Friday, August 8, 2014
Pictures of Camp (with apologies)
Wednesday, August 6, 2014
Rye and Hair
I tried at braiding her hair around her head. I'm sorry for the bad picture quality... It's my phone camera which isn't half as good as my other camera!
Tuesday, August 5, 2014
On Matters of Salvation
Perhaps to the outsider, it would have appeared that everything began Wednesday night, after the baptism of a young lady we met at camp. It was rather late at night, and we all gathered around the pool as she was baptized. Afterwards we sang as the campers and staff gathered around to give the new Christian a hug. I was with Hana, and I was feeling rather emotional as I could see the struggle in her. She was close to tears, and as we waited our turn to give McKayla a hug, she was crying. It made me close to tears, because I have known the struggle she has gone through for the past year about being baptized. I could feel her desire to be baptized, yet I could feel her holding back, and it made her cry. As I said, to an outsider, it would appear that everything began that Wednesday night, but I know, as Hana's closest friend, that it had begun ever so much before that. The war had raged in her for a very long time. She knew she should get baptized, and she knew she wanted to, yet she pushed it to the back of her mind, and basically turned her back, because of fear. It was that week that broke her, and made her know she had to, wanted to, and needed to do it, no matter what. I was so proud of her, and so happy.
Anyway, to continue the story, the battle continued to rage in her that night. She wanted to, but she was afraid of what getting baptized would mean. There were various reasons, not all of which I can share, but it made her cry in desperation. There seemed to be no choice but to continue as she had, and not get baptized, yet she despaired of that, and so badly didn't want to go on as before. Emotionally keyed up, I was on my way to the restrooms alone when I met the one lady counselor, Julia, on the walk. I felt a sudden and strange desire to ask her to talk to Hana. I had already asked Hana if she wanted to talk to someone, and she said no, because I'm sure she felt that no one could help, but I told her that Hana had been crying when McKayla was baptized, and that she has been going through a lot, and that she wanted to get baptized, but that there were some things from keeping her back. I was so distressed about Hana being so torn up that I'm afraid I must admit that I started crying a little myself.
After the night devotional, there was another baptism, which was again rather emotional for us both. Knowing that Hana was struggling to make the decision, and just seeing the beauty of youth making the decision to serve Christ made me a little teary. After that, we cried together some behind the bathrooms, then Julia stopped us as we were walking back to our cabins, and she tried to talk to Hana. For a while she wasn't really able to say how she was feeling, but after a while she told Julia that she wanted to get baptized, but that she didn't want dad to baptize her. Julia convinced Hana to go to the mess hall and talk to Uncle Paul about it, and so we talked more about it with Uncle Paul, Aunt Janet and Anastasia. Hana told them she wanted to get baptized, but she didn't want to call dad and ask him about it. Uncle Paul and I convinced her that we should call mom, and talk to her about it. I'm afraid I kind of insisted a little that dad wouldn't say no, but when we called home mom asked dad and he said she's too young, and he wants her to wait. We stayed up very early talking, but finally we decided to sleep and pray on it, and we went to bed. Uncle Paul and the other two camp directors were very wonderful through it all, and I was very blessed and encouraged by how much they really cared about us. They prayed many times with us, and I'm sure they have prayed many times for us. It has greatly built my trust, that there actually are many good people out there, that do care about us and aren't hypocritical.
The next morning we went about our day like normal, although in the morning there were two other baptisms, and in the afternoon Hana and one of the directors and Anastasia got together and talked more, tho I'm not sure exactly what they were talking about. That evening Hana and I called dad and Hana talked to him trying to express her deep desire to get baptized right away, and that she didn't want to wait - that she has been waiting and thinking about it for over a year. He was adamant that he wanted to have her come home first and he wanted to talk to her about stuff. He refused to talk over the phone, and he wouldn't accept that this was something between God and her. It was very difficult because Hana wanted to respect and honor him, yet she felt very strongly that she needed to get baptized right away. The call was disconnected, with no resolution. Uncle Paul suggested that we not tell them about the phone call, but that we pray about it, and Hana and I could talk and pray about it, then Hana give us her decision. It was late that night that Hana decided to get baptized. Around eleven forty-five she was baptized into Christ. It was wonderful. I was so happy, and so emotionally worn out that I couldn't stop crying for at least fifteen minutes.
So... That's the scoop. I hope all I wrote is true... the events and conversations are somewhat muddled now in my mind.
Friday, August 1, 2014
In Mourning
quickening. I close my eyes. I do not feel.
What do I do when my heart is so broken I cannot move? What do I do when tears rack my soul? What do I do when I have no longer any hope?
My God... I have prayed so long. I have cried so much. I have hoped beyond hope. And have you not answered me? There is agony in my soul. I am broken and bleeding. I have asked your help. Will you remain silent? I ask you to come... I ask you to heal. Yet the scars still remain. Tears still fall like rain. Hope is yet deferred. My God...
The tears beat a steady path down my cheeks. I make no sound, I lie still. My God, there is no change. My God, my heart breaks. Hear me now when I call, oh my God. My Father, in whom I put my trust. Do not let me down again... Be with me now, and hear my call. My faith is on
the ground, and I can barely lift it. My faith is small. But you promised... your promise is that faith the size of a mustard seed will move mountains. My Father, you promised that. My faith is small, and
as my hope has been ignored so many times, it is with tears that I ask again... and I ask again. I will not stop, no matter how small my faith is, no matter how difficult the situation.
My God, my God. My God and Father, please... please heal my Dad.
When the tears slow, I take a deep breath. My stomach hurts, and my sore neck aches. I feel miserable. I look upward again... It is raining. The skies look bleary and unresponsive. My God... I will ask forever, and never stop. I will ask.. please show me mercy, please
show my father mercy, and bring healing to our hearts.
~
Today has been a very trying day. This is the day I faced a monster. My tears will not stop. My heart will not heal. Because there was a broken child inside of that monster, and I am mourning for that child. My God, what happened to make him like this? My God... my God, my heart breaks for him. Please, Father, heal him and soften his heart. Break him and remold him to be a vessel for honor, not dishonor. My God, I ask this of you with all my heart. All my life I have struggled with hating this monster; I have struggled to show him love or respect. There was nothing in him to respect, and his changing personality made it difficult for my child's heart to love him, especially after a difficult mood, for what was to stop him from changing on me again and being angry? But this monster wasn't always a monster. He was an unlovely human, but he was also very charming. And even now, he isn't pure evil. No one is ever such in real life, it seems. Even now, he wants so badly to be loved, to be respected. He is so hurt, so broken. I cannot describe all that has happened in the past year and a half to make him like this, and especially the past week, but let it suffice to say that he is broken, so very broken. My heart breaks for him. God, how I love him. How he has hurt me, but how I love him. Please, please work in his heart... I beg you, my Father. My father is a broken man. His past and his choices have made him into a monster, but in his heart he is still a child wanting to be loved, and wanting to be respectable, and wanting to be desired. And I cry. I cry in deep sobs because it is his own choices that have made him unlovable and unrespectable.
Yes, this day I faced a monster. And I cried.
Once Upon a Time...
Thursday, July 31, 2014
Busyness and Regular Life
It's strange how normalcy can creep up on me again. I have been home for only nearly six days and five nights, and the regularity of home life has already surrounded me. I wake up in the morning and nothing has changed. Nights I toss and turn, turbulent dreams that I do not remember once morning comes tease my consciousness. The breeze of the fan in my room (the room I do not have to share with anyone at this present time) causes my hair to tickle my face. I wake and get myself ready for the day. I brush my teeth. Get a shower. Put on clean clothes. Brush my hair. Put it back in a braid, ponytail or an up-do. Straighten my bushy eyebrows. Have breakfast made. Pray the normal thank-you-God prayer. Eat. Get PatttJo to work on the school she's behind in. Take the children outside. Work. Keep busy. Forget. Forget...
Oh, its so easy to forget, and I find myself doing it all the time. It's normalcy, that's what it is. I'm getting used to the life I'm living, and that's scary. I forget... I forget to read my bible. I forget to smile big and laugh deeply and throw my arms heavenward and say a big THANK YOU to God. I forget to pray. I forget to count how many blessings I have, and to thank God for each and every one of them. I forget to grab each of my wonderful siblings into a big hug and say "Goodmorning!" I forget to be happy, because I'm busy. I'm busy with normal life, and used to the routine life I live. Every day there's something to do, and every day I am doing something. Oh, I'm not a bad person... I know that. I am more kind than I am harsh (but I'm still harsh), I'm more gentle than I am rough (but I'm still rough), I'm more pleasant and patient than I am unpleasant and impatient (but I'm still unpleasant and impatient), I sing more than I yell (but I still yell), I curb my temper more than I give in to it (but I still give in to it)...
Basically, when I measure myself in the scales, I'm still found wanting. I still look at myself and say, "Joelle... Ah Joelle. You can't stop growing. You're never good enough to stop moving forward. You've never learned enough that you can stop looking to God. It's a constant journey, Joelle, and if you don't want to become overwhelmed in the normalcy, in the constant commotion of life, in the confusion, you must keep onward and keep looking at the Author and Finisher of our race."
It's strange how normalcy can creep up on me again... And I don't even notice it. My day is filled with minutes... And I wonder what I spend my minutes on... good, or evil? Oh, I know I'm not an evil person... Right? Huh... I should know, though, that there is no such thing as evil; there is only an absence of good. And can I truly say there is no moment in my day where I have an absence of good? Just a thought...
...it's strange how normalcy can creep up on me again....