September 5th, 2001

It's September already and I'm wondering where summer went! Dad and I are planning a backpacking trip which will probably be the last of the season. It has been an eventful, beautiful summer and I don't want to see it go.

One of the most interesting highlights from this month was going to camp. My sister, who now lives in Seattle, called me up one afternoon and said, "Remember when we were kids we dreamed about going to camp someday?"

I knew she wasn't just asking. She had something in mind. "Yeah, what about it?" I asked.

"Do you still think it would be neat?"

"Sure," I admitted. "But I'm almost 22. I've looked into church camps and such, but they're all for younger people. I haven't found anything for kids over 16."

"Well, would you be interested if there were people your age?"

"Ok, what's up?" I demanded. My sister loves secrets and surprises, and getting her to be straightforward is almost impossible. Today I could tell she had a surprise for me, but as usual, she had to tease awhile.

"Do you have any plans next week?"

"I'd have to check," I replied. "You know of a camp that starts next week?"

"Oh, the church I attend is putting one on," she announced coolly. "Would you go if I signed you up?"

So that's how it happened. Less than a week later, Saturday, August 11th, I found myself standing in the Seattle train depot with two fully packed suitcases and a heavy bedroll hanging from my shoulders. I struggled with a flood of concerns and reservations about this venture. Having had only a week to plan for this, I wondered if I had all the necessities for a five day church camp. I struggled under the weight of all my luggage. I had tried to pack light, but it didn't seem light at all now.

I also suspected I would feel very out of place at this event. My sister had assured me there would be young people my age, but I had doubts. I couldn't shake myself of this picture in my mind. I could just see myself being the oldest person there, and kids approaching me and asking what was doing there.

I tried to smile at the thought, but it still horrified me. This week could be really awkward.

A flood of people streamed by me as they made their way from the train to the parking lot. Skye had promised to pick me up at the depot, but she hadn't arrived yet. They were probably having trouble finding a parking space. I had learned from other passengers on the train that there was to be a major baseball game that evening at the new Safeco Field stadium.

At last I saw them. John and Skye were a welcome sight among the throng of unfamiliar faces. Greetings and hugs were in order, and soon we were hauling my luggage out to the car.

"Hey, Brooke," Skye's voice rung with more surprises. "What do you think of baseball?"

I lifted my eyebrows. She knew very well I don't follow baseball. I'd never watched a real game of baseball on TV. In fact, I hardly knew the rules to the game. This wasn't to say I didn't like or dislike the sport. It just meant I hadn't been introduced, and by no means could I make an opinion.

"We're going to a baseball game tonight," John announced, interrupting Skye's train of tease questions before she could ask them. "Would you like to join us, or does that not appeal to you?"

I didn't hesitate. I was already pushing my comfort zone in going to a camp I was convinced was only for kids, so why not jump out all the way and try something totally out of character? I had only recently realized that one of the biggest joys in life is learning something new. Of course, the learning curve can be painful if taken too sharply, but generally, trying new things and expanding experience territory is very rewarding.

"Sure!" I pounced on the opportunity. So after loading into John's black, V12 Mercedes, we pulled around the corner to where scalpers were selling tickets to the game. I watched in shock as he purchased "three seats together" from a pushy, fast talking middle aged fellow who was clearly making a livelihood from selling tickets to sold out games.

After lunch in a hole-in-the-wall Subway, which just happened to be the same one where Magnus and I had eaten only a few weeks before, we made our way to Safeco Field. Even though we were well over an hour early, throngs of people were flocking to the stadium. We pushed our way through and found our seats midway down, just above 1st base.

Baseball

John was excited about seeing Ichiro, a Japanese player for the Mariners. John had a partnership with the record company that produced the popular song entitled Ichiro, dedicated to this popular baseball star. He had played the CD on the way over, and it was still ringing in my head.

Since we had some time to kill, someone had the bright idea of running a race through the mobs of people wandering around the stadium. It was challenging to push through the thronging bodies of people and stay in sight of Skye, who stayed in the lead most of the way around.

We bought ice cream and sipped ice water before making it back to our seats just in time for the national anthem. John explained the rules as the game began.

It didn't take long for me to get a grasp of the game, and I quickly learned to cheer and get excited with the rest of the crowd. When a wave came around the stadium, I loved it. It was thrilling to see 45,898 people cooperating with each other so easily.

The first few innings were exciting as we ate peanuts, clapped in unison, joined in the waves and shouted for the game.

However, the play became more serious as the Chicago White Sox scored again and again, while the Mariners couldn't seem to get an edge. John had informed me that the Mariners had an outstanding record, winning some 75% of the games they played.

I had teasingly commented that if they lost that night, we would be watching a more unusual game. So I would be happy, whether they won or lost. The crowd around me didn't appear to feel the same.

As the game drug on, the cheering became more forced and the waves fizzled. It was looking worse and worse for the Mariners. At any time they could have caught up with the Sox, but the score remained in the Sox favor.

As the 7th inning drew to a close, people began leaving. Even if the Mariners did score now, they could only manage to tie the game. Empty seats appeared all around the stadium, and things were getting very quiet. John asked Skye and I if we wanted to leave, but both of us wanted to stay. I couldn't imagine cutting a game short like that. I wanted to see it from start to finish, no matter who won.

So we purchased hotdogs during the 8th inning and settled in for the 9th. And then, suddenly, in that last moment, the game turned completely around. The Mariners rallied for three runs, beating the Chicago White Sox 4-3. The crowds came unglued. Those of us that were left made that stadium roar.

It was almost like the game was staged. The initial excitement, the suspense, waiting until the last moment before giving it both barrels. It was a perfect game. I'm sure the people who left early regretted giving up so easily. You just never know the outcome, until you've crossed the finish line.

Church and Camp

Sunday morning saw us at the City Church. I tried to calm my nerves as we walked into the huge sanctuary. I'd been here on two other occasions as a guest, but now I was here to join a troop of young people for camp. I didn't know anyone, outside of Skye's immediate friends.

I was standing around feeling uncomfortable while John and Skye greeted their friends when I saw Michael standing nearby. He was a friend of my family, and I was relieved to see a familiar face. He lit up with delight as we approached him, and greeted us warmly.

As I explained why I was there, I noticed a quiet, dark haired young man standing by. He seemed vaguely familiar, but I didn't recognize him until Michael exclaimed, "You're going to camp? My son Jon is going, too."

I felt my eyes grow large as I turned to Jon. "You're Jon?" I gasped in shock. It had been over five years since I had seen him last, when we were both teenagers and we had traveled to Texas with our dads and a group of other Christian friends. I had been 16 and he just 13. His family had camped one summer on the retreat grounds where I used to live. We had had a great time, he and his brother and my sister and I. We rode go-carts around the property, explored the creek and the woods and spent hours playing his Nintendo games.

At the end of the summer, he and his younger brother had moved to eastern Washington, and later back to Iowa with his mother and I hadn't heard from them since. Now, as I stared up at this full grown man, I studied him closely for traces of the boy with whom my sister and I had spent so many hours.

He grinned and I saw a glimpse of him in his eyes. Suddenly we were talking fast, asking questions and trying to piece together all that had happened in our lives in the last 6 years. He wasn't the only one that had changed. He was amazed at how different I was. He remembered me as the long-haired tomboy who ran barefoot and refused to wear dresses or makeup.

I laughed at the realization that I must have looked strikingly different with my hair pulled up in a French twist and wearing a bright red summer dress. I was even wearing lipstick and mascara that morning for church, which was not something I do every day.

Church was starting, so we moved to pews near the front and somehow we got separated, finding ourselves with three people between us. But perhaps it was better that way, to avoid the temptation of whispering.

During the service I glanced around at the other young people scattered about the sanctuary. What was this like for them? They knew each other, and had likely been planning this for months. I was a complete stranger, and probably a lot older than most of them.

With a sigh, I turned my attention back to the speaker. He was a loud fellow in a blue suit and brand new cowboy boots. I tried to listen to him, but his manner had begun to annoy me. He kept referring to himself as "Uncle Bill" and raved about how he was a converted Jew. He talked about money in a way that made me cringe. He wasn't just asking for donations, he was demanding them.

By the time the service was over I was irritable. Being ordered around by a man in a flashy suit and stomping around the stage with his nose in the air didn't set well with me. I had prepared myself for the Pentecostal charismatic service, knowing that they danced in the aisles, played loud music and surged to the alter at the end of the ceremony. But now I found myself listening to the speaker with a very skeptical look on my face.

I was glad when we all made our way out following the crowd of young people to the gymnasium where camp registration was being held. Piles of luggage littered the halls, and long lines were forming in the gym. I found my way to the J to R line and hugged Skye goodbye. She asked if I was nervous, and I laughed. I was starting to feel the excitement of going somewhere new and different, and my confidence was building.

It was a long wait, but eventually I finished the signup process. They gave me a little camp guide and banded my wrist with a plastic strip that looked like the edge of computer paper that you tear off and has holes for feeding through old style printers.

Putting on my sunglasses I marched out into the blazing sun and boarded the first bus. It wasn't very crowded and I chose a seat by the window. The kids around me were exactly what I had expected. They were about Jr. High age, and were tearing up the bus. Especially the ones in the far back. There was a series of yells, thumps and laughter that made me shudder. I hated to think what they were doing.

One young man just ahead of them finally shouted in exasperation, "Hey look, I'm a University student!" as though that would mean anything to the arms and legs that were flailing around behind his seat. I had to feel sorry for him as someone started beating the back of the seat next to him with a heavy stick and a chant started up.

During the two hour ride to the campground, several people needed the bathroom located at the back of the bus. The rowdy group of boys that had gathered back there pounced on the opportunity to get loud. They stood against the door to keep their poor victim trapped inside. Then they pounded on the walls and laughed it up.

Fortunately, I was closer to the middle of the greyhound size bus. Two girls who felt the same way I did were sitting in the seats ahead of me, and they turned around to talk. One had been to camp before, and she assured us that it would be fun. The campground was at the foot of Mt. Rainer, just outside of Yelm, and promised to be beautiful.

"I think we got stuck on the Jr. High bus," the other girl noted, as the back of the bus broke out in a roar of laughter. I exchanged email addresses with her, and we have stayed in contact since camp. However, upon arrival at Camp Cascade, we promptly lost each other in the shuffle.

The first day was confusing, and finding my group was frustrating. No one knew anything about the Liberty Ridge girls, which were to be my roommates. Finally, after asking enough people, I found them loading luggage into a van and just leaving for our cabin.

Liberty Ridge was a large cabin some distance from the center of activity. I would estimate it to be a quarter to half a mile from the lodge. It was reserved for college and university age women, and a group from San Diego were also among us.

My fears about being the oldest person vanished as I realized that there were 82 girls in our cabin, all around my age and older. We were greeted by rows upon row of bunk beds in the cabin, where there were only four sinks, three stalls and four showers. It reminded me of scenes in movies of army barracks, only cleaner, more welcoming atmosphere.

Showering became a major concern in our cabin. With only four showers and 82 girls, timing was everything. Alarm clocks started ringing long before dawn as lines began forming for the shower. Technically, we were allowed to sleep until 7:30, but only the hardest of sleepers managed it.

Prayer and cadre time started at 8:00 a.m., and breakfast at 8:30. From there the day was laid out with scheduled activities. I was forced to surrender my entire day to a mapped out plan, which was a change of pace for someone who had never been disciplined to follow a schedule, nor even sat through a day of school.

But it's amazing how easily people adapt, after a short adjustment period. I told myself I would have a good time and get fully involved with the program. I carefully studied the booklet I had been given and familiarized myself with the plan of events.

Trouble

Monday morning I was ready for battle. Breakfast was an adventure in itself. Somehow, I found myself at a younger table. In fact, there was only one other girl at the table, and the five younger boys took advantage. They carried on loudly and got into as much trouble as possible.

In the announcements, it had been ordered that there be a counselor at every table. I noted that there wasn't one at ours, and things were getting out of hand. I got the attention of a passing counselor and informed him that our table was without one. He nodded hurriedly and said, "Ok, I empower you to be the counselor at this table. Think you can do that?" And before I could respond, he rushed away to other business.

I turned back to the table and my breath caught. Six pair of eyes were on me, and I could see trouble waiting to happen. I tried to eat my breakfast, hoping they would behave so there wouldn't be any confrontations.

But no such luck. First they tried testing me, to see what they could get away with. I pretended not to notice, and just talked to the boys as though we were all friends and there wasn't an obvious difference between us.

One of the boys with blond hair and sparkling eyes grinned at me. I knew he was the most troublesome of the group, but I liked him at once. He had a confidence about him, and clearly had the ability to charm people. He knew he was popular, and was completely unashamed of it. I expected him to be snobby, especially to an older girl.

But he wasn't at all. In fact, he made me feel welcome at the table. I could see he was a big influence with the other boys, if he chose to be. I watched as he kept things from getting too crazy. And then someone started dumping  food on the table. I hoped my young friend would correct the situation, but he just stared at me and watched to see my reaction. I turned back to my food and tried to ignore things, hoping it would correct itself.

But things weren't getting better. Another boy, one of the quieter ones, started getting irritated. "Hey," he snapped. "Quit making a mess."

The other boy reacted by enjoying the attention. Suddenly food was going everywhere as it was shoved back and forth between the two kids.

"Please don't do that," I murmured nervously. It felt awkward to ask anyone to modify their behavior, especially ten minutes after meeting them. But they didn't seem to hear. I glanced at the blond haired boy, hoping for help, but he just smiled in amusement.

My eyes met those of the other girl at the table, but she just gave me a helpless look. She became very busy with the food on her plate, clearly leaving the situation to me.

"Come on," the boy confronted me. "Do something. You're the counselor. Why aren't you doing anything?"

My cheeks turned red and suddenly I felt very disappointed in myself. How embarrassing. I had never seen this side me. I was always so confident and in-control. But here I was in a strange place, among people I didn't know, and I was being looked to as an authority. And instead of taking control of things, I was looking to the other people at the table to resolve it.

A rush of adrenalin hit as I prepared to take action. I needed to say something, though I wasn't sure what. I was older, bigger and in authority. This should be easy.

Just then breakfast ended and announcements were made. The boys paused in their struggle and we all turned our attention to the speaker. Then everyone was dismissed for morning service and I found myself being shuffled toward the door. I sighed. I hadn't needed to resolve the confrontation, but I had lost the opportunity to push my limits.

Bittersweet

The main activity that day for my team was building rafts with 2x4s, five gallon jugs and rope. We jogged out to a large field with half a dozen other teams and competed to see who could finish first. The rules were frustrating, and our team consisted of 20 people, none of whom knew how to tie knots.

I stood aloof for a few minutes, trying to understand the activity. We had no instructions for building the raft. We had to construct a lake-worthy raft out of boards, jugs, rope and duct tape by looking at the one in the middle of the field and figuring it out.

Needless to say, it was chaos. I don't even want to talk about it. I finally realized I wasn't being much help, so I went to the water cooler behind one of the pickups and grabbed a cup of water. As I sipped the ice cold water, I felt devastated. Strike 2, I thought. Why couldn't I fit here? This should be easy, and yet here I was getting ready to flunk again.

Well, I couldn't just stand there moping. I had to get back with my team and at least pretend to be helping. Then an idea struck me. The sun was glaring down on us, and everyone was wet with sweat and turning red from the heat.

I was feeling refreshed, if a little down. But the others in my team were too busy trying to construct a raft to take breaks at the water cooler. I should take them some.

I ran back to the circle where my team was struggling with the raft and handed out cups of water. It was a big success. Everyone was delighted, and soon I had more orders than I could fill. I was running back and forth across the field with as many cups as could be carried at a time. I even recruited a helper, someone who wasn't feeling very comfortable either.

The idea spread like wildfire. Soon people from each team were lining up at the coolers and hauling water back to their friends.

The supervisor, who was sitting on a stage nearby, noticed what had happened and announced over the loudspeakers that anyone who offered a cup of water to a counselor would receive more points for their team.

When we got back to the lodge, sunburned and aching from all the running, my team scattered for the few minutes of free time. I was tempted to feel left out and uncomfortable, but I was tired of being a loser. After washing my face and hands in the bathroom, I hurried out to the tent to see what else was happening.

A small collection of people had gathered there, and Rachel was sitting on the edge of the stage with a microphone. Rachel was a beautiful young woman that seemed to draw people to her where ever she went. Her innocent eyes and charming smile would disarm anyone, and I felt completely at home with her.

She was recruiting people for Star Search, another activity that had been announced at breakfast. It had been said that a team could earn more points by getting involved in Star Search.

Shyly approaching her, I asked if my team was signed up. "Newport High, pastor Judah's team?" she smiled. "No, you guys aren't on the list yet."

"How do we get on the list?" I asked.

"Well, what kind of talents does your team have?" She asked. There were three categories available. A cappella singing, spontaneous interpretive dance and drama.

"I don't know," I had just met them that morning, and we hadn't had a chance to talk at all. In fact, I didn't even know anyone's name. "I don't know what the others can do," I said thoughtfully. "But I know I can sing. Maybe we could get a singing program together?"

"Ok, we have an opening in a cappella singing," Rachel smiled. "I'll sign you up."

That afternoon I scampered about, trying to find anyone from my team. But they had scattered everywhere, and the only one I could find was a young black girl named Florence. I stumbled into her while we were at the cabin freshening up for dinner. I explained to her that our team needed to put together a music program for Star Search. I asked if she could sing, and she assured me she could.

On the way down to the mess hall, she proved she could by belting out a piece of a song to me. Her voice was astonishingly beautiful. I have always loved the sound of black ladies' voices, and hearing her sing was delightful. I hoped I had found a singing partner.

There was one problem, however. We had absolutely no songs in common. On the way down to the mess hall, we took turns singing pieces of songs trying to find one we both knew. After going through nearly every song I could think of, we had only found one song that we both knew. And neither of us knew the song well enough to sing it.

Dinner was considerably more peaceful than breakfast. There were a few older girls at the table, and the younger girls were far better behaved than my earlier companions.

Florence and I sat next to each other and continued our search for a song we had in common. It was impractical to sing in the roar of the mess hall, but I pulled out a pad of paper and scribbled the lyrics to a song I felt she could easily learn. It was two parts, and I could easily take the first part. The second was a repeat of part one, and she could just follow me.

But at the end of the meal, just when things were looking brighter, Rachel stood up and announced that Star Search had begun. All the people signed up for a cappella were to line up behind the balcony.

My breath caught and my heart jumped as I turn to Florence. We hadn't even rehearsed. Could she do it? The answer was in her eyes. She shook her head vigorously and refused to go. The panic in her face told me not to push. It would be better to go up and embarrass myself alone than humiliate us both.

Standing in line I took a deep breath. Everyone else seemed so organized! There were quite a number of us and most of them were in groups of three or four. I watched as the first contestants went forward. They stood at the front of the room and sang into a microphone. Then the judges would hold up stars to show how they rated the contestant. The highest score was 5 stars, and most of the teams were receiving 3 and 4.

I searched my mind to find a song I knew that could be sung as a solo. The only one that came to mind was an old favorite that I had been reading about on the internet before leaving for camp. I wasn't sure I knew all the words, but I decided to try.

My turn came and I felt incredibly dizzy as I took the microphone and turned to face the 400 campers that filled the mess hall. They were all waiting expectantly, and I gazed out over that sea of eyes and suddenly I knew I had picked the right song. Everyone else's had been jazzy, fast paced songs that got people's toes tapping. Someone had even tried their version of rap.

My song was a sad one, written in a time of grief. Without even realizing it, I began to introduce the song to those people. "The song I'm going to sing is called Maybe Some Other Day, by 2nd Chapter of Acts," I announced. "The 2nd Chapter of Acts were among the first of contemporary Christian bands, and were popular in the late seventies. This song was written after a difficult struggle and deep sorrow. "

With that, I opened my mouth and sang to them. It didn't matter that I was holding a microphone, and there wasn't any background instruments, or that I was on the spot in front of 400 people. All that mattered was that these people were wanting to be entertained, and I had something to share with them.

As I sang, some people in the back raised their hands and began swaying side to side. The whole room seemed to be moving slightly with them, swaying to the song and taking in the lyrics.

"May-be some other day
I will have more understanding
But while my heart is broken
I'll only trust in Him

Oh - I believe His word
So I know He'll never leave me
Although I feel so alone
I know His arm can reach me

And He will give me wings
To soar as an eagle."

I'm not sure how much of the song I was able to sing before the front row broke out in giggles and snickers. I glanced over at the announcer and caught him mocking me. I laughed. No perfect moment could be expected to last forever, and mine was over. The song trailed away and the room roared with applause.

Hurrying back to my seat, I waited to see what my score was. I managed to see 4 stars and 3 stars, and felt relieved that it hadn't flunked like originally had expected.

Pastor Judah was standing nearby and I heard him shout in surprise, "That was Newport High! Yeah! That's MY team!"

Things changed and from that moment on the awkwardness was over. Whenever I started feeling left out, I just thought about all those eyes out there, all those people wanting to have a good time and wanting to feel accepted just as much, if not more than I did. My take-charge attitude kicked in and the next morning I was ready to have some serious fun.

Playing the Skeptic

Since the cabin I shared with 61 other girls was so far away, we were among the last to arrive at the lodge and mess hall. I liked saving time by jogging, and the brisk run was refreshing. It threatened to rain every morning, as a thick fog hung in the air until late morning when the sun burned it off.

Morning service was always a little chilly, which kept everyone awake. "Uncle Bob" was a featured speaker, and although I was severely turned off by him on Sunday, his lively personality grew on me. Aside from the subject of money, I found myself enjoying his speeches. I found myself disagreeing with him, which caused me to consider what he was saying. I flipped through my bible and put a little more wear on the pages, trying to prove him wrong.

And believe it or not, I learned more being a skeptic. I enjoyed being challenged, and searching for where I stood on certain issues. God has amazing ways of getting through to a person. *laughing*

One of my main objections was the idea of making demands of God by repeated prayer. The open prayers made me uncomfortable as people cried repetitively for what they wanted. As Bob Weiner encouraged the prayer to get louder, I continued my silent conversation with the Heavenly Father.

Matthew 6 nagged at me, where it says "When ye pray, use not vain repetitions, as the heathen do, for they think that they shall be heard of their much speaking."

But at the same time, I knew I was being harsh. If this sort of prayer worked for them, I wasn't going to knock it. I decided to continue my closet prayers, and enjoy the fellowship of such enthusiastic people.

And they were enthusiastic! The music was cranked up loud as they danced to praise music. It was inspiring to see so many young people jumping for joy.

Just when I was about to approach Bob and challenge some of the things he had said, his wife, Rose, came forward and gave a half-hour speech. To my amazement, her words addressed all my concerns. She clarified what her husband had been saying, and pointed out that our prayers wouldn't save us, Jesus would.

By the end of the camp, I was jazzed. Hmm, the word "jazzed" is a little out of character for me, but it's the only one that fits. I was a holy roller on the way home. I had attended my first pep rally, and it had me soaring in high gear. I was grateful  for the opportunity to see a different point of view, and participate in a completely different form of praise than what I was used to....

Continued here....