What I learned on my summer "vacation"

As I've come to the recent realization that in my entire life of schooling, not once was I assigned a "what I learned on my summer vacation" paper, I have decided to write on on my own accord, here she is. (Note the nicely centered, underlined heading. I haven't forgotten, dear elementary school teachers.)

What I Learned on Summer Vacation

My summer vacation was not so much a vacation, though it was undeniably full of adventures, laughter and fun, it was also full of tears, exhaustion and heartache. The whole of this summer for me was spent working as a senior counselor at Camp Qwanoes, and if you've never been there at all, I suggest you check it out. Perhaps these stories and thoughts will encourage you to do so.

A new week begins, I receieve a medical form, and read a boldly printed advisory for one of the dear ones in my cabin "SEVERE ADD. MUST TAKE MEDS. STAY AWAY FROM CHOCOLATE!" Good grief. But, despite her warning label, this darling girl was the first to capture my heart that week by her eagerness to share her stories, to delight and be delighted in. I found myself not exhausted, but more joyful in the time I spent with her - praise the Lord for giving to me his heart for her. As I spent time with this young lady, I watched others grow quickly aggitated with her high energy and eagerness to share. This quickly aggitated me - I couldn't understand why they couldn't see how special this girl is!
I learned here, from our good teacher, that He feels similarly. That while I am growing aggitated and treating a person with unkindness, he is standing there {frusterated, sad} asking "Lauren, can't you see how special they are?"

One or two days in to a new week of camp, when I asked one of my girls why she didn't eat much, she replied that she was a celiac. I learned also this summer, to never expect that your children's parents will have written dietary restrictions on them.

Coming with the territory of having children from a variety of situations coming in and out of camp on a weekly basis, (and spending their free time sprawled across your bed, the best place to draw and talk and paint nails) I had my first encounter with lice this September. For a week or two I thought my head was burned from sun we'd experienced, then I found a little bug. Hoping it was just a random bug that had landed there, but not wanting to take chances, I made my way to a computer to search a certain insect in google images. A very unfortunate bingo. The dear ones keeping me in their house were so gracious in all the cleaning that needed to be done, and took me to the market to buy the treatments (all natural, of course). Days in, I was still finding the awful little things, this is when a friend and I sat down and prayed that the Lord would take them away. Away from my head, and away from the house.
I stopped washing my bedding, I stopped treating my hair. And I found no more lice.
I learned this summer to pray in faith over ailments, because the Lord came and showed his awesome power in those moments!

All in all, how could I sum up what I learned this summer, but by sharing a few, and these are but a few, of the moments in which the Lord spoke. May he speak into your hearts also.

Hello friends, it's been a while.

A couple of things I have learned in my weeks of rest:

1. I royally suck in the aspect of trust. Seriously. Help me to overcome my unbelief!

2. I'm loved the way I could hardly dare to dream of, by the King. How can I possibly complain about weariness from pouring out my own heart with no response, when day by day He holds his hands out to a disobedient and obstinate people? And more than that, he gives me, one of these both disobedient and obstinate people, incredibly beautiful, intimate moments, that show a very special love - He knows my heart, and loves me still.

3. When I grow irritated with someone, whether or not they are acting like Christ, my impatience isn't right or good or noble. My bad attitude does not make anything better. So I have one of two options: I can choose to fume and grow bitter, or I can ask Christ help me offer grace to them, the same way he continually offers it to me.

Uncovered roots.

I am...exhausted. Tired.

Though I fail to love well, I really do try to make the dear ones around me feel special. I want them to know that they are loved, and valued, and cherished. They are special. So I take on tasks, organizing gatherings, writing letters, planning surprises...Often recieving no acknowledgement, and no reciprocation - though neither of them were the point, or even what I desired to recieve. However, this awareness is something that wages war on my soul, causes me to wonder why my letters go unanswered, in special plans made by others an invitation does not merit the likes of me. In the depth of my heart, it's left me believing that I'm really not worth anything special, that I'm not enough for any of that.


I came upon this understanding of my lethargy only days ago. I've often desired deeply to have adventures - to dance under the stars, and climb through abandoned buildings... But I would never do any of them. Instead, I would sit, finding excuses not to go. And at the root of all of this, was a deeply rooted lie that I am simply not special enough.

What is hope?

Thailand, ho!

Hello dear ones!

I am leaving for Phuket the day after tomorrow, and so I wanted to make sure that I give you the blog links for while we're gone!

My personal blog, where I'll be doing my typical thing when I get the time, is:
http://welcomethemhome.blogspot.com/

The team blog, which will hopefully have more frequent updates, is:
http://adorevictoria.blogspot.com/

See you in three weeks!!!!!

They do not labor or spin.

Reading and journalling, I sat in waiting for a very dear friend. The coffee shop quiet, with but a few customers, my table small and crowded by empty seats.
The words on the page resonated with me. Here was depicted a story of a young girl, never getting to play the damsel in distress. Her Barbie-esque neighbor friend, always chosen to be the beauty, and so she was always left to rescue her with the boys. Damaged from never being "the beauty" the young girl, now a woman, recalls this story for a friend with tears. Her friend looks at her, and tells her "I want you to ask Jesus to show you your beauty."

You know, I've never done that. Is my immediate reaction.
I've cried in anguish, I've tried to hide, I've made large efforts to come across as, seem, or feel beautiful, but I've never asked to simply see.
With great hesitancy, I finally asked, at the same time confessing my lack of trust. My fears that I will ask, and see very little beauty, and be devastated.
But I know Jesus is bigger than this.

Fast forward to only an hour or two later. Chatting on the phone with a dear friend, she suddenly blurts "you know Laur, whenever I see lilies, or think of them..whenever there are lilies, I think of you." Tears welled, I thanked her, "you have no idea how special that is."

Lilies are a flower immensly treasured in my heart. Christ taught me a life-shaping lesson on dependence, using lilies. And later, he taught me of beauty:
Jesus saying so gently, "you are fussing over your hair, over the shape of your face, and the way you look...stop. Come with me." He leads me to a breathtaking array of flowers, but in particular, a delicate lily. "Look at this flower, study it my dear. Look how utterly beautiful it is! It does not try....why do you?"

Thank you, my friend, for reminding me. Thank you that you will continue to show me how special and radiant you have made me.

To speak or not to speak

I've been blessed with a couple of friends who do nothing but encourage. Their encouragement is honorable, and it builds those around them up in what they should be doing.

I've always wanted to be more like that. I really don't see a point in speaking, unless it's going to build someone up. This accounts, to some degree, for my frequent quietness. I'd prefer to save my speech for when it really counts.
But as of late, I find my words wasteful, and without tact.

I find myself in need to relearn quietness, but in a new way. It's funny how that works, at the same time as needing to learn to speak, I also need to learn to shut up.

I'd like it if the only words that poured from my lips were ones of love.
Words that were in direct reflection of Christ.

Consider the children

I've become quite certain that, apart from Jesus himself, kids have come to be the greatest teachers I have known. Over the course of the year, they have displaye quite profoundly what it really means to be mature.

Over a multitude of conversations there has been mention of maturity, of the maturity each person feels they hold, often much more advanced than those around them. In these same conversations, there has been a question of why God isn't bringing to them the things they are so obviously ready for.


Consider the children, consider the way they laugh and play and delight. Consider their unquestioning faithfulness.


Ponder over the way, when you tell a little girl that if she wants a snack, she should ask her mummy her response is cheerful, as she walks into the kitchen, certain she will be given what she asks for.

When a little girl runs into the room faster than her tiny legs can take her, asking if you'd like to hear her song, there is a beautiful sense of unabashed joy. She knows she will bring delight to you, and you will delight in her.





We have a lot of un-growing to do.

Gathered from the muck, and presented again as so much more than beautiful.

Today I went out for a walk and a cup of tea with a dear friend's mum. Yes, that's right, not my dear friend, but her mother.

Sitting at a patio table, able to look out on the beauty of the breakwater - people strolling toward a lighthouse, birds collecting unbelievable amounts of twig, and glorious blue sky breaking through the clouds. This dear woman turned to me, and began to talk about when she was a young girl. I am so honored, and a little taken aback that she felt so at ease to share it with me, and it blessed me more than she could possibly know.
Her story is so very similar to my own, oh thank Jesus that he gives us stories, that he pulls them up from the muck, and presents them beautiful and polished and new.

I think back on only a day before, when I was writing to two dear friends who have become my family. In a spattering of poorly connected paragraphs, I tried to get out some of the many hurts and anxieties that plague my head and my heart. Nearing the end of the letter, I entered into my fear in even sharing these things with them. To hold out my heart was, and often is something that demands fearfulness. I recalled the hurt I felt toward my own parents. The way, only a few years ago, I would go home after school and cry myself to sleep, every single day. Inside I was crying, pleading for an answer "Did you not hear me? Why didn't you care? Why didn't you do anything..you didn't do anything." I simply could not understand why I wasn't worth caring about.

Re-enter sitting on the patio by the water, hearing a woman's beautiful story. "I was a very sad girl" she said, "I was depressed. You know, I used to put the same sad song on repeat. I would sit there and listen to it over and over again, and all it would do was make me more sad. It would stop, and I would play my sad song again. No one in my family noticed, because they were all already damaged from life."

They were already damaged from life.

These words transformed my thoughts. They renewed my vision.
I see.
I see!

I can look at that hurt through the eyes of Christ. No longer feeling that I was unworthy of the love of a mummy and daddy, but that they were already so damaged themselves, they missed how I was being hurt. They were too were hurting, and they know not what they do.

My bind of crippling unworthiness is loosened.
I am free.

Words fail me.

Lately I have found myself staring blankly, tapping on the keyboard, or clicking my pen as I leaf through pages of one of my many notebooks.
I love to write, and if you've known me for long, you would surely know that I spend every free moment jotting down thoughts, lists, ideas, prayers...anything that can be written. Recently this incessant writing has slowed, nearly to a complete stop. And the reason, I feel, is that I am utterly tired, and perhaps lacking encouragement.

I write thought after thought, with the hopes that it will touch someone, even one person's heart. And so, writing without response, leaves me feeling quite defeated. Why write when it doesn't mean anything? Why not move on to something else?
And perhaps, in the more intimate parts of me, why keep holding out my heart?

I'd think that this is a feeling most of us can relate to. For the most part, we prefer to hide, contradictory to the deep longing we have to know and be known.

It leaves me in a pickle, because as much as I desire to persevere, I love to write and share my heart, but when it recieves poor response, or equally as painful, no response, I start to shut down. My heart is weakened, believing that the things I am going through, maybe they really aren't relatable. Maybe it really doens't matter whether or not I share my heart.
And so I am left, staring blankly at a screen, frustratedly tapping at the keys.

We're all in this together

A week ago I sat cross legged in a hall way, with Mr. Clean's magic eraser in one gloved hand, and a oxy-soaked rag in the other. With enthusiastic work music, sung by the Jonas Brothers, and the cast of High School Musical, myself and 5 other middle school kids scrubbed the walls of a lodge.

I'm amazed by the way the two boys with us scrubbed and worked, and didn't complain even once about the musical accompaniment. Not a peep!
I don't know a single person my age who wouldn't complain.

It's funny, you know, the way we want to be "mature" we want to grow up, when what we need to do, is to embrace the sweet breath of childhood.

They just...get it.

Kids amaze me. They are unashamed of their age, their sense of adventure, or of fun, quietness, touch. It's quite incredible.

Thailand Blog

I have failed to do so

If you are going to pray something for me right now, would you pray for mercy?

I have not been merciful, I have not been gracious. I have been harsh, and hard, and unpleasant. I have been rude. I have been selfish.

I have not loved mercy in every way.

Oh, my soul longs for this,
yet I continue not to come even close!

I haven't loved recieving mercy as I should, because, to be frank, I don't forgive myself. And when I don't forgive my own heart, how can I see that others have? How can I see that Christ has? I have not poured out mercy as I should, and I have been harsh, and not as intentional as I should be. Especially in cases of family.

If you are going to pray, please pray that I would be loving mercy in every way.

My thoughts swirl like willow branches caught in autumn winds

Filled to the brim with anxiety, my breath short, and in the words of sixpence "my body as tense as a cat's when it stalks it's prey," I repeat the truth:

You will provide. You have already. You place great worth on me. You love me deeply. You will provide. You will provide. You will provide. You are good.

My breathing stabilizes, my body begins to relax, because this is truth. I need not be so ridden with worry, brought on by silliness, though rooted like as an invasive weed which will continue to return, until every bit of the root has been removed.

Repeating truth back to Christ -to myself, to those around me and, casting aside what is evil, I press on.

Thailand

I'm sorry, but I'm going to copy and paste some of a letter I've sent to a few of you. I'm lacking in both time, and energy.

Well, let me tell you, the Lord has been providing some incredible blessings! Left, right and center, He's answering prayers like you wouldn't believe! (But believe it! He is good!)

Thursday was particularly filled with tangible evidence of His provision, as you can read in my earlier post, and I have something I must tell you about right away!

My Lord has been breaking my heart for girls ensnared in the sex trade. He and I have been chatting about how I want to do something about it, urgently. I've been writing about it some, and I'm on my way to write some of it out just for you darlings!

So Thursday, when I was filtering through emails, and came across a reminder from my church about a missions trip being planned, my attention was caught. I remember hearing about the prospect of a trip, and being drawn to the idea.
When I read the announcement, I said to the Lord "I highly doubt we'd be doing anything about the sex trade. Churches don't usually go do that, in my experience. But Lord, if it's working with girls in the sex trade, you've got me heart and soul."

Later that night when the church service ended, I hesitantly, but at the same time eagerly grabbed a spot in the room where we would be hearing about the trip. Again, saying to the Lord that I'd give it a chance, if by the off chance, it was about those girls who have captured my heart. I sat on the couch, scanning the informations sheets that had just been passed around, I scanned for the purpose. A huge grin spread across my face.

We are going to Thailand this May for 3 weeks.

We will be working with young women in the sex trade.

Oh man oh man, I can hardly believe the way God has been providing (again, see the earlier post) and so I expect that He'll do the same with what money I need for this trip. I haven't a job (I'm working on that) and I haven't even many personal belongings I can sell for much (though I plan to sell what movies I own - if you want any, please tell me!) So please pray! I've a lot of money to come up with, but my God is huge, and He can do this!

Why so much foam?

All I'm running on is the cappuccino I had right before my interview today, and 3 hours of good old fashioned sleeping.

Little did I know when I ordered the drink, that half the dang thing is foam.

I had a great interview with Andy, about Thailand. We chatted about where I'd want to be, and I immediately told him my heart was with the girls.
Talking about finances was really a delight, which is odd, considering I have no job. But talking about God's beautiful providence, specifically in all relating to this trip, I can't help but smile, and feel no need to worry. The tougher question of struggles I'm dealing with was addressed, and I feel much more at ease now. Getting to explain the situation, and where I'm comfortable, and how I can be comfortable in the places that I'm not, I felt very much at ease. There was a confidence that it is something we can work through, and something we needn't worry about, but should still pay mind to.

I feel a load of weight lifted getting to talk about all of those little questions.

Your perfect provision

On thursday, as I was getting ready to run for groceries with a lovely young woman from my church, I chatted with the Lord. I often feel very awkward with this lady, that I'm not as cool as her, and hence, what words would I have to offer?
I asked for some relief of the discomfort, for something to talk about.

We picked up groceries, and on the ride back to the church, I asked where I might find fancy little boxes I was looking for. From there, we got into conversation about..well, boxes, and then to relationships, and friendship, and poetry, and it was as if we were friends.

I got out of the car at the church, and realized the way we'd been provided conversation, and smiled with thanks.

While I prepared dinner for the group, it became apparant that our church kitchen did not hold any sort of tea strainer, but, with the perfect amount of time left, I hopped the few short blocks down to China town, finding a tea strainer for only 2 dollars, just under what I had to spare in my pocket!

And so I happily finished brewing some India chai, and placing it on the counter. Soon after, the first of the staff trotted in to grab some dinner. Her eyes sparkled as she looked at the meal in front of her, "is this India food?!" She grinned, as I eagerly nodded, and she explained how she'd been obessing over going back to India, and getting to have the kind of food she ate there just made her gleam. It blesses my heart that the food I'd prepared meant something to her.

I listened, as my favorite worship leader practiced the set for the night.
The words "We love You, we love You, we love You" resounding through the building.

Earlier that day, I'd been writing up lists, and looking at my tea supply, wishing both for another package of fine tea, and for a pad on which I could write my lists, being even a bit organized. But these are things I simply couldn't afford to be purchasing.
Well, that was taken care of! A dear friend presented me with a package from a dear girl in the town of Maple Ridge. What had she sent to me, but a package of my favorite tea, and a wonderful Disney notepad, with a magnet on the back and everything.
Perfect.

There are more stories of provision, on this day alone, so intimate that I'm still figuring out how I could explain them.

I have another story to follow, but it will be written about in my next post....

How do you roast a turkey?

I don't know if you watched Full House as a kid, but I very much enjoyed it, and I still do now.

One time, Jesse and Joey were taking care of the kids on their own for their first time, and they had to change her diaper. Do you remember this? These men clearly do not know what they're doing.

Jesse holding one end, and Joey holding the other, they march her down the stairs, and into the kitchen. Upon removal of the diaper, they snap it shut in a ziploc container -- I feel sorry for the poor sucker who opens that one up.

One man holds Michelle up, while the splashes her tush with water from the tap, resting her on a turkey rack. Little Stephanie is sitting on the stool at the counter, quite amused with it all, as she now watches these two begin twirling, wrapping the baby's bum in paper towel, and then up to her waist in a ziploc bag. With a look of truimph, they hold ziploc bum, and Stephanie applauds their work, "not bad, but next time...try these!" as she pulls the case of diapers to the counter.

Jess and Joe ask why she didn't tell them about the diapers, and the little dear shrugs, "nobody asked me!"

It's strange, but I find myself relating to the story.

I often obliviously don't say anything, or think about anything, because, well, nobody asked me. I don't bring up how I'm feeling, or how something's making me feel, or how there could be a better way, because...nobody asked me.

Similarly, the ones around me, unaware of how to approach the situation grasp at ridiculous ideas, which aren't exactly the best choice, (such as putting a baby in a turkey rack) unaware that things could've been so much easier. Something they would have known, if I spoke up, and didn't wait until somebody asked me.

Can I share this?

Oh man oh man oh man. God is TOO good to me!

Haha, I seem to lose a whole lot of punctuation and grammar when I'm overjoyed. But, who cares! I don't!

I've been overwhelmed, upon my arrival here in Victoria, with messages, and blessings, and ...LOVE. With being trusted, and with scripture, and with random encouragement. With a man saying goodbye to a loved one at the bus stop, and with friends who put up with my crap. Seeing people heal, sharing, seeing myself heal. Family and skipping up the stairs like a little girl again.

Wow.

Oh I just love life!

Can I send you some of this goodness? I wish I could. Perhaps I could sum it up in some cookies?
You let me know.