Seasons Change

Back on May 15th when I switched my blog over, I told myself, "I'm going to commit to taking time this summer to write about what I'm experiencing." Ha. I should have known that was NOT going to happen. My summers with FCC provide barely any time to sleep, much less time to process my experiences. And now here I sit, wishing that I could have held true to my unrealistic commitment. Because after 9 weeks of camp, it all stars to blur.

The large majority of my life from January-May was spent creating the summer camp program. And then before I knew it, training week was right in front of me, and I was responsible for training our 75 instructors and releasing/pushing/launching them into camp life and ministry all at the same time. The 9 weeks that followed could potentially change their lives. I could only hope that it would.

And now, after 5 summers of doing this, I'm once again struggling to find my way back into normal life. Because for the past 2 months, I've had a pretty structured schedule, with assigned clothes to wear, designated meal times, and some of my favorite people surrounding me all. the. time. I'm left floundering, longing for the familiar to come back. I had a fraction of this feeling once training week was over. My job as the program director was complete. And I was lost.

But that doesn't even begin to compare to how I feel now. There were moments this summer when I wanted, borderline needed, to freeze time. I can remember the first camp when I got to witness Ambush happen in real life- the fruit of hours, days, months of planning. I remember a moment when the staff was just goofing off with the campers doing a fun chant, and my heart was so satisfied. And I wanted the moment frozen in time. A small group of us went to Disneyland, and I remember wishing the sun would just get stuck right where it was around 7 pm. Or the nights of worship under the stars, the van rides when we were packed in like sardines, the laughter that caused a raspy cough to come out- all of it. I wanted time to just freeze. I wanted every ounce of it to be soaked up.

With each passing week, the days went faster; I'm confident the nights were shorter. I would be begging God to please slow down the process. When week 8 was upon me, a minor panic struck me. Because, in theory, I'm leaving this FCC camp world for good. I finished my final camp last Friday. And right now, I can't handle that harsh reality. Yet something within me says it's time to pass the baton- for someone else to take ownership of this awesome ministry and make it better. But my heart is so sad. Tears find my cheeks pretty quick.

I don't know how to pray right now. I'm desperately asking the Lord to allow the memories from this summer to have a permanent place in my heart. Asking Him to raise some people up to lead the next group of instructors.

I find this transition to be especially painful because I'm leaving an amazing community and fellowship of believers and moving on to the unknown. As I prepare to move across the country, I have to force myself to not look back at what was but instead to trust the Lord with what's coming. I'm definitely treasuring what was, but I struggle to not tremble in fear at what is to come. The song in my heart right now is this:

"And I'll stand with arms high and heart abandoned in awe of the One who gave it all. And I'll stand my soul, Lord, to You surrendered. All I am is Yours."

My arms are high. My heart abandoned.

I'm Yours for the taking.