital with the other two campers, I broke out into tears. This is love. Every single day, I wake up, and I fight for these kids. Regardless of how horrifying it can be, I know it's worth it. Right now, they don't recognize it, and some days, neither do I, but each day I wake up, and I hope that this day is going to be better than yesterday. I commit to doing whatever it takes to meet the needs of my campers. I fight for them. And now, I have two less campers to fight for. I can only hope that they will fight for themselves.

I realized that the only way I can effectively fight for them is if I protect ME on my time-off. By ME, I mean, protecting and pursuing the things that have remained consistent in my life and that bring me happiness, peace, and hope. Thus, happy valentine's weekend to me.

And to you, too. Your encouragement helps me to protect ME. I couldn't do this without you.

love song.

4 weeks down. 100 to go.

1 week at a time. 1 day at a time. 1 hour at a time. 1 meal at a time. 15 minutes at a time.

This is my key to survival. Every day is a new day with these kids. They are unpredictable in their moods, behaviors, and feelings.

I spent my first night alone in the woods with my campers this week. 9 out of 12 campers left to go home for the weekend leaving me with 3 campers and a camper that was switched to my group for the weekend.

Lessons learned:

I am a failure with fire.
- I can't build a fire. I need 14 year olds to help me.
- I can clean out a potbelly, but I leave the ashes in a bucket smoldering in the tent only to come back to their tent later that afternoon to find it full of smoke.
- I burn myself constantly with my lighter.
- Kerosene is my worst enemy.

I find my kids far too amusing for their own good.
- My laughing at their behavior does not help them alter their behavior. It encourages it.
- This can be illustrated by the 90 minutes I spent following a camper who decided to hug every tree down the trails and whisper, "It's okay buddy. I love you." My laughing at this situation did not help him move on to more appropriate and timely behaviors.

I am a scaredy cat.
- Sleeping in the woods is tough. Especially when it rains. I woke up every 30 minutes thinking a camper was in my tent, that a branch had fallen through the top tarp, that I was suffocating in my mummy sleeping bag.

Never interrupt the sleep of a teenage boy.
- Middle of the night huddles are awful. Night Watch suspected that my campers had stolen a flashlight and broken into the education building at 4 am two nights ago. I have my own opinion of whether or not they did such a thing. Regardless, teenage boys being woken up in the middle of the night to the accusations of being thieves is not a pretty sight. I hope I never see that again.

All in all, I really like my campers. They are hilarious. I think highly of so many of them--I hope they give me a chance to tell them this.

I went to church today, and the pastor was talking about how important it is for us to know what OUR will for our lives is, so we don't project it on to God's will for our lives. I think if I were to be God, I would have matched me up with a brilliant and strong man that would want to go on adventures with me all over the world and then settle down in a cozy home close to my family. God's will for my life is obviously different at this point in time, and I continue to be amazed by what God is doing and has done. I am living an adventure.

I'll end this with the lyrics to a song we sang this morning that hit home with me:

Where can I go, where can I run
From you, you're everywhere
You know all my thoughts
You see all my ways
And still, you come to me

From heaven above, to earth down below
Your love, rains down on me
You know where I've been
You see through my skin
And still, you come to me

You walk on waves
You run with clouds
You paint the sky for me to see
Your majesty, your majesty is why I sing

This is a love song to you.

My life is a love song to you.

mission:survival

"I have come to a frightening conclusion. I am the decisive element in the juvenile (residential) centers. It is my personal approach that creates the climate. It is my daily mood that makes the weather. As a teacher (care worker), I possess tremendous power to make youth's life miserable or joyous. I can humiliate or humor or heal. In all situations it is my response that decides whether a crisis will be escalated or de-escalated, and the youth humanized or dehumanized."
- Hiam G. Ginnott, Between Teacher and Child: A Book for Parents and Teachers (1972)

I am officially trained and certified to work with my kids now. I am scared to death. Every situation I find myself in can end positively or negatively because of my response to their behavior. The way my group runs is determined by the relationships I build. This is immense pressure.

I have a plan though. My goals every day will be to do the following:

1. Meet the basic needs of my campers.
2. Listen to what they have to say.
3. Learn one thing about a camper each day.
4. Speak only once my camper has had a chance to speak his mind.
5. Role model effective life skills.
6. Find a chance for the campers to have fun each day.
7. Laugh often.
8. Pray more often.

Tomorrow is my first day as an official "chief." Here's hoping I walk in with control of myself and my emotions, so that we can survive the day. Lord, have mercy.

the woods have taken over.

2 weeks down. 102 to go.

I'm sitting in a pretty posh hotel room right now in Durham, NC the night before a week-long training for how to survive the woods and the kids in the woods. I've been without steady internet for the last two weeks, so I apologize for the delay in posting. I've finally gotten to the adventure, and I can't tell you about it as much as I'd like.

It's probably best that I can only blog once I've processed my experiences and gotten away from the woods. I can tell you one thing, though: I left Dallas for a challenge, and I got one.

I'm struggling with an adequate way to summarize the last two weeks that will be fair to my experiences, true to the nature of this beast I've encountered, but still communicate the hope that I feel for a promising 2 years here in the woods. Maybe bullets will be best:

• These kids are hurtful.

I somewhat expected my gentle demeanor, friendliness, and warm heart to win these kids over immediately. I could never be more wrong. I am an authority figure to them who has not been trained and does not know the ins and outs of camp. They don't know me. They don't respect me. They don't trust me. And they are not in control of their environment or situation. I went in knowing that I could never understand their lives, but I did not go in realizing this. They act based on these feelings--and I am their target. It's tough, but each day gets a little better. Not because they stop, but because I am becoming tougher. They can call me anything they want to. They can draw attention to the things that I've been secretly insecure of for 23 years as often as they'd like. I'm not going anywhere. I'm not abandoning them.

• These kids are damaged.

A child got exited from the program this week, and in the two weeks of transition from camp to a detention facility where he'll spend the next 3 years, his family would not take him. Right now, he's in a homeless shelter. These kids have been dealt the worst hand possible and live in some of the worst situations possible. They've done what they think is right to protect their family, what is cool to fit in, and they've done dumb things to survive. Some of them don't know better. Some of them do. No child should be in a place where his family is so fearful of him that he cannot go home. I want better for these boys. And deep down, they want better for themselves.

• The staff is exhausted.

Like any non-profit, this program is understaffed and underpaid. The turnover rate is high among my position. Right now, the camp is in major transition with education curriculum and staff positions and the kids are going crazy due to the holidays. By crazy I mean: riots, group-on-group fights, altercations between kids, threatening counselors, hitting counselors, running away. It's insane. The staff is exhausted. My hope is that I can rise above the discouragement that is inevitable with this job and be an encouraging light to my peers. This job is a tough I've never encountered before.

• The woods are beautiful.

Simple as that. I live in nature. I live among the trees and the foxes and the wind and the cool. I see the sun rise and the sun fall every morning and evening. I see the stars shine above without hindrance. I see the moon wane and wax. This is my life. I am so grateful.

More to come....

here goes everything.

I did it.

I am currently in Wilmington, North Carolina and only have one leg of my road trip left that will take me to my new life tomorrow.

I have to say that I'm a little shocked that I actually went through with this. A piece of me was worried that I'd pull the same stunt I did 2 years ago when I decided last minute to not follow through with my PeaceCorps committment. Parts of me knew that this was an entirely different situation. 2 years ago, I was just about to graduate from my university and was in a relationship that I thought had great potential. Two years sounded like eternity. I wasn't ready.

Now, I appreciate my opportunities more--and more than that--the opportunity to let God do God's thing. My life has been transformed in the past two years, some for the good, some for the not so good, but at the end of it all, it is more than obvious that there is a greater being at work in my life connecting dots I'll never see.

My friend sent me some incredible encouragement this week as I traveled across the South including the following quote from Alan Alda:

"You have to leave the city of your comfort and go into the wilderness of your intuition. What you'll discover will be wonderful. What you'll discover will be yourself."

Tomorrow begins a new chapter in an incredible book that is being written for me. Never in my life would I have pegged this as where or who I would be at 23 years old. Leaving Texas has opened up the world for me. I can do anything, go anywhere, be anyone I want to.

The drive from Texas to North Carolina was incredible. 1800 miles with myself. Well, not just myself. Winter storms, hilariously ironic billboard placements, southern gospel stations (thank you, Tennesee), and facebook kept me company too. There was one point in Texarkana as I was traveling on 30 East headed for Little Rock where there was an exit to go 30 West back to Dallas. For some reason, I panicked and thought to myself, "Turn back! Now's your chance! GO BACK HOME!" The option to turn around was unexpected. Usually, on a highway, you only have one choice--continue on. The signs always lead you to the next city, always countdown to the next happening. Rarely do you get an option to turn around. Once I calmed down and decided to press on, I became grateful for the highway. If I would have flown to North Carolina today, I don't think I would be in such a good place. I needed every single mile of my 1800 mile trip this week. I needed every quiet moment, every snowfall, every stop, every adventure to make it to here and now where I can say, finally:

I am so excited about tomorrow.