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.