As I write this, I’m lounging in bed, running my fingers through my wavy hair, and listening to the sounds of the ocean.
The above statement is true, though misleading. By “lounging,” I mean that I am lying down in a vertical manner and doing my best not to nod off mid-sentence. When I say “running my fingers through my wavy hair,” I mean that I forgot to pack a hair brush when I left home a month ago and am picking at knots to try to maintain some illusion of being kempt. And while I am, in fact, listening to the sounds of the ocean, they are coming from the sleep app on my iPhone.
All of that is to say: I am at summer camp.
I have been at PASSPORTmissions for the last month working as the Worship Coordinator and I still have a month to go. My job means that I facilitate the musical, technical, and spiritual aspects of worship each night at camp.
Reality check two.
I pretend I know how to play in a band; I untangle a lot of wires and call my director to fix the projector; and I tell people where to put the six-foot chicken wire frames for the prayer experiences.
I don’t want to demean the experience I’m having while serving in this role – I genuinely believe it is important and worthy, and that it’s where God was calling me to be this summer. But it’s involving a big change in my perspective.
I tend to think of myself as a writer. I like to analyze things and parse out the meaning and spell it back to you in a beautiful, metaphorical paragraph. But this summer, I hardly have time to do laundry or put on deodorant in the morning – much less write about the intricacies of existence and theology.
I’m learning that I have to just do more. Writing has always been my solitary and reverent space – it feels spiritual to me. And while it’s creative and has the potential for good, it’s not really all that active. I must do. I must stop only using my mind, and begin to use my heart and physical being to create spiritual and reverent spaces.
So while untangling microphone and Ethernet wires may not feel very glorious or reverent, it’s an act of furthering the Kingdom of God when I take a step back from my journal and do it. This summer I am learning that when my being is focused on God, everything is purposeful and intentional. Writing about it may help me figure that out, but acting on my faith – even in small ways – is a tangible acknowledgement that earth can be as it is in heaven.
The sound of the ocean is beautiful as I’m writing here in bed. But every week I see campers come in to camp, and go back out into the world with new conviction to do as hands and feet of Christ. Campers come in, and campers go out. Campers come in, and campers go out. Campers come in and campers go out.
Those are beautiful waves, too.