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We are done on Saturday!
Out of the gates. Out of Columbus. Back to normal life. Amen and amen and amen.

This will be good. Last year, I was getting ready to finish my summer while looking toward 8 months in Tyler. Now, I’m trying to hold the prism up to the light to see what Waco will be like. I hope it means a job suitable for a guy who’s lived deep inside a Christian bubble for the past year (though that is not a detriment, trust me).

Before any of that, we have a group of inner city kids coming from Dallas. Mercy Street is the name of the ministry, and it’s lead by a man named Trey Hill who I’ve talked about before. He’s a man who puts his money where his mouth is– his life bespeaks a ton of integrity as far as loving and ministring to a population that has few chances to succeed and excell at the American Dream.

My prayer is that we all get to finish strong over here. I’m learning again and again the lesson Jesus taught Paul about weakness: it’s only when we’re in it that His power is made perfect. I’m looking forward to sleeping in my bed for a whole day when this finishes, but I’ll definitely miss the sense of being poured out to the last dregs while God gets ready to do His thing.

Funny how He empties us out first.

I write you now from a Starbucks in rainy Clinton, Mississippi. I was allowed today to attend the funeral of a close friend’s mother along with the majority of my Forge classmates from this past year. Now, we are waiting out a pretty persistent rainstorm that’s razzing all the drivers on I-20.

And confession: with this, I have now missed more camp this year than my previous five summers COMBINED.

4 days to illness

3 for a wedding

2 visiting a sister camp

A couple for this funeral.

(And a partridge in a pear treeeeeeee!)

I feel slight guilt. You would expect your final go ’rounds to be meaningful, purposeful, pedal to the metal. But I’ve missed like a week and a half of action now. How does that work? These were not my plans; I’m not prone to stepping away from my post. Maybe I’m like Red in The Shawshank Redemption… I don’t like being OUT.

I did hear something that helps me put it in perspective, though. One of the staffers at our sister camp, Crier Creek, did an internship sandwich: a summer on staff, a summer not, then a summer back. And his observation about coming back?

“it’s funny to see how people fill roles summer after summer. You always have the funny kid, the worry wart, whoever, even if it’s a different person filling the role each year. It always works that way. Everyone is replaceable.”

Even me? Hello, pride.

If I’m not at camp, someone has to make sure things run. And whenever I’ve been gone this summer, they HAVE. Well. I am not neccesary. My faith and obedience just allow me to join in the work God’s already doing.

How refreshing.

(plus, after six years somewhere, you figure you’d get SOME vacation time…)

Well, the staff switched out this week. And the transition was fairly smooth. The only drawback is that between folks getting ready for Rush and being RA’s and taking classes and such, the second half of the summer just means less staff. We’ve joked a lot about how our director’s 3 year-old son quotes John 10:10: “God must get bigger; I must get smaller.” We’re finding this to be literally true. If our staff shrinks a little, God certainly has to get a little bigger.

This is by no means an emergency, by the way. It just means I don’t have the luxury of having extra staff to put on random projects and odd jobs. We have to budget who we put where that much more wisely.

Otherwise, it’s beginning to sink in that I have five weeks of this left. On a good day, that’s exciting because God is big and camp is fun. On a day when I look at my belly button more than I do at Scripture, it becomes a wariness toward five more weeks of doing the same thing OVER and OVER again.

May the spirit prevail over the old self! And may God keep increasing.

You know what an Ebeneezer is, right?

That line in “Come Thou Fount” used to confuse me. What the heck was that? We were making a Christmas Carol reference here? Scrooge in a hymn?

No. It’s a rock of rememberance, literally. An object that helps you remember an important moment in your life, your experience with God.

I got an Ebeneezer this week.

See, we have the kids paint rocks here for Arts and Crafts. This is actually pretty fun. Columbus has an abundance of rocks of different shapes and types, and girls like to paint things on them with paint pens, some of which are very creative. Some, too, are creepy–  I found a rock at camp the other day that said “Michael Jackson- RIP.” Interesting.

A little girl made me a personal rock after our Friday night game. We call it Battle of the Brumbies, and it works like this: all the counselors and staff get in a giant mud pit on the North side of camp and put rubber bands on our arms and legs. We then bring all the kids over, and for four, 0ne-minute rounds, they try to take the bands off of our flailing limbs. It’s a literal (but safe) fight to the death, and a really fun night.

But lately, the kids haven’t been as bloodthirsty as they used to be. The pit is a little smellier than usual (I blame the heat), so they don’t really come in after us. They kinda’ sit and watch, so we end up having to literally chase them to take bands from us.

This week, me and my assistant Program Director decided to start talking some loving smack to encourage a more passionate response from the young ones. We told them that we were too fast, that the kids couldn’t catch us– and we started saying this Monday morning to whip up as much of a frenzy as possible.

Flash forward to Friday night. I am standing in the pit, still clad in my bands, trying to keep the fervor alive. So I took my place between the counselors and kids, holding up my right arm with outstretched rubber band and asking the campers, “who wants THIS!?! Who thinks they can take this from me!?!”

And this 7th grade girl at the front told me, “you’re going down, Fuzzy Wuzzy!”

The round began. I dug my feet into muddy ground and prepared for battle. And this sweet, innocent young lady who I had just taunted…

…transformed into Kathy Bates at the end of “The Waterboy.”

I got tackled. My read end got planted into smelly Columbus clay. And before I knew, kids were all over me, tearing, tearing, tearing–

Anyway, she got my rubber band.

I thought that was the end of it. I acknowledged the fact that you should not rouse children to fury, and that pride goes before a fall. And then I got handed a rock. One the little girl had found before she left camp. And it proclaimed:

“Fuzzy got beat by a girl!”

and

“I got Fuzzy’s rubber band.”

But, worst of all:

“Fuzzy, watch your back, because (insert little girl’s name) is COMING FOR YOU!!!”

It will now be a paperweight on my desk. And furthermore, a millstone around my neck. Dang it all. Here I raise mine Ebeneezer, and it says, I literally got beat by a girl.

Did you enjoy half-Christmas this Thursday? I sure did.

I mean, you’ve been outside recently, right? Feel the sweat spewing from your brow as soon as you hit your porch? Me too. We’ve been writing some new pages for the camp playbooks with this drastic heat-wave Texas is feeling. Some involve changing up the daily schedule a little bit (we now do most sweat-causing things in the morningtime). And some… some involve creating whole holidays out of thin air.

 Especially ones that bring to mind a colder time of year.

See, most Americans celebrate half-Christmas in July (well, IF they celebrate it at allllll), but since that’s on a weekend, we went ahead and had our very merry Outback Christmas on June 25. Don’t get jealous that we got to:

-Dress in all green and red. My only green stuff was a pair of Smartwool hiking socks stuffed into TOMS. That made my feet humanitarian, toasty, and really dry all at the same time.

-Have a liquid snowball fight. You contain liquid snowballs in water balloons. See also shaving cream (so that we had fluffy white material adding to the illusion).

-Invite Santa Claus to eveningtime Flag Lowering. In lieu of reindeer, we used a half-blind horse with antlers attached to his headgear. And a red nose. Santa always must be preceded by a red nose.

The coolest part by far, however, was seeing how our staff pulled it off. From our work crew sprint-decorating our dining hall on Wednesday night to counselors who got their kids to sell out and rejoice in faux-holiday cheer, I’m realizing that this is neat ministry. Four weeks ago, some of these colleagues were just figuring out what counseling WAS. Now they’re on top of the game enough to change things around for a bit. That’s a FAST progression. And I think that’s totally enabled by grace.

This week is the last for a lot of our staff; after July 4, we’ll bring in a whole new crew of counselors to finish out the summer (we work on a halves-based system). It’ll be sad to see these guys go. But too, I’m looking forward to see what’s cooking for next half.

Unless “cooking” means “more heat wave.” In that case, cool me down…

So I was told to get out of the office the other day. At first, I wasn’t sure how to take that.

Just so you know (and this will tie together in a minute), sunny Columbus, TX is currently at 85 degrees Farenheit, with humidity making it feel like a balmy 91. That’s at 11 am, as I write this. In the afternoons it gets even worse, up to the point where you could probably make a nice omlet on the sidewalk. Needless to say, for committed counselors who are required to teach classes in this sort of sweltery weather, sweat pours forth like curse words from a sailor’s mouth.

In contrast, my job (the one where you have to orchestrate the logistics of camp) seems to look a lot like being behind a desk with my laptop in the well-maintained A.C. In my defense, there’s always a pile of stuff for me to do: schedules to make, assignments to fill in, instructions to type, club talks to plan. And still getting my other staff up to speed on what it looks like to run the program, I honestly feel the weight of making sure things are just planned well.

So when one of our executive leadership dropped in the other day to check on things at Outback, he found me pecking at a set of instructions on how our still-green counselors were supposed to play the Thursday night game. This was just after he had played football with some of the campers in that sweltery, 100+ degree heat.

He asked me how I was doing, and then noted how he always seemed to see me inside the office.

“Yeah, I know.” I told him. “I’ve just got this stuff to plan for tonight. And I’ve got a talk coming up. There’s just a lot of stuff to do.”

He told me that there would always be stuff to do in the office. (This from a man whose career before Christian camping involved expanding sales markets for a pretty well-regarded company. He knows what it looks like to get stuff done.)

If I wasn’t careful, he warned, I would keep getting sucked into the tedious work of the computer. Maybe next week, he suggested, he and I could grab some cold Gatorades and go around handing them out to the staff.

Our conversation ended pleasantly enough (he also told me he was excited that his phone picked  up the office wi-fi). And while this wasn’t a wrist-slap by any means, I wondered about his words. Wasn’t planning stuff supposed to be my main job?

The next morning, I found my plate was clear enough for me to go watch a wrestling match in the pool. One of the boys’ cabins had been talking smack to their counselor all week and their Sr. Counselor, a guy named Dubai and Conquer, decided they needed to learn that a mouth shouldn’t write a check that skills can not cash. At camp, it’s an unspoken rule that campers always win, so even as Dubai declared that he and his counselor would not get dunked within 30 minutes’ time, I knew it would be a tragic battle.

Five-ish minutes in things, did not look good for my staff, so I decided to enter the fray. Instantly, at least three sets of hands started trying to teach me the meaning of gravity. One 7th grader was blessed with my size and weight, and after tossing off my other challengers, he and I began to engage in single combat, often made more inconvenient when random 4th grade boys would lock onto my back and try to drown me like possesed chimpanzees. 

We didn’t go down without a fight. But we staffers didn’t last 30 minutes either (surprise). The campers felt pretty good about that, and furthermore, we had just engaged in some rad male bonding. It’s weird, but nothing shows a boy you approve of him more than taking the time to dunk him underwater (safely).

I took some time to recuperate by getting on the lifeguard stand, and after realizing I had actually done something good outside the office with my staff, another thing was brought to my attention:

Camp was fun.

Logistics are NOT fun. I hate logistics. And next summer I plan on hitting up grad school, so I may not get another shot at camp like this. 

…I need to soak it up before it’s too late.

It’s good to plan things, but it’s also good to interact with campers, to serve alongside your sweaty staff, to share the Gospel, to do high ropes, to get a freaking tan. And that’s why I needed to get out of the office: there’s a lot of moments to maximize out there. For my staff’s sake, but also, selfishly, for me.

So I rejoice. It may be hotter than heck outside, but we’re teaching kids about the kingdom. And at the end of the day, stuff will get planned; God’s gracious like that. But I get paid to go have fun with kids.

I can get out of the office for that.

Well, I survived eight months in Tyler. And praise the Lord: it was exactly what I never knew I needed. I got challenged a lot. My character was molded. And now I think I’m on the back end of a 6-plus year relationship with a ministry that I love.

But now that the Forge is over, I’ve still got 3 months in Columbus, back at the Outback. We just had our initial week of camp here, and I’m hours away from seeing 160 more campers come onto the property. It’s going to be pretty crazy.

I’m starting to realize that effective ministry can’t happen without personal brokenness. We have a horse program here for the young kids, and our wrangling staff worked hard for a few weeks before camp even started to get the horses ready for riding. There’s one right now, a mare (I think) that’s not been tamed yet, and so it still bucks and resists its riders. That’s hard for a 20-something to deal with, which means it’s even more impossible to put a kid on its back. So we can’t use that horse yet. It’s not ready for ministry.

Same with me. I came in a with a pretty full head of steam, thinking: A) I’ve just spent nearly a year being trained by PC staff to do their style of ministry, so I’m pretty prepared, and B) I’m stepping back into a previous job that I really felt I did well with. And I’m the only returning leadership staffer who knows how to do it.

Monday and Tuesday, I got brought down by a sinus infection.  I begged for a nap in the health clinic. My body was HATING me. And we still had things to plan on the fly, things I thought only I had experience in. But I didn’t have a choice. I had to hand the ball over to my new leadership. And they succeeded with flying colors. That was both a relief… and a bit of a humbling to boot.

It was good to see, even after the mighty Forge, how unessential I am to the work of God’s Kingdom. He loves me, loves US, enough to allow us to play a part. But how much glory does He get when we realize success rests on Him coming through, not us carrying the burden all alone?

It’s going to be a good Week 2. And I’m praying I don’t start thinking again that I get to pick the direction or haul everything on my own. God uses broken horses. And that shouldn’t give me a long face.

Sorry. I missed “next Tuesday” by a lot.

At this point, dear friends, if you have any interest in what a trip to Israel generated in my life, rest assured it will definitely come up in conversation the next time we speak. That holy land and its culture are literally stamped into my life now. I can’t live the same way as before, especially in regard to the Scripture. Our Hebrew brothers and sisters revere their part of God’s Word so much; once I saw HOW much, it affected me to the point where I literally now need it myself. I feel deprived if I go a day without it. And that’s not of me. That’s God.

(Fun bonus note: Our current assigned reading is Augustine’s Confessions. Much different from Usher’s. Book 4 will help express some of my sentiments, especially in regard to a newfound respect for the Bible).

As for now, there are two major considerations weighing heavily on my life. Okay, maybe that’s a little drastic.

Two things I am thinking a lot about, then:

A) My time in Tyler ends in three weeks, and I have a LOT to get done still. Mainly: completing my memorization of 1 Peter and finishing my reading-of-the-whole-Bible. So there’s a little stress, because I’d like to complete the program well.

But it also means that I’m leaving an environment where I get hammered on consistently. I’ll have to swap it for one where, if I’m not careful, I can get away with stuff. I need to be active in goading people to watch my back and confront me, because without that (delivered in a healthy measure of love), I’ll be bound to fall.

Or, if you’d like, I’m now addicted to Christian community, and hope to never be without. Which leads to…

B) Where to live next year?

This being the internet, I’m not keen on letting the right hand know what the left is doing for all the world to see. But without being too vague, I feel strongly about living south of Dallas on I-35 this next year, probably because there are a couple of locations where I could jive with a community of Christians ’round those parts. But to be quite honest, I have no stable job awaiting me. ANYWHERE. That’s kind of a concern. If you’re so inclined, this is a great prayer point for Benjamin.

Regardless, the Lord is kind. I will not starve for food, shelter, or fellowship, even if He satisfies my hunger with weird food.

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By the way, thanks for reading, friends. This began as a way to let the college bros read up on my random adventures at summer camp (and will return to form this June, hurray-hurray!) and has since evolved into a report for those who have supported and prayed for me during my time in Tyler. So thanks for checking in on me. You staying in the loop counts as an investment in my book.

Or blog.

Because print is dead. And my last job was at a newspaper.

Hmmm….

See? It’s totally a pun. If you look closely, you can see me emptying some Jordan River out of my North Face Hedgehogs.

There is a LOT to process after hiking 7 days in Israel (as if the Forge didn’t give me enough to mull over as it is). So, for those of you who don’t roll with Facebook, here’re some shots from my time over there to tide you over until I have real, collected thoughts to share.

Me standing on the old aqueduct at Caesarea, on the Mediterranean coast. This is an artificial port built in the first century A.D.; scholars still can’t figure out how homeboy constructed some of the stuff he did.

(Faith lesson though: you can collect pieces of marble from his ruined palace on that  beach below. His works, great as they were, weren’t built to last. The followership of his contemporary, Jesus, however…)

Me and the other Forge guys doing a barbaric YAWP in the Jordan. When “Dead Poets’ Society” is one of the only films you get to watch all year, it tends to come up a lot…

One of the sweeter times of prayer in my life, and not just because we had to wear paper yarmulkes: The Western Wall. The closest site to the old Holy of Holies on the Temple Mount, and a place our Jewish forerunners revere a LOT.

( How casually do I take the opportunity to have unfettered conversation with the Un-Created who is master of EVERYTHING? This reminds me of the magnitude of Who I have commited myself to.

And I am pretty small, let me tell you…)

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A word of gracias to the other Forgies who took these shots: I figure saying “tag me” is cheaper than actually buying a camera. That’s my frugality coming out.

For more pictures, plus a day-by-day rundown of where we went and what we saw, check my Forge director’s blog: http://lantzfam.blogspot.com

Take-away thoughts and stories by Tuesday…

I wasn’t really down with the feet-washing tonight.

That isn’t a great attitude. Especially not after Stephen, one of our guys in the program here, put on this big, cornucopia-esque, sit-back-and-relax kind of dinner for us. He wanted to do something special for the group before we head out to Israel, and honestly, it was a great meal. We don’t get a chance to sit down over a good spread and shoot the breeze all the time. Or at least, not as good as tonight’s meal. (There were candles. Yeah. Candles.)

After desert, we had the Lord’s Supper. That too was good, partially because our boy Chris got to administer it for his first time (he’s bound for the pastorate), and partially because it was a reminder how brilliant Jesus is.

(Think: If Christ can’t be with all believers in the flesh at all times, what better reminder/symbol of His sacrificial self than food and drink? It’s easily accessible, easily replicable, and engages all five senses. I can sort of get why my Catholic brothers see Transubstantiation in it.)

But as we moved into some worship with guitar, I started to get impatient. The Forge programs a lot of our time for us, and the more discretionary time I get, the happier I tend to be. So when I ended up staying longer to sing, my heart was a little disengaged. When the heck were we just going to be done for the night?

By the time I found a bowl of water with a sponge and towel by it in the back of the room, I was straight annoyed.

I mean, really?

Foot-washing?

One: that’s completely culturally irrelevant for Americans, seeing how we cover our feet too much to GET them dirty.

Two: it’s way cliché in Christian circles. Anytime we want a touching moment of service and significance, well, out comes the water-bowl and rag. (Especially if you’re about to pop the question.)

And Three: Jesus doesn’t even command us to do it or anything. Just the communion part.

(And speaking of which, hadn’t I just had communion a few minutes earlier? I was pretty sure my heart had been right at that point…)

One thing I’ve been learning is that heart-emotions don’t necessarily mean Truth. In fact, when heart and Truth conflict, the heart has to fall in line. And as I processed my grumpy attitude and the reality of service, the feet-washing began. When the bowly-water came around to clean me, I had no choice, despite my old prejudices with cliche Christianity… but to realize how beautiful that act is.

Practically speaking, well, okay. It doesn’t do much for our physical needs. But the spiritual posture it leads us to is so beneficial. It was good for me to scrub my friend John’s feet, even just to put myself down at a place Jesus put Himself at. 24 hours away from being crushed for human sin, and He found Himself staring eye-level at the lowliest part of the body. The stinkiest part. A visual reminder of how He was about to be tread upon by lowly created people FOR THEIR SAKE.

Symbols in the Christian community are powerful things. They’re in some ways, the best method for us to be reminded of the visceral reality of Jesus. We role-play for memory’s sake. Because He is absent in body, but present in Spirit. And because we need to remember that faith will someday be more than just symbol…

…it will be SIGHT.