Camp Nahshii: The Post Script

The Idea

I knelt in the Camp Nahshii dirt, facing a wooden bench lined with girls, their faces enrapt and their spirits open.  To my left stood Sappy Sophia, our small group's mascot, a scrawny spruce dripping with golden sap.  The muted glow of the midnight sun draped its light over us, ambient light from an overcast sky.  The camp was still as we were one of the only groups left awake in that magical time when night gives way and the morning comes young.

"Joyce, I want to tell you something," one of the girls spoke.  The radiance in her face made me lean forward slightly in anticipation.  She smiled as she said in her quiet, even voice, "I've decided to get baptized."

"Yes!!!!" I thought, inwardly fist-pumping.  I can't remember what I said, probably something along the lines of, "That's awesome!"  I expected a triumphal ceremony at camp with all of us gathered 'round, but that was not to be.  The young lady said she decided to wait for her family, and I nodded.  That was the best of ideas.  But I was disappointed I couldn't be a witness.

The conversation drifted, but my mind hung on a notion that I'd like to come back, see her baptized.  But I didn't think it possible, didn't know when that would happen.  Camp came to a close for me, and soon I was back at my desk job, hustling paperwork and answering the endless stream of inquiries.

The Preparation

I kept in touch with the pastor's wife in Fort Yukon, which happened to be where the young lady from camp hailed from.  I hadn't realized that a lot of my girls lived or had some connection there.  One day, much sooner than anticipated (last Wednesday or Thursday, to be precise), I got a text that the baptism was going to take place that Saturday!  The day before, I had just told a friend who works at my church in Fairbanks that I was hoping to witness the event, and she said she was praying I would be able to go.

I love to pack slowly, have everything organized a week prior and have all my house chores completed before I go somewhere so I can come back to a clean house.  I love to have time to prepare, think of what I can bring, ease into things.  I also didn't know if all the details would work out for the trip such as funding, rides, availability of a seat on the plane.  I texted my best friend and long-time prayer partner to pray that if it was God's will, it'd all fall into place, and she texted back that she was praying!  Scrambling, the first air company I checked out did not have availability, and the second I called was about ready to close for the evening!  The first time I asked for was full, so I asked for another and boom, she had me booked for a flight out and a flight back in.  The funds were there, I simply re-arranged several rows in Excel.

I discovered I had twice as much poundage for luggage than my trip to Nahshii, so then I thought I might as well fill it with stuff for the family.  My brief tour of Fort Yukon made me realize the cost of groceries ($19 for a bag of chips!), so I had a mad dash to the store and some interesting packing, climbing on the scale, packing, adding and removing.  One thing that's hard to get is fresh milk, so in my test run, I packed as much as I could into my cooler (too much) and ended up baptizing my kitchen in 2%, as one gallon exploded everywhere.  But that was easily cleaned up and then I was done.  I hoped.  6 am Saturday morning came all too quickly and soon I was waiting at the airport for a drowsy eternity (my ride had to be somewhere early).

The Realization

"Was it just like watching a couple of people get wet?"  I was asked this about the baptism.  It might have been, had I not felt God holding me up this trip.  There were a lot of things that were not ideal, such as being tired and not getting my windfall weekend sleep, being anemic (I was bruising like crazy and thought I might faint Saturday night, but I didn't, praise God), and the unpleasant drowse and stupor that comes with having to take Dramamine for travel so I don't get uncontrollably sick.  It was rainy and cold, and I was staying at a house that had cats.  

I like cats, but I'm actually super allergic to them, and one of the conditions I told God about this trip was that I was to not have any problems breathing/breaking out if His blessing was on the trip.  I did not sneeze once the whole trip and did not have to take my inhaler at all.  In fact, Sunday morning, which would typically be the time I'd be dying in a house full of cats (after having slept in it), all three cats came running out to greet me as I sat in the dark and quietly drank my coffee with perfect breathing.  I told one of the cats to stop trying to bite another cat, and then not to bite me, and then the cat decided it loved me and sat at my feet purring, so I guess we're friends now.  But that's besides the point.  

It was totally worth everything, the realization of this notion I had at camp.  Another girl (from my small group too!) decided to get baptized, so there were two.  The girls came at half past three, bearing gifts of gorgeous beaded jewelry, and we herded (like cats) toward the vehicles.  I had a moment where I got a chance to talk to the girls alone, and I watched as their eyes filled with tears.  I hoped in that moment, they realized the gravity of their decision and how proud I was of them!  And that if I would fly from Fairbanks to see them baptized, how much more God loves them and was proud of them!  The baptism itself was a blur, but I shouted and clapped and then we herded  (more quickly this time) back into the truck to get warm.  I don't know when I will see these young ladies next, but I am praying and believing for good things for their lives!

The Cream

God always has something extra on trips like this, and I think there was a lot of cream to be had, at least for me.  Sadly, I think the night before I came, the staff discovered that the roof to an addition to the church, over the stage, had rotted.  Upon inspection, it collapsed, leaving a mess of debris and insulation.  I got to help clean this up and seal off the area for health reasons.  It's funny, before I left, my hand hovered over my fine-particle mask I have for work in case patients come in with communicable diseases, but I decided against it.  I did remember my work gloves, so with a borrowed mask from the staff, I was ready to help.  The blessing in this situation was the news that my church back in Fairbanks had decided to cover the cost of the repairs, and I got to see the gratitude and hope in the eyes of the Fort  Yukon congregation at their generosity!  I was so happy to be a part of that!

The Fort Yukon staff also generously allowed me to help out with their church activities such as youth group and the main service.  (I'm trusting that God will take my weakness and my willingness and use it for His glory.)  My favorite part was feeding the teenagers gummy bears (you can tell I'm Korean), and the worship Sunday morning.  There was such a sweet presence, I was touched to have been a part of that.  Whenever I'm allowed to help out like this, though, I always feel like I come out of the wilderness a lioness.

Lastly, on the ride home, as the glow of the adventure started to fade and I was faced again with the reality of my life and several tough things I'd put off thinking/praying through, I was blessed with the kindness of an airplane pilot who I think would test as a "feeler" of some sort on the Meyers-Briggs test.  There have been some hard things going on in the lives of friends and other folks that grieve me, and these were on my mind as I took the co-pilot seat.  (I had no idea that when the pilot moved out his control, it moves out the one in front of me, so he accidentally boofed me in my stomach at first, until he reached over and adjusted my seat (I guess they aren't allowed to talk?).  This was actually quite hilarious and I was so surprised nothing embarrassing had happened thus far on the trip.)  Twice, he tapped my shoulder and gave me a thumbs up sign, indicating without words, "Cheer up, it will be ok."  And you know what?  I came back to my life and received very good news in regards to one situation I'd been praying for, and another situation ended up being resolved a day later!!! 

God's so cool and I'm so glad to be a part of this adventure He has me on.  I'm so thankful He allowed this little unexpected Camp Nahshii post script adventure, and I am excited to see what He has next.  

Camp Nahshii

I found myself on a 10-seater plane, high above jagged mountains with fingers of magma spiking up through their tops.  I watched a cloud's shadow engulf our tiny plane's blot on the ground far below, searching eagerly for my destination.  It came after ripples and twists of water, once river, dissected by smatterings of trees.  There lay below me the airstrip and nearby scattering of buildings that made up Fort Yukon, a small city of nearly 600.  I hoped, like other mission trips before, that someone would be waiting for me.

"She's waiting for you," an Alaskan Native lady told me, knowingly.  "I can see her there already."  Encouraged, I climbed out onto the runway only to be greeted by my ride.  A four-wheeler's drive away, we came to the house of the local missionaries with the Assemblies of God church.  There I would wait until the boat came to take me up the Yukon to Camp Nahshii.

It's crazy, the path that took me to this moment.  I have had a history of ignoring the Holy Spirit and doing my own thing before.  I've a love for comfort and the known, and I was truly meaning to take a vacation to San Diego, sit on a beach, meet with friends, and attend Comic Con with a youth leader and girl from the youth group I'd helped with the past few years.  

People told me it was impossible to get Comic Con tickets.  Not that I'd really thought about it before.  But I was surprised at the amount of negativity I encountered when telling friends my plans (I really relied on nice-sounding plans during this time as I was working during the day and taking a rigorous course at night and on the weekends which allowed for no fun whatsoever).  I shrugged, we'd see what would happen.  It turns out, when the four of us logged into the virtual waiting room at an ungodly time in the morning to essentially win the lottery to purchase tickets, I got in right away and purchased tickets for all days except the special preview night, which had sold out.

The week before the lottery, God told me something I didn't like too much at first.  God said I was to go on a missions trip instead of a vacation.  I knew my friends would be disappointed, we'd been planning this trip for a year.  I wanted to go somewhere comfortable.  But as the week wore on, I realized what God had planned would be much better than any sort of vacation I could plan.  And when I logged in, I realized you could only purchase 3 sets of tickets and there were 4 of us going.  I knew in that moment what I had to do.

So, my friends were headed to Comic Con, and I was headed to an unknown mission trip.  There's always missions trips to be had, so I knew something would pop up.  But I waited for what felt like an eternity with no news on the horizon of any possibilities.  It made me feel slightly foolish, but I know feelings aren't reliable, so I trusted an opportunity would come up.  And then a staff member of TGM approached me at church one day and mentioned their camp, Camp Nahshii, off the Yukon River.  I didn't hear back from them for a while, and knew I had to request time off work soon or it'd never be approved, so I picked the time that was best (it included the time I was originally going to take off for Comic Con).  Then I heard back from TGM, and found out the camp they needed help with was the exact same days that I had taken off, plus a couple, which were approved right away (I've never had so much time off work approved in my career there).  

So there I was, befuddled in Fort Yukon.  Befuddled because of the Dramamine taken to endure the little plane and the coming boat ride.  I played sleepily with the missionaries' children, and soon boarded a small boat to head up the river.

The boat ride satisfied my most recent thirst for adventure.  It was precarious, they had to avoid debris or the motor would break, and we saw a two-year-old black bear on a gravel bar.  The sun over the mighty Yukon was spectacular, the wind in my face was glorious, and I think we saw an eagle.  It was grand.  After about two hours, we arrived at camp and got settled in.

They might have told me there was a bunkhouse, but I was surprised at how nice it was, with donated furniture and a cot even (my back was super thankful!).  There was some downtime before campers came, in which I received a tour of the land and I also navigated the obstacle course when no one was looking.  It will probably go down in camp history as the longest time ever, but I don't care.  I just wanted to do it without falling off, and I did.

My job was to help Angela in the open kitchen, help cook meals over the fire, and wash dishes in a sink with no running water.  Having worked in several commercial kitchens, I am no stranger to large batches of food, but this was combat cooking: battling the fire, dodging ashes, lifting heavy jugs of water, and keeping everything safe and sanitary.  I learned how to light a fire in the stove, and after learning how to make coffee in a percolator on the propane stove,  I made it my goal every morning to try and get up before everyone else, light the fires, boil the hot water, make the coffee and do my devotions before Angela came.  I actually never fully achieved my goal any day, as it was unrealistic, but one morning I had two fires lit, the hot water boiled, and the coffee well on its way before she came, and another morning I woke up to Angela peering down at my face and laughing because I had completely slept through my alarm.  That morning I think I served food with sand sleep in my eyes and soot on my face, and I don't think I had time to brush my teeth all day.  There were times, with all the soot, that I identified with Cinderella, and I'd call myself my childhood name (given by my dad) of Cinder-Joyce in my head.

As there was no running water, the issue of cleanliness and then put-togetherness was interesting.  I vowed I would be like other camps: I'd get up and be put-together in the mornings, but by the end of this camp, I stopped caring as much.  I was able to take two showers, the second of which felt like what God's love in a camp shower bag must feel like, although the rest of the time I simply had no time between activities.  I've been on mission trips before where there was no running water, or the rudimentary "bathroom" was inhabited by spiders larger than my hands, or the bathing place was the well where the whole team would soap up in an awkward circle of suds, but this took the situation to a whole new level.  There were some people, I don't know how, who looked just as fresh as the morning dawned every day, but at a certain point, I realized I had a choice: spend my time in service to others or myself.  So I did sacrifice cleanliness for others, but it was worth it.  It was amazing to see what God did in the lives of the kids.

I knew a little of what to expect in the kids that attended.  TGM staff warned me beforehand of the hurts these children have experienced, the things they deal with, and encouraged me to fast and pray before coming.  It's interesting, they warned me that at times I would feel what the children were feeling, and there was a time at the beginning where I felt like I was not wanted and I did not fit in.  Not that I felt that way personally, but that happened around the times two girls broke down, crying and saying the exact thing I was feeling.  

I remember the first girl, I don't know if she ever met God, and she was perhaps the most resistant to the services that I saw.  But I felt like God was telling me to explain to her the process of being in a new place, which I've experienced many times over.  At first there's culture shock and homesickness, but after a while, you adapt, and then the change of scenery becomes normal.  I told her this, and it was pretty cool.  The next day she told me she felt like she was having fun, and by the end of the week, she looked at me as if she understood what I told her.  

The second girl, whether I overheard the information or it was a divine insight, had other issues, however.  Due to a recent suicide of a loved one, I felt like she was experiencing an acute grief reaction much like patients have in the Inpatient Behavioral Health ward I coded for so many months.  Grief can take many forms, and one of them can be acting out and what appears to be rebellion.  I sensed this was going on with this particular girl, and so while she was telling me she wanted to go home and didn't fit in, I realized she just needed space to grieve.  I ended up sitting with her in the bunkhouse through my entire break while she cried herself to sleep.  Later, when she woke up, I thought she despised me, based on her expression, and she seemed to be disrespectful towards me the rest of camp, but I was surprised to find when her plane left after camp, she came running back to me, threw her arms around me, and said into my neck, "I can never forget you."  I was truly touched.

Prayer times at gatherings were probably some of the best times for the youth, in the evenings, although for me they stretched me the most.  I have prayed for people, but always in a friend-sort-of-one-on-one setting or praying for a group or some other such thing.  I did serve on a prayer ministry at college, and we had shifts during the chapel services, but usually our team never got students asking for prayer; our prayer was mostly with students door-to-door in the dorms.  So I felt out of my comfort zone praying for youth at the alter call (I had to explain to my small group, which I will discuss in a bit, what an alter was, and why people sacrificed on altars and how that related to Jesus, which turned into a salvation message, which was pretty much awesome and unplanned and totally God).  

But even as I stepped out, I had feedback from the youth that they experienced the Holy Spirit when I prayed for them, and while God rarely ever speaks to me in pictures, I got a few for several students and prayed these over them.  I think the best thing that happened during an alter call was one girl, who was perhaps the most hard-countenanced girl of the group, who broke and finally received a certain measure of healing, which I could see entirely in her face and her person after.  This girl was tough, and I suspect there is a reason for her toughness, and she was crying and crying at the alter like none other.  I prayed for her and wanted to hold and comfort her, but she felt stiff, which I have found is the unspoken way to sense if someone wants to be hugged or not.  After everyone had left, she was sitting and crying on a bench, so I sat next to her, and suddenly, she threw herself into my arms and cried and cried and I understood what wrenched her poor dear heart so.  She abruptly left, but after that, she would (without warning) fling herself in for a hug, and then she decided to dub me Hopper because I jumped during worship services.

I was privileged to join the worship team in the evenings prior to the altar calls, and one evening helped play while students were being prayed for.  I kind of felt the week prior to going to camp Nahshii that I ought to prepare a set of quiet and Hopper songs as it is the custom of missions trips to randomly ask you to play worship music without preparation and if it goes well, they'll want more, and it's best to just expect that.  Well, the week prior to leaving for camp ended up being so crazy that I had no opportunity, and since no one had confirmed I'd be on worship, I figured it was all good.  Ha.  I wracked my brain once I was asked to help of any songs I could remember, and some of them I made up simpler chords that sounded alright and some of the lyrics to sound right because I couldn't remember.  I think it worked out ok in the end, we ended up going Hopper with them because it just felt like some joy of the Lord needed to be released, but I think I might've picked different songs if I could remember them, which I didn't.  Practices for the sets I did not lead went badly for me, in my opinion, but during the actual services, I felt God's presence rest on me and help me not do too terribly for so little practice, and few words or chords to reference.  It always seems that God gives grace and anointing in those situations.  The kids, anyway, gave me great feedback.

I think my favorite part of camp had to be the small group I ended up leading most nights at the end of the day to talk about the day and pray together.  This is the group that seemed to go until 1 am or later, and the kids kept asking me questions that I never thought to ask or attempt to answer on so little sleep at such a late hour, but the Holy Spirit seriously provided me with great answers and I was just glad to listen to what came out.  The best questions were 1) Why is it called an altar call?, 2) Does God give us diseases?, 3) If God is Jesus's Father, who was His Mother?, 4) Can you please explain the trinity?  We had some good talks about prayer and how sometimes God's answer is no because He's saying yes to something else.  I think the best part about small group was the camaraderie.  The first night, on a whim, I asked us to group hug and when one of the kids protested there was a tree in the way, I said the tree could join us (only because I wanted to hurry up and end the meeting), so we ended up hugging around the tree, which the girls thought was a lot of fun.  Eventually, the tree was named Sappy Sophia, and I sure hope no one thought I was teaching some strange doctrine when the girls kept talking about our tree hug at the end of the day.  

Another fun thing that happened was my Welcome Joyce sign fell off my dresser and went through the crack on the second floor onto the bunk of one of my girls, who brought me the sign at breakfast the next morning (much to my confusion).  I realized it was like a mail delivery system, so this girl and I exchanged notes until all the girls in my group caught on and so the last day, I spent my break writing all of them notes.  They were so excited, I think that ended up begin the best random idea ever, and it's awesome since I am trying to start a revolution of hand-written letters and notes one written letter at a time.

I think the last thing about camp, and certainly not the least, that ought to be discussed, was the incredible staff that were chosen for the summer, or for that camp in particular, as a few came in and out as I did just for a specific time.  I have never worked with a team of leaders who were so godly, so united, and so on top of every activity and thing they had to do.  The TGM staff are incredible people and I totally believe in what they are doing.  I've never seen such harmony and collaboration between members, I've never seen so pure of motives or hearts of service.  Sure, since we were all showerless in each others' faces, our weaknesses and humanness started showing through, especially when we were tired.  I know the kitchen staff at least saw mine.  But when one person was tiring, another stepped in to lend a hand, and that made for a truly incredible working experience.  

The last adventure I had was an abrupt end to camp.  Apparently, there was a windstorm and while we were supposed to leave the next morning, it was decided it would be safest for those like me to leave the night before so we could catch our flights.  So I packed and had everything together within an hour and we piled into a boat with our sleeping bags.  We sailed into the sunset on a very bumpy river.  I was amused for the first bit as the kids hollered when the boat hit waves, but then I fell asleep.  I realized in my tired brain that I was like Jesus, sleeping in the boat during the storm, except I think Jesus hadn't taken Dramamine.  We reached Fort Yukon three hours later and clamored (or at least I did, sleepy still and very much drugged) out of the boat and up into the truck.  All I remember is falling onto a bed and I woke up hours later with little piles of girls sleeping around me.  

As I had so much time during the day before my flight, I was able to get a tour around Fort Yukon as we made sure the kids that came back returned home.  It was neat to put the missionaries' lives there into perspective, along with the lives of the kids.  I discovered during my small group that a lot of them were from Fort Yukon, and I thought of them and their lives after camp.  I know that they experienced a touch from God.  One girl told me she was going to be baptized.  I wish I could be there for that.  It is incredible what God has done for them.  

I know now that my job is to pray for them, after, as I have prayed for them before.  There were some great things that happened, and I could tell great things were going to happen/ were happening not only from what I saw, but also from the spiritual warfare that took place  before/during camp.  I thought to get good rest before leaving for camp, but ended up having terrible insomnia the whole week prior, the day the kids were coming in, both boats had issues much to the dismay of some kids and the discouragement of camp staff.  Several nights, as I went to sleep, I had a sense of warring in the spirit and I prayed myself to sleep on behalf of the kids, praying for their healing.  The day I gave my testimony, the last day, I was so tired, I was about ready to drop off at any moment during the day and I had no time to sit in the Spirit and focus (although I think it went well).  Now, I know there's stuff that will try to come against these kids, as always happens when you come down from a "mountain top experience" just as Moses came down to find Israel in sin while he was gone.  If you are reading my humble ramblings, please join me in praying for these kids, that the healing they have found will take hold of their hearts to change the course of their lives forever.

Gorgeous sunset after one of the evening sessions, accurately reflecting the message of hope and healing given.  Nice touch, God.  Nice touch.  

And as far as Camp Nahshii is concerned, I hope that one day I will be able to go back.

Regarding Hitchhikers and A New Pair of Shoes

Running Late

I was running late for worship practice.  Just about the story of my life, since it was a forty-minute drive from my place of abode to the church, and I always felt like I could do it in much less time.  I floored the gas pedal and wove down a winding road, taking the turns at a far faster pace than was probably safe.

It was warm outside, well, at least relatively warm for the Land of the Midnight Sun in winter.  A path ran alongside the road, and as I wound around a bend, I saw a man on a snow machine going as fast as I was-- without a coat.

"What an idiot," I thought to myself.  Sure, it was warm, but it is not smart to snow machine in the winter at any temperature without a coat.  He had gloves and snow pants, but it was obviously too warm for him to wear anything to protect his vital core.  As I was making such a critical remark on his wardrobe choice, I glanced over at him and watched as his snow machine unexpectedly sputtered and died.  He gaped at me, and I gaped at him, and I saw that he was in trouble.  His expression showed that he knew he wasn't in too much trouble, since I saw him, and I would obviously help.  Right?

Wrong.  I was running late for worship practice.  I was already on the naughty list, or so I felt, for several things, and I sure did not want to disappoint the worship leaders.  We were, after all, doing something so very highly spiritual as preparing to lead people into the presence of God, and that was the top priority.  I will never forget the look on that man's face as I drove off, leaving him in the cold without a coat.

I was about half a mile away before the Holy Spirit convicted me of my actions.  How could I be so busy doing good things for God that I didn't care for the very core of His heart-- for people?  I felt the Lord say, "Forget being on time!  I would rather your compassion, a better act of worship than leading people into the presence of God with a man's life (possibly) on your hands!"

I turned around at the first place I could, nearly driving off the road at my speed.  I may not always hit the mark the first time, but when I feel conviction like that, I try to be the first to respond.  I booked it back to the place where the snow machine died, only to find the vehicle there,  but the man was not.  I spent who knows how long driving up and down the road, poking in the trees, looking for this man or his frozen body.  But he had simply vanished, and I hope to God that someone else had given him a ride, in warmth, to his house.  And you know what?  I was late, but so were the worship leaders.  It would have been alright, if I'd stopped and helped the man in the first place.

This instance weighed heavily on my mind the next several months.  I was in a place at church where people knew my spiritual history, respected my spiritual insight, thought I was an example.  And yet, I was so busy with all the good things, serving like crazy with worship, youth, and children's ministry, I "didn't have time" to help out a man who very well could have been Jesus.  As I examined my heart, my life, and my ministry, I knew that something was not right.  But even as we draw near to God, or strive to, God draws near to us, and He set me on an uncomfortable journey outside my comfort zone regarding hitchhikers and a new pair of shoes.

Things happened at my church with the leadership, and through many circumstances, I felt as if the Lord was saying it was my choice if I decided to seek a new church.  I had never left that church so long as I lived in this town (I'd been to others in college), and I had thought one day I would be one of the little old ladies who spread her wisdom on the younger generation at church.  But the Lord led me to a new church where there was life and opportunity... and challenge.

Running Late, Again

I wasn't on worship, they didn't know me yet, but I was trying to make the Sunday 11:15 am service and, as usual, was running late.  I was so tired, as for years I attended a Saturday night service and was used to staying up to 3 am running teenagers home from youth group and such.  It was awful hard to be up on a Sunday morning, but I didn't want to be late, so I floored it through the backcountry until I hit the local university campus on the outskirts of town.

A woman in a black hoody walked along the side of the road.  I immediately could tell from the posture of her shoulders that she was having a bad day, and when she looked up at me, I saw tears on her face.  I felt suddenly as if I was to stop and ask this lady if she needed a ride somewhere... but I was running late for church and plus, I couldn't help but notice her rainbow-coloured backpack.  It was like one of the primary-colored parachutes we played with in elementary school, and there was just something about the backpack.  What did she have, a gun?  A knife?  Were her tears fake?  I've had a knife pulled on me in a bad part of Minneapolis, and I've nearly been mugged there and several other big cities while traveling alone.  I was not in the mood for being mugged.  I just really wanted to go to church.

She gave me that look, the look the man on the snow machine had given me.  But I wasn't going to get mugged.  I turned my eyes onto the road, hardened my heart, and drove on.  I saw her posture slump in my rear-view mirror.  I thought about going back, but I didn't.

On a road near the church, where I was already five minutes late, God gave me a second chance.  It's amazing how He does that, with life and failed assignments.  There was a little Asian man in an expensive-looking suit walking determinedly down the road, toting way more luggage than himself.  He held a piece of lined paper in his hand, and glanced at it frequently, and then at his surroundings.  I knew that look, I've had it-- not having any connections in town, he was walking to his destination with all his baggage.  I've done that before, that back-breaking, excruciating walk, alone, without help, but you're too proud to be defeated and you're so stubborn, you're going to figure it out yourself.  It was as if the Lord was like, "Ok, so you won't pick up the shady lady who was crying, so maybe you'll pick up the harmless business man."  But you know what?  I was horrible.  I didn't.  I was five minutes late, and whenever I took him to wherever (the airport?  His hotel?), I'd be ever so much later.  I'd miss worship.  So I drove by, and he didn't even notice.

 I sang songs that morning with the weight of those people's problems on the back of my mind, that verse echoing through the back of my head, "Whatever you did for the least of these, you did for me."  While I tried to enter in, I felt as if I'd missed the true worship the Lord wanted me to do unto Him, and I felt uncomfortable.  Then, the pastor got up to speak.  It got much worse.

His sermon was about going out of your way to help people.  He talked about how that is worship unto God, and how we can be a witness.  He charged the church with going out and being Jesus's hands and feet.  I shrank in my chair, and bowed my head.  The Lord had tested me, and I failed.  Miserably.

Almost On Time

I determined that moment that I would strive to be different.  I vowed the next hitchhiker I felt the Lord was telling me to pick up, I would pick up.  I laugh in recollection of this, because I had no idea the next person the Lord would have me pick up fit the profile of the stereotype of a murderer.  I mean, literally, imagine in your head what a white male serial killer ought to look like, and there was this young man, walking along the side of the road.

It was raining, hard.  Hard rain like that is unusual in the Land of the Midnight Sun, and I imagined anyone or anything walking out in the rain like that would drown, because the droplets were pelting sideways, like a smothering bed-comforter to the face.  

He carried two five gallon jugs, and on his back, he carried a heavy pack I could only assume was laden with water.  The tell-tale signs of a person living in a dry cabin (without running water).  He was walking up one of the steepest hills in town.  The rain was running off his face, and his eyes were shut against its stream running over his eyelids.  You had to be an absolutely horrible person to pass a creature you owned, or a serial killer, no less, and not stop and offer shelter from the elements, or a ride.  I felt the Holy Spirit stir within me, and with a prayer of, "I'll be home soon, Lord," I pulled over and stopped in front of him.

I was so concerned about being murdered, that I forgot to tell him my name.  Or ask his name.  Or ask where he was going.  He just got in, got situated, and I took off driving.  I'm surprised he didn't think he wasn't getting kidnapped or something.

For a serial-killer, he had the best manners out of anyone I've ever given a ride to.  He introduced himself as Daniel, and I tried not to stare at the tattoos that went the whole way up his neck.  He offered where he was going, and did his best to cover my seat so it didn't get water stains, as he was soaked completely through.  I asked him on a whim if he was a university student, and he said, yes, and explained that he was studying Family Studies.  I furrowed my brow.  Serial killer indeed.  

At any rate, we reached his destination, out in the middle of nowhere, me coping with the situation by prattling nonsense in a high-pitched voice.  The pastor had said you have to tell people why you're being nice to them or else they will think you're just that-- nice.  I reached this point where he was getting out, declaring my ride was the best thing that had happened to him all day.  The Holy Spirit prompted me to tell him God loved him, or God bless, or something, but I don't know why, it was just so hard.  Before I knew it, he'd gathered up his water jugs and had disappeared from sight, and I was trying to drive away as fast as I could so he couldn't get my license plate number for any future attempts at my life.  I kicked myself once away, though, as I had been obedient to the Lord, to a point, but not completely.

"Please, God, give me one more chance," I prayed.  I was going to get this right, this time.  But it wasn't a good number of months before I had the chance to nail it.  And, at last, I finally did, in a different city, with a pair of shoes.

Punctual

I went to the largest city in the state to take a big deal certification test, and there, I had to check out the local mall for a pair of shoes for work.  "Ankle booties", short boots that hit the afore-mentioned anatomy, were the thing, and my boss had been lifting her eyebrow at my worn out black shoes.  I found myself in a shoe store and selected a few pairs of ankle booties to try on.  There was a buy one, get one half off deal going on, but I only wanted one pair, so I was deciding between two styles while sitting on a bench when I heard a boy crying in the row behind me.

"Why can I not get these shoes, Dad?"

The father answered, kind but truthful.  "It's because we do not have any money, son.  You need to get these shoes for your gym class, but that's all we can get."

The son, disappointed, acknowledged his father's explanation.

I was really struck by their interaction, mostly because the child was not whiny or nagging, and I could tell the father was trying his best to get by.  He also answered out of love, which you sometimes don't hear in such situations.  It wasn't quite audible, but I did hear the voice of God tell me, very loudly, "Buy the shoes."

Now, this was a season in my life where money wasn't exactly over plentiful.  I'd just forked over $3000 for my certification class and test, and I was trying to save and pay off my university student loan, which was no small sum.  I was getting shoes so I could maintain the expected appearance at work to pay for it all.  But I've learned that whatever I have, no matter how large or small, it is the Lord's.  So I went around to their isle, introduced myself, and threw myself into a hasty explanation.

I think it was something like, "Hi!  I'm Joyce.  I love God and God loves me.  God also loves you and your son.  I feel like God is telling me I'm supposed to buy your son some shoes."  Maybe it was less eloquent...

The father looked at me, mouth open.  "No... No, I can't accept that."

"I mean it," I assured him.  "I believe this is what God is telling me to do."

He was still hesitant, but I finally convinced him I was serious.

He didn't understand why I would be doing such a thing, but I told him I felt like God wanted to show him and his son that He loved them.  And so I went and bought the shoes, and mine.  

By this time, the man had found his wife, and when I presented the shoes to the family, we were laughing and crying and group-hugged there in the isle of the shoe store.  It was probably one of the happiest, craziest moments of my life.  I wish I knew of a church in town I could have directed them to, but I felt God tell me He knew the journey they were on, and that He would arrange the next step.  I trusted that, said my good-byes, and walked out to my car in very high spirits.  It may have taken me four tries, but I was finally obedient to the Lord and loving the feeling.

At any rate, through the whole test, I felt like the Lord was teaching me new things about church, worship, and His heart.  Us active church folks can become so busy doing good things and running programs that we miss His heart, and the true worship He craves.  We can miss his true intent.  Sure, church-worship is amazing, and church programs are great, too, but true worship is so much more than music that happens within the four walls of the church.  It's blessing the heart of God by also serving and loving others, and telling them about Him.  I have by no means arrived, but I am excited to see what the Lord does next on this crazy God-journey I am on.