In Memory of Nada "Joline" Stamps Gibson

Many people have reached out asking how they can help with our 104-year-old great-grandmother, Kathryn Stamps (I call her "Granny"), in the wake of losing our grandmother, Joline. I'd like to invite you to help continue to care for Granny and their home. The challenge for us now is how to keep Granny in her home, and your one-time support will allow us the time we need to outline a plan for the future. 

Joline Stamps Gibson - I call her "Mammaw" - has lived with Granny for my entire life (I'm edging up on 30 very soon). They lived next door to each other in Fort Smith, then moved to Houston to be closer to my mom and aunts. In 2009, my Aunt Celine joined the household and provides direct and continuous care to the "Grannies" as well as a third income to the house. With the loss of Mammaw's social security, which was crucial to the balance of finances for the household, it would be helpful to have some extra support to buy us some time to balance out the details of this transition. If you would like to help, I know it would be a blessing to the women who have been caring for Mammaw and Granny for the last 30 years.

I was going to set up a GoFundMe, but over 8% is taken in fees and you have to set a goal. I am not looking to raise a certain amount. I just want to offer our extended family living far away an opportunity to support Granny. I will send all of the funds to my mother who manages the finances of the household. If you give via Paypal to "friends and family" from your checking account, no fees are deducted. You can also opt to give via credit card on Paypal, where fees will be deducted, or you can mail a check. Please email me for an address.

Please click here to give via Paypal and email me at lydiarudy@gmail.com if you have any questions. Please also send us pictures that you have of Joline. You can send them to my email address.

Thank you for loving my Mammaw and for helping us continue to love on my Granny. 

the sea will hold you.

Lie back, daughter, let your head be tipped back in the cup of my hand.
Gently, and I will hold you.
Spread your arms wide, lie out on the stream, and look up,
laugh at the gulls.
A dead man's float is face down.
You will dive and swim soon enough where this tidewater ebbs to the sea.
Daughter, believe that when you tire on the long thrash to the island, lie up, and survive.
As you float now, where I held you and let go,
Remember when fear cramps your heart what I told you:
Lie gently and wide to the light-year stars,
Lie back and the sea will hold you.

Phillip Booth

one year.

I can't believe it's been one year since I left the woods. In honor of the 375 days I spent in the woods, here's a little blog I found that takes me back to the days when I sent out mass texts each day documenting the hilarious quotes my kids would say. Enjoy:


ghettohikes.tumblr.com

the poise of the egret

I must learn
the calligraphy
of egret stance,
poised on a word
that lies beneath
the weaving current,
steady, still.

Nancy Compton Williams
Christianity and Literature

There's something about living near the ocean that makes life more peaceful and healing than before. I've walked on the shore of an island and shared the ground with wild ponies. I've seen dolphins playing in the waves, and I've seen sea birds graze the ocean water with poise and grace and confidence.

I must learn the calligraphy of egret stance....steady, still.

I've spent the last 8 years of my life looking for steady ground, looking to still my busy life enough to find out what this life is really all about. In my time in North Carolina and especially my time here on the Crystal Coast, I feel more grounded in my nontraditional beliefs than ever before. My journey has taken me from fundamental, conservative Christian beliefs through questioning even the existence of God to now, where nothing seems very fundamental, but everything seems very real.

I spent a weekend in Washington, D.C. with two of my very good friends from my childhood. I went to a church with them where one is serving as a pastoral intern. This Baptist church is nothing like I've experienced before, and it was refreshing. I shared the worship experience with members of the GLBT community, with members of various backgrounds and races, and with female pastors and leaders. We explored the Sermon on the Mount, a sermon most captivating and inclusive of Jesus' general teachings.

Enter through the narrow gate; for the gate is wide and the road is easy that leads to destruction, and there are many who take it. For the gate is narrow and the road is hard that leads to life, and there are few who find it. Matthew 7:13-14

It strikes me odd that Jesus calls us to the difficult, narrow gate. It has been my experience that the Christianity I've been brought into has been easy, not difficult. That the choice to "follow Jesus and accept Him into my heart" was simple. That all I had to do was say a quick prayer, and my life would be changed for eternity. I spent years of my life compelling people to "get saved" thinking quantity rather than quality was the way of Jesus. Get us all to Heaven, then sort it out there...let God handle it.

I also spent years of my life reading the stories of martyrs and peacemakers thinking that "the hard places" were where real Christians went, and that I had to be the best Christian...just like I had to be the best at everything else. That my job was to save everyone I knew, and everyone I didn't know. Little by little, the shallowness of this mentality showed itself to me. It couldn't be just about Heaven. It can't be just about a simple prayer. Jesus showed us not how to get to Heaven, but how to live...right here on earth.

Who of us who claim Christianity have really found this narrow gate? Who of us have really found the truth that Jesus has to offer?

I think very few....just as Jesus says, "there are few who find it."

As this world gets smaller and as we all become closer connected, I find that there are so many from my past who have stopped looking. Who have accepted Christianity for what they've been told, who are comfortable with the Christian life they've been given. That is fine for them, but I can't help but think that this road of comfort, stability, and close-mindedness isn't what Christ was talking about.

Beware of false prophets, who come to you in sheep's clothing but inwardly are ravenous wolves...verse 15

I don't want to be the Christian who speaks peace and love, but becomes defensive and angry any time I feel threatened by the beliefs of another. How fearful Christians have become of women...of homosexuals...of color, even still! How fearful we are to consider God to be bigger than the box we have put Her/Him/It in! (See? That made you cringe, didn't it?)

My biggest struggle over the last year has been whether or not my choices have lined up with God's plan for me; whether or not I have strayed from God's guidance. I realized recently that the choices I have made have not necessarily deviated from God's plan, but they've deviated from the church's plan. I am not keeping with the rules and formulas that Christian society has deemed appropriate, and I am no longer bound by those rules and formulas.

I am bound by the love of God which compels me to do justice, love kindness, and walk humbly.


My God does not expect me to follow every rule; my God expects me to love as (s)he does.

not-so-final recap or are you glad you did it?

Last week was my last week at camp, and I departed during what I considered one of the best weeks at camp with one of the most heartfelt goodbyes from my kids and co-workers that I honestly didn't expect. I've returned to Texas for a week while I'm unemployed and homeless, and I've been saturated with two main greetings:

1) I'm SOOO glad you're out of there!

and

2) So, are you glad you did it?

In response to #1, I have to say that I am also glad to be out of there. For the last year, I've been living in conditions that are by no means normal or desirable. I will no longer have to wake up and immediately start working. I will no longer have to discreetly do my morning routine so as not to wake my moody teenage boys too early and sacrifice the special moments of alone time. I can now wear pajamas to bed (not to mention SLEEP in a real bed) instead of cargo pants. I can use electricity at any time for any purpose. I don't have to worry about misplacing my lighter or headlamp and fear of enabling my kids to run away or get high on the mud trail. I never have to hear the words, "what cha want for that snack?" followed by an increased heart rate worrying about whether or not there is gang activity or sexual underground going along with that seemingly innocent trade of graham crackers for stamps. I will never have to check a smelly bathroom again, so that a perfectly capable teenager can go inside without finding poop on the walls or a gang message. I don't have to buy or distribute anymore gimp, though I will miss the colorful lanyards my kids would make me when they were bored. I don't have to tuck twelve teenagers in at night anymore or listen to them talk dirty about me and other counselors once I've left the tent (though I will miss the quality conversations that happened before I left). I won't smell of kerosene in the winters, and in the summers, I need not wear long sleeves to avoid the yellow flies.

In response to #2, I think most people are expecting me to regret my decision to leave everything and head for the woods of North Carolina. A small part of me wants to rewind to a year ago when I decided to leave, and smack me in the face for ever considering leaving such a great job, a close family, amazing friends, and the greatest state in the union. A larger part of me wouldn't trade this year for anything for a number of reasons:

1) Through this blog and my crazy facebook updates, I've received more random messages, comments, and notes from family, close friends, long-lost friends, and even strangers sharing their stories of inspiration and hope in relation to my own. They've been encouraging, supportive, and even miraculous tales, and I wish I knew how to put this whole experience that I've shared with my readers into a box and treasure it always.

2) I've met some of the most courageous people I would otherwise have never met. The Chiefs of Camp E-Tik-Etu, the ones that stay one day, the ones that stay ten years, the ones that push through, the ones that care immensely for those kids, are my heroes, my friends. They are the only ones who could ever understand what I've been through in the last year, no matter how hard I try to explain it to others. I admire them and because of them, I've learned how to admire myself. Chiefs fight the battle day after day, waking up as if yesterday never happened, and fighting for the lives of kids who don't even know what to fight for.

3) I've fallen in love with a man who would do anything for me, who listened and supported me during the hardest job I've ever done, and never complained once that I had a chaotic schedule and couldn't be there with him at the drop of a hat. He made my time away from the woods an adventure, and I'm excited that he will be there for the next adventure too. I wish that you all could know him.

4) I've lived among beauty. I've seen the phases of the moon, the changing constellations each season. I've survived monsoons and floods, snow storms and icy trails. I've been among the foxes and the bears, and I've seen more sunrises this year than my entire life combined. I've lived outdoors, and nothing can rival that, not even four solid walls of comfort.

5) I've learned more about what I want to do, who I want to work for, what I need in a job, what I can tolerate, and what I can't. I've become more patient, more honest, and tougher than ever. More than anything though, I've learned what it means to love unconditionally, and that alone is an amazing gift.

6) I've worked with the most resilient and brave humans on the planet: my boys. I will miss them the most. I missed them the moment I walked out of chuckwagon. I missed them the moment I realized that no matter if I stay or go, I won't know how they do after they leave camp. My heart breaks knowing that some of those boys will return to the same lifestyle that brought them to camp. Some of them will end up in jail for life, and some of them will hurt many people along the way. Some of them hurt me.

My heart rejoices knowing that some of them will go on to be productive members of society, and my heart rejoices knowing that all of them know that I loved them. I wish they could know that they are my heroes, too, because just like their chiefs, they wake up everyday and make it. It may not look pretty, but they do it, they fight the elements and get through the day, and that alone makes them successful.

I am glad to leave; I am glad I did it; I am sad to leave; I am sad that our world is such a place where camps like this are necessary.

This fight is not over for me...it's just moving out of the woods and closer to the water.

a girl's journey

A life of promise, of purpose, and of hope
She chose one youthful day
Ordinary, mundane, normal won't do
A mother recalls her daughter say

Seems so easy from eyes untainted
Not scarred or bruised by the hate in this world
Not hurt or torn by love awaited
The world at the fingertips of this young girl

The more she sees the despair of others
Little by little her eyes are unveiled
The young girl trudges onward
Not dismayed, never her plans curtailed

She walked through valleys of unseen trouble
Doubted and fell into the tempestuous waters
She lost sight when she searched through the rubble
But still, the voice of hope and love remained

Standing at a crossroads, a wandering woman recovers
From the sacrifice of love she made
To fulfill the dream of a wonder-filled youngster
A year of challenge she would never trade

But now a new sacrifice calls her name
One of companionship, adventure, one of love
Leaving behind much that formed her
Will she still please the One above?

A leap of faith, a leap of uncertainty
What waits beyond the leap is unclear
Stress or peace, loss or bounty?
A promise of blessing she holds near

She'll hope and love and dream forever
Until one day her time will come
Will He glance upon her face and say,
My child, my girl, well done?

one year.

52 weeks.


Three days from now I will have been at camp for an entire year. When I drove in at this time last year, I had a goal to be here 2 years. That was easy to say after spending the previous two years at the North Texas Food Bank where I worked between 40-50 hours a week and had a life full of soul-enriching activities to compliment my high-stress job.

By four months into my camp experience, I realized that this was not what I had expected. I knew it would be tough, and that the kids would resist change and act out towards whoever was in their way. I knew the weather would be rough--hot and buggy in the summer, cold and icy in the winter. I knew that I would work a tough schedule of 5 days straight in the woods with my kids. What I didn't realize is that sometimes we wouldn't have the staff we need, so I would end up working more than 5 days straight, and maybe then only get 1 day off. I didn't realize that I would be told one thing, then see another. I didn't realize what the program needed to be, so that the kids could be helped. I didn't realize the program wasn't at a spot to adequately serve the kids who had been sent there.

I didn't realize that no matter how badly you loved a kid, you would hardly ever see the impact you had on his life. I didn't realize that I didn't come to camp with the tools I needed. I didn't realize that no matter what you do, you can never be prepared to work at a camp like this.

I didn't realize that after a year, I would have scars and bruises all over my body reminding me of the hard times. I didn't realize that my hair would change texture because of the elements in which I live and the stress I am under. I didn't realize that my body would react so adversely to such a drastic change in diet.

In the midst of all these surprises and unexpected twists to the job, I realize this: I walked into this camp ready to put aside my entire life for a year (or two) so that I could do my best to love these boys who need it. As I approach the end of my camp stay, I know that I have loved these kids. I know that I have grown in patience and compassion. I know that I have found the population who needs me the most. I know that I have realized what I need in terms of support from my employer, and I know what I need for me to be okay in the midst of chaos.

I have seen the love of God in my co-workers. I have seen the grace of God each morning that I wake up to a new sunrise. I have seen the patience and understanding of my Creator when I have fallen under the pressure of this lifestyle. And most amazingly, I have seen the resilience of a child thrown through the storm, crushed by the rocks, cast out by society, ignored by the system.

I know I will never stop helping children create better lives for themselves. I couldn't live with myself if I just walked from this path to another. For now, though, this door must close, so that I can continue to love these kids somewhere else, for every human has her limits.

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.