Stolen

The human race has long thought of itself ignorantly as the ultimate goal of evolution, as the top of the food chain, the masters of the earth, of the cosmos even. What the humans have long overlooked was the race that towers above them, while living in the very same neighborhoods, for most of the year, effortlessly blending into the crowd, utterly indistinguishable. Yet, this very similar race answers to a higher calling, or perhaps suffers from a rare disorder, and along with the turn of the seasons they make themselves know for three long months. These are what we classify as camp counselors, a both psychologically and physically impossible entity. While relatively hard to spot for most of the year when the days begin to lengthen in the summer months they show themselves. You will notice generally sane and mostly well dressed people disappearing from your neighborhood, do not be alarmed they are not being hurt, they are gathering, you may not see them again until the fall. They are going to spend the summer months acting as a rare unnaturally occurring combination of a judge, doctor, coach, entertainer, and most of all friend. They are out on an impossible mission to undue ten years of damage in just six days. These ordinary people in your neighborhood, these average Joes and Janes, are in fact anything but ordinary. They are super heroes, unbathed kneeling in mud with a questionable case of what appears to be poison ivy, lungs filled with woodsmoke, and a genuine unwavering smile, trying indefinitely to start a campfire in a downpour, because they promised their campers s'mores.
You may wonder why anyone would do such a thing, but long have scholars pondered the very same question to no avail. The money is surely not what drives these creatures into the woods for a summer free of rest or relaxation. For at the end of the summer the average counselor has saved enough to buy one college textbook, a pair of new shoes to replace the pair mangled in the name of adventure, a new package of socks for the same reason, and enough gas to get back to campus.
After hearing this you may feel compelled to ask if any of it is really worth it. But then you would never be able to truly understand. I can try to describe to you why they do what they do, but until you are there until you see it, you will never truly understand. A camp counselor is, for lack of a more perfect word, worshiped by the campers they receive, but this is not why they do it, they are not at all conceited. They do it, all of it, for pickup day, the day at the end of the week when the campers return to your neighborhoods, different, confident. You see, the counselors remember how the campers came to them, some were silent, some may have even been screaming, crying, latched to their parents legs with a death grip. They came terrified and shy, unsure of themselves, ignorant of their true potential. In just six days of unmatched enthusiasm and effort, they leave smiling, joyous, promising to stay in touch forever, bragging about how they walked off the zip platform, the campers are glowing, they are confident, they are unstoppable. This is why the counselors do it, this is what makes them tick, keeps them going, it was never the coffee. To know they have made an impact in the life of child is worth never getting eight hours of sleep, missing out on the summer blockbusters, vacations, and all the other minor inconveniences that go along with the job.
Next time you find yourself in a Wal~mart and you see a rather rushed looking twenty some year old with a cart full of saran wrap, water balloons, and a single candy bar dressed in tye dye, arms strewn with friendship bracelets, muddy untied tennis shoes, and perhaps a questionable smell, take a second to think of how their day has gone so far. Three skinned knees, a bloody nose, five homesick campers, a bee sting, one lost bathing suit, countless "unbearable" mosquito bites, and thirty individual friendship bracelet making lessons to ten people; then look at your watch notice that it is only one o' clock, and realize you are standing next what can only be described as a super hero working each and everyday to change the world

Wants

I want to write something beautiful.
I want to be understanding.
I want to climb a tree.
I want to go surfing.
I want to watch the sun rise.
I want to let go of the pain with all my might.
I want to laugh until I cry.
I want to see the red wood trees.
I want to coach a team sport.
I want to have meaningful conversations with my residents.
I want to go solo camping.
I want to dance until the break of dawn.
I want to do the walk of shame minus the shame.
I want to adopt children.
I want to see Wild Horses.
I want to go to the Middle East.
I want to see Malta.
I want to teach someone something important.
I want to love someone to the point they can feel it.
I want to change the world.

Encounter?

I'm thinking about heading out to Encounter this weekend with some people I know who are going out there to spend some time with God. I'm wondering if that would be weird. I wonder if even God's people think it is odd that I am developing this really intense relationship with my idea of God and love so immediately.I feel like love, at least the love that I know can be between two human beings, isn't something I need to head into slowly. God is love.

Is it weird that I can understand the humanist perspective of atheism? I mean Atheists aren't terrible people. Atheists aren't devil worshipers. Many atheists love humanity and believe that this world is the something that we are apart of. I can see that. I can see being so wrapped up in the world that needing to acknowledge the higher power that may be  there to support life wouldn't seem necessary. After all taking care of the earth and loving one another is supposed to be a ticket to heaven anyway. If only we could truly focus on that love.  if we could zone in on love instead of being wrapped up in what is or is not. I think that is why I love this new praise outlet in my life. I can feel the love there. Pure love, the type of love that two human beings spend their lives trying to absorb in one another.That is the humanist part of spirituality that I identify with, but I feel that love and for some reason and I believe it is from God.

Like.,

I speak and this is what people hear. Like blah blah blah. Like blah. I am honestly the one of the least articulate beings on the planet. I need to work on this. Conviction.

Lost it.

Today I went all out and lost my self-control. I cried in public again. Tears.

"We are strongest when we are weak." That is what the message was at Water's Edge today. I'm still grasping the concept. I don't know what to do. I feel like I'm begging God to love me, then I think I only do that because no one else does. I also think I'm an idiot because people do love me. Why do I need so much validation?  I can't believe I cried. I feel so weak. I feel so vulnerable. I hate that feeling. I hate it.

Breathe. Stretch. Shake.

Dear God.

I thought she said cancer. I heard her. I think she might have been joking, but I thought I heard her say that they were checking her for cancer. I hope to God that I heard her wrong, that she was just getting checked and that she has no reason to believe that she might have a illness that could claim her life so young. I hope she was joking or maybe they were doing something else and she felt like they were checking her for cancer. God, I hope that was it. I'm worried. I hope she is okay. I need her to be okay.

I'd give her friendship up cold turkey if it would save her life.Other people need her far more than I do and I would give her up if it meant her and I were on the same planet for some 50 more years. Sometimes I believe that no one is capable of love like that woman. No one. I know I may be over reacting, but I'm allowed a bit of an over-reaction being that I value her so. I just won't say that I'm having this intense a reaction to something she won't even let bother her too much. Strongest.Person. Ever.

I hope I can feel like an idiot for writing this if I find out what is really happening.I hope I can look at her and see her bright happy eyes with out the look of anxiety. Please.

Poetry.

I wrote another poem today. It has come to my attention that in doing so I am constantly absorbing the concept of love and spewing it all over the page, even if that is not actually my intention.Privately in my pessimism I have decided that I know nothing of the sort and that I am like an fictional novelist. Dare I say that I despite my being perplexed by the concept of love, I actually know nothing about it. I see it in other people, observe it, absorb it and to a point envy it. I do need to grow up. I'm like a child. Poetry is supposed to be a reflection of beauty. I feel like I am disgracing the pen writing about this subject I really know very little about. My capacity to love is infinite, however I need to capture some lyrical realism. I need to stop believing in humanity to the point of ignorance.   


I am a child.