Grace Camp (Part Two)

 {Part One posted here}

I open my Bible, eager for something that can be used to express what I feel right now.

The 63rd psalm.

God, You are my God...

I soak it up. I am a lion, hungry, starved for meat, for substance. I find what I am looking for and more.

God, You are so good.

Finally opening the devotional that has blessed me so much, I read. I write. I pause, reflecting on what I know to be true. I challenge myself, and then I pray.

God, Thank you so much for allowing me to have this time full of You today...

I glance at my phone to check the time. 6:53. I gather my things, blowing off sand and smoothening the pages. As I rise to begin the walk back, the rooster crows. A muted baaa rises from the sheep pen and I speeden my steps towards “home”.

Mama is up. She greets me as I place my things on the table and receive a frying pan full of stuff. good stuff.

She is off for the showers, off for a bit of hot water before the heaters run cold. I plug in the fry pan and pick up two eggs. They remind me of the plans I have made for myself, the plans that I scribbled into the margins of my lifebook,the one in God's hands. Smooth and white and firm, the eggs are still under my hands. I have control.

God has control.

I tap the eggs against the pan, urging them to let me coax out the good. They groan. I tap harder and have to hit them one last time before they give in. They crack. I open them, dropping the insides into the bowl and throwing away the shell.

Lord, you may crack me. I know that sometimes I protest, but I'm giving you back the pen. It hurts when you throw away the shell, the shell of my “perfect life...”

Trust Me, Daughter. I will give you joy.

I grab more eggs, emptying each in turn. 14 eggs. I beat them mercilessly before pouring in milk, cold and sweet. Like grace.

See, daughter? Even when life gets tough, I give grace.

I grind salt and pepper into my eggy mixture, the mixture that is giving me lessons in Him. I cut a pat of butter, and it turns to liquid gold under the heat of the pan. I hear the door open and a little arm clothed in brown flowered pajamas pushes it open enough to stick her face out. Dimples deep enough to hold the Pacific beam up at me and a small voice proclaims delightedly, "Hi Deedee!" the thought comes before I can stop it.

There goes my peace and quiet! I won't be alone for the rest of the day!

Then the Voice comes again.

Remember child, I give grace and strength. All you need to do is ask.

I swoop the girl up in my arms and she laughs. I give her a good morning hug before setting her down next to me and brushing back the sleeptangled hair.

“Me too, Deedee? Me eggs?”

I let her grind a bit more salt into the gloopy bowlful, and then I mix one more time before pouring them into the sizzling pan.

I stir, scraping the pan clean.

Ellie talks on and on, gleeful at her time alone with big sister.

The eggs are done.

I turn off the heat, cover them to keep them warm.

I lay out plates and Ellie puts a muffin on each one. A muffin loses a chocolate chip to a hungry two year old, but I pretend to be too busy pouring water to notice.

I see Mom on her way back and hear another voice by the door, “me too! Me help too!” and suddenly the campsite is full of noise and children.

I dish eggs. and grace.

“I want cheese!”

“Please pass the salt. I SAID, please pass the salt!”

A cup overturns, spilling its contents onto the table, the bowl of eggs and the bench.

Remember, daughter...

I remember, Lord. Joy and grace.

So I grab another bowl. And I serve up more eggs, with an extra helping of grace.

Prayer- It Works!

Don’t ever tell me that prayer doesn’t work.

Jesus uses it to work miracles.
~~~~~~~
I don’t know if you know how much work it takes to design lights for a show. It takes hours. Hours and hours of dedicated, intense work sitting over a computer and running back and forth changing light bulbs and checking scripts. For Wonka, we have three geniuses who designed the lights: Breilen, Peter and Adam. They have put in over 20 hours and we are all so thankful.
~~~~~~
A few days ago, I was helping Adam finish up a few final light cues for the hour as people practicing swirled around us. He and Breilen had already worked for over 3 hours that morning and we were crossing one more thing off the never-ending list. Adam was typing in the final cue when a message flashed onto the screen.

EON has encountered a problem and needs to close.

“No way.” Adam whispered as my pulse picked up. He kept up the whispered “This is not happening!” as he began pushing buttons and when the system rebooted, nothing was there.

The song floated through my head “If we’ve ever needed you, Lord, it’s now.”

His face drained of any color, Adam sent his chair flying. “I need to go get Breilen.”

Me? I sat there and prayed, prayed harder then I ever had for a computer system and a bunch of lightbulbs.

A few minutes later, Adam and Breilen were there again. Breilen sat down-he too a bit paler then usual. At his first move of the mouse, the screen lit up and cues filled the space we all stared so hard at.

“Well... I think I see everything...” Breilen glanced at each of us, a bit puzzled.

“That was so not there a few minutes ago.” Adam choked out. Glancing at me, they knelt around the board, watching all their morning work load before their eyes.

As Breilen went back to practice, (the show’s kinda named after him, he’s Willy Wonka!) I looked up into Adam’s face towering above me.

“I was praying so hard... Jesus is here, Adam. He’s watching out for us.”

I can still hear Adam’s reply, his voice still a bit trembly as his fingers took a break from pushing all the save buttons.

“Lindsey, I think that’s what saved us because both you and I know... Our work was gone. He really is good.”

~~~~~

Yes, Adam. He really is.

Grace Camp (Part One)

{This part one of a fictional story I wrote back in August. Fictional meaning it never happened, but I wrote it about my family and I. Part Two will be posted in the next week or two.}

It is silent. The morning light is just beginning to filter in around the closed shades. My phone jingles softly with the alarm that resembles the "Happy Day" song on Sesame Street. I start, quick to silence the sound that could potentially wake the family. I listen. Good. All remains still.

Pulling on jeans and a sweatshirt, I grab a small pile of things I had left out the night before.

Bible. Check.
Devotional. Check.
Notebook. Check.
Pen. Check.

I slip past the curtain that separates the bunk room from the rest of the camper. Slip past Ellie, twirling her hair as she sleeps. Slip past Hannah, who shifts slightly and my heartbeat races until she finds her paci and rolls over again.

Unnoticed.

I hold back a sigh of relief and write a note.

6:15. Going to the beach for bible study. Be back by 7. Lindsey

I slide open the lock. Hold the door open while I slide out trying not to bang it.

Closed.

Again, I listen. I can’t hear a sound. I smile.

Success.

Gravel crunches under my feet as I walk. I wave at the lady a few tents down, another lady who needs her time with Jesus before the busyness of the coming day. I stop in the bathrooms, splashing the cold water over my face and pulling back my hair. Already, someone is in the shower and I hear the water falling, raining down on a dirty body, raining down on a soul that needs cleansed.

Wash me today, Lord. Rain on me.

I continue on.

Past the quiet tents and campers. Past the animals beginning to stir in their pens. I reach it.

The beach.

I smile.

Joy is invading my soul.

I look around.

I am alone. Just me and Jesus.

I make my way to the cross, standing there on the sand, proclaiming to all that this, this is a place of rest. I sink down into the coolness of the ground. the breeze plays with my hair and I close my eyes. And breathe.

Breathe.

Breathe in the fresh lake air, the pine trees around the trail.

Breathe in the scent of coffee drifting from another early riser’s pot.

I breathe again. Peace.

Lord, fill me. I am ready. I am Yours.

This is why

I don't volunteer to get my name in a program.

and I could {very easily} do without being called up in front of a cast with a proclamation of "These are your crew members. Can we give them a round of applause?"

I don't even volunteer to make the friends that always do come out of show weeks- although that is a huge perk- or to find flowers or candy in the bucket with my name on it.

Why, then, does this early bird summit herself to nights of being up past 11 for three weeks?

Why does she go to apply makeup to the faces of a cast, clean counters and sinks- with nasty smelling cleaner, pinch her fingers in the wood of the sets and burn them on curling irons?

Picture by Montanna- of Anna and I. Can you tell we're exhausted?

Why does she come to HPA in the early morning and stay late and get behind in school and projects and just life in general?

I do what I do out of the desperate prayer that someone will need Christ and that, through me- sinful, very-much-imperfect, 14 year old me- they see a way to lean on the Savior, a way to find His joy in the mundane, and to show His love to everyone.

If the life of one person is even touched by me for Christ in the upcoming weeks of Willy Wonka, then everything, everything, will be worth it.

And for this girl, that's enough.