Why We Love FCA Camp

Every June we get the privilege of helping out at the Northern Hills FCA Camp.  This year was a bit different for both Chris and I.  He served as the head coach for the cross country kids and I pitched in to help with the 30 coach's kids.  For both of us it was a growing experience.  The big boys look forward to this week all year long.  "How long until FCA camp?", usually begins in January!  Here are a few reasons why the cross state driving, dorm living, & cafeteria eating are all worth it.

1.  Elijah loves the freedom.  He gets to pick his own food, which he proudly carries back to a table of friends.  This year he and John stayed in their very own room!

2.  We get to see our "camp" friends from Canada, Iowa, Montana, South Dakota and Wyoming.

3.  On Monday, the campers are tentative about openly worshiping the Lord but by Friday there is true worship happening.

4.  Gut Check, the Friday tradition of 22 difficult exercises.  Elijah has done it two years in a row and this year a few buddies joined him.  Chris is always the major cheerleader for the adult/coaches group which always makes my heart smile.

5.  I don't have to cook for a week and John can eat cheese pizza and biscuits and gravy every day.

6.  We get to see the Grandparents and do fun things with them too!  Bonus!

7.  God grows us every year we are there.

8.  There are many hands and eyes to watch the kids (mine are usually in three different places).

Our favorite picnic and run around rest area in Chamberlain.

Who doesn't like a 4-wheeler ride with Dad?

And who doesn't like shooting guns?

I take the same picture on the same bridge every year.  Daniel was too busy to smile.

Getting ready to put on a show for the Mom's.  Go John!

Gut Check!  Go Elijah!

And by the end, we are all open mouth sleepy too!

Blowing It

This last week might go down as my worst week of being a mother.  Ever.  Being the full-time disciplinarian does not play to my strengths.  And as we enter a season on childrearing that involves a somewhat huffy seven year-old, a five year-old who likes to yell at me, and an 18 month-old who screams his head off when things don't go his way, I don't see things getting easier.

Monday really brought in a spirit of defeat for me after having my darling blue-eyed boy yell at me each time I told him no.  By 7:00 and 20 yelling incidents, I succumbed to the sin within me and yelled right back.  Loud.  Mean.  As I carried him down the hall listening to him yell, "You are the meanest mom ever!",  my heart broke and we both crumpled to the floor in tears.  Rocking back and forth saying, "I love you" over and over and praying in my heart for forgiveness I felt so defeated.  My dear boy looked up at me, "I love you too."

Tuesday we were chugging along in the van when my brown-eyed big boy launched into a confession.  "You know how I sometimes act crazy and loud?  I do it on purpose."  What!  My compliant, rule follower being naughty on purpose.  "I just feel like I need to do something to get your attention, even if it means you are going to give me a talking to."  Oh, man!  The return of defeat.

The rest of the week did not get much better.  My dearly beloved left on Thursday for four days and it rained a lot while he was gone (i.e. we had to stay cooped up inside).

But what's a Mom to do?  I don't want to be "that" mom.  The one who yells and can't figure out why her kids don't listen.  I don't think the answer is in a parenting book.  I feel very strongly, down in my bones, that the solution comes in prayer.  This week showed me once again I can not do this alone.  I cannot!  So, I dug out the very nice prayer journal I received from the pastor's wife after Daniel was born and have begun to meditate and think on the scriptures my boys need me to pray into their lives.  And I have begun to really take seriously the practice of seeking His presence in every moment.

The Girls

Last night I attended the visitation for my great-uncle Arliegh.  He passed away this past weekend at the ripe age of 96.  I'm not big on funerals (I cry too much) so the visitation seems less daunting plus I only had to bring one darling instead of three.

It so happened that my beautiful sister and her husband were also attending.  At events such as this, when dealing with life long residents of an area, there are always people who know me but I have no clue who they are.  We stood by Grandma Pearl and made conversation while different people came up and said hello.  "Oh, you are the girls!"  was heard more than once.  The one that nearly broke me was,  "Oh, you are Peggy's girls."

We are Peggy's girls.  For as long as I can remember, Grandma has introduced or reintroduced us a the girls.  My aunts called us the girls.  Old teachers called us the girls.  It was who we were.  I certainly don't mind being lumped together with my beautiful sister.

Plus calling us the girls gets Grandma off the hook for remembering our names.  I am sure she curses my parents for giving us both S names.  :-)

A Little Perspective

I see a green five gallon bucket.....Daniel sees a fun time of splish-splash

I see a stick.....John sees a sword, a gun, a light saber...a bow and arrow....

I see a tree.....Elijah sees a chance to see how far he can climb

I see a ball...Daniel sees a game of fetch with himself

I see a mess...the boys see the most fun they have ever had, ever.

I see peanut butter and honey (again)....John sees a gourmet lunch

I see a pile of dirty laundry....the boys see great outdoor adventures from the backyard

Sometimes, I need a little shift in my perspective.

The Thief of Joy

"Comparison is the thief of joy"  so sayeth Teddy Roosevelt or Dwight Edwards (depending on your Internet source).  As a girl who strives to look for the bright side of things I am struck by how often I rob myself and others of joy by comparing.  Most often I compare in my head, as I drive, talk, interact with the world.  I check off how my hair is not as good as hers.  How my outfit is definitely not the latest trend like hers.  How my van doors require muscle instead of magic.  How my home is not nearly as Pottery Barn as that one.  How my kids behave better than those but not nearly as respectfully as those.  And on it goes.

God has a word for it.  Sin.  This past Sunday Pastor Randy continued his sermon on the seven woes. In Matthew 23, Jesus warns the Pharisees of their utter blindness to their sin.  On Sunday Pastor Randy looked out to the congregation and asked, "What are your blind spots "  I said a quick prayer right there and went on with the business of trying to keep John quiet and Elijah from staring behind him.

And then, "Comparison is the thief of joy" kept ringing in my ears.  Comparing is my blind spot.  I do it so often, we all do, that is has become expected, normal, part of the culture.  "It's just who I am and God made me."  

Except that it is not.  God desires us all to have joy, which is only complete in Him.  When I waste time comparing/coveting/whining I am robbing myself of the joy of contentment and celebrating all the blessings God has given me.  This is a slap in the face of a God who has given me more than I deserve.  Ouch!

Paul instructs us in Hebrews, "Keep your lives free from the love of money {or hair styles, or clothes or cars or behavior of children) and be content with what you have, because God has said, “Never will I leave you; never will I forsake you.” Hebrew 13:5

I don't have a tidy ending here.  Just my observations and confession and prayer for improvement.