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.