Reflections in the City

Heart for this City

And there you stood, holding me, waiting for me to notice you. But who are you? You are the Truth outscreaming these lies. You are the Truth saving my life.

The warmth of your embrace melts my frostbitten spirit, you speak the truth and I hear it. The words are "I love you" and I have to believe in you.

But who are you? You are the Truth outscreaming these lies. You are the Truth saving my life.

I've been thinking a lot about Camp Garaywa. In the past two weeks, I've helped move mattresses and set up the camp store and uncover the pool - I just really love that place, and it, combined with my love for it and God's love in my heart, has motivated me more to serve than anything ever has. I reread this exposition I wrote about it a few months back and I instantly wept. So I thought I should share it again with some of you who might not have seen.


[This is a brief account of my experience this summer 2010 as a camp counselor. I omitted a few things from the original draft, even though I did not name names in it, I don't want to draw attention to those who were abused.]



Spanish moss. Gray, dangling. Not particularly attractive and potentially full of red bugs or something equally unwanted. Thirty-eight college students. Brought together in the middle of pseudo-woods. Why were we there? To be camp counselors for seven weeks, of course. Sure, staff training started off with a peppy air. We played games, we ate good food, we laughed and got to know one another. But slowly, things changed at Camp Garaywa. If your camper has an epipen, you need to have it with you all the time. This is what you do if a camper breaks a bone. This is how you handle homesickness.

This is what you do if a child is being abused.

This is how you can report it to DHS.

This is how your heart will be wrenched and broken, and this is when you can let it break. Not in front of the campers. Never in front of the campers. You can cry with them, but do not break. Not until later.

I was thrown into an atmosphere completely out of my league. I don’t work with children. I can’t talk to children, I don’t know how to. I confuse them. But I did it anyway. It was breezy that night. A little girl of twelve came outside, her face red with tears. I sat her down next to me, gently asking, “What’s on your mind honeybee?” I said that more times than I remember. Oh, that little girl cried. But her crying turned to questions. Then to wonder. Camp Garaywa is a Christian girls camp in my state. And if it’s one thing we do, it’s share the story and the love of Jesus Christ. I talked with that child for over an hour - Genesis to Revelation. 

But it didn’t end there. Not by a long shot. One week, a girl gave her heart to Christ. She wanted to be a missionary to Australia, too. That night, she bawled, convinced that she’d done something wrong. I believe she was being attacked by forces beyond me. I rubbed her back and stroked her hair, praying with her softly until she calmed enough to sleep. I went back to my bed and cursed the devil under my breath, because I knew he was attacking her.

I remember the week we only had six girls in my cabin, eight more would’ve been max capacity. On Wednesday night, one of my precious campers began to bawl. I took her on the porch with me. I let her pour her heart out. Whether or not you are a Christian is immaterial to understanding the raw emotion, the passion, the heartbreak of that moment. She cried, and I cried with her. I didn’t help her pray, because telling someone to repeat something gives no assurance that they understand, no way to find out if it is legitimate. I told her to just talk to God. She poured her heart out, telling Jesus over and over again how much she loved Him and how much she wanted Him to save her. She was transformed. I was transformed by the faith of a child. That night, all six of our campers made professions of faith in Christ by their own accord. They stood in a huddle, hugging eachother – most virtual strangers – and over and over said “We’re sisters now!” They could hardly sleep that night, and I didn’t blame them one bit.

Again, whether or not you reading this believe, it cannot be denied that what we offered that summer was hope and healing and love to a lot of little girls who desperately needed it. I needed it too. I grew. I’ve always been somewhat of a selfish person, I will freely admit. But I gave of myself this summer. I did the inconvenient thing. The hard thing. When camp was over, I had no idea what to do with myself, because for seven weeks, my life was devoted to others above myself. It didn’t matter if I hadn’t had time to shower in three days. I took showers with a water hose. I consistently ran on five hours of sleep, if that. One week, we were awoken every night at about 3:30 in the morning. I couldn’t do it by my own strength. As hard as it was, as heartbreaking and frustrating it was..I know I’ll be back next year.

God healed and restored to me things that we lost, and realigned me to him. Even now, he’s showing me what really matters. It’s so difficult to even convey any of this, any of my heart, or what of God’s heart I saw. But I know that camp brought one hundred and twelve children to know Christ. That love, so innocent and so pure, with understanding that I’d never have expected in a child before. The healing. The hope. The joy, not only in their lives, but in mine.

Beautiful.

And I thank God every day for it.

The Underappreciated Class [Team Fortress 2]

I have a Pyro sticker on my laptop.


When I first started playing Team Fortress 2, I decided that I liked the Pyro. As a new player, they were easy to pick up and play and I could, to some degree, be a kredit to team. And I just kept playing as Pyro. Now, I did try other classes. I was a miserable failure at most of them. Why? Because they do take practice! The first time I tried being an Engineer, I was intimidated and very very confused. I got okay with Medic and had a few good rounds as Sniper, but it wasn't consistent and it was often frustrating.


So I went back to Pyro. And then I discovered all these anti-Pyro sentiments. Noobs play as Pyro. W+M1ing (for those of you unclear, it means hitting the forward button and then the fire button, which is what a lot of Pyros do do. And it's uneffective.) Now, I took it upon myself to be the best Pyro I could be. Spy Checking and whatnot. Then I got the Degreaser. I love the Degreaser - I named mine Belial. But the Degreaser, unlike the Backburner (these are flamethrowers by the by), included a compression blast. I didn't actually know Pyros could even DO this at the time - but I was determined once I found out to learn how to use it and use it well. I put out teammates left and right, I deflected Demo fire and rolled their stickybombs off of the cart. I separated Ubercharged pairs.


All this earned me some credit. Laughing, an enemy said, "F--- you, Sinner". While most people would be offended, I could tell it was in jest. He was astounded because I took out about six of his teammates before I was finally killed. I ended rounds in the top three, and many times I would have the second, if not foremost number of points. Someone on my team, upon seeing this, marveled, "Sinner, were you Pyro the whole round? o_o"


Yes, citizen. Yes I was.


Pyros are GREAT classes for beginners. You can do some good even as a new player, whereas other classes are much easier to bungle. However, people seem to think that all Pyros then are noobs who don't know how to be effective. How untrue! Team Fortress 2 players, I beseech you..judge a Pyro not by his or her class, but how they play their class. THANK YOU.


On another note, I'm getting to be a pretty good Engie now. I can pretty much be any class that's need at this point, which is a really awesome feeling. 


The below comic, while hilarious, helped prompt me to post this. Not all Pyros are dead weight. :C