Sometimes it takes a weekend.

Today is Father's day. A day that took on a whole new potency a few short years ago and now is among a host of gradually developing routines as one of the few days of the year that I have designated for grief. The day grew into a bit of a weekend this year, as explained in the last post… but such is life eh?

I spent most of the day with a good friend of mine and his young son. We ran a few errands, talked a lot, and visited the grave of my Dad. While we were on top of the hill chuckling about the little one's attempts to eat the decorative rocks and his dismay when his own father prevented that exploration. We spoke of Dad's impact on his life and mine and we talked about the oddity of us visiting a little niche in a wall where the dusty remains of Dad sit. And I had a bit of clarity there as I explained why I visit the site… and why such things are important to me.

We talked about how when Dad first passed it shook my entire world. How the stories and the struggles all seemed to center around that loss. How it prevented my return to work for a period, and how I have my carefully curated triggers that bring the loss flooding back. How I can't remember crying much before Dad died, I can almost cry on command now… (and to be honest I'm a better person because of it) But in this context I also talked about how the grave is significant because I cannot live with that grief all the time.

Even when it was fresh the ache and the tears always led to a sense of numbness that wrapped the world in a shade of gray and the fuzzy silence that reminds me of floating in a pool with your ears submerged. I grew capable of feeling the loss, for a moment at a time, and then for more… I stopped hoping that Dad would be standing there every time I walked around the corner in mum and his house. I began to be ok with little rememberances like wearing a coat of his that mom gave me… His birthday came and went and I almost forgot this last year. And that is all to the good.

I think we need graveyards because they allow us a place to take all of that hurt, and loss and pain, and lock it away for the days when it is appropriate to dwell there. Days like today… where I had the honor of seeing the complete normalcy of a Dad holding his screaming kid and speaking calmly to him that he loved him, and that once the little guy was calm he'd be allowed to play within the boundaries he had been given. A day where I couldn't have stopped the tears if I wanted to; and I certainly didn't want to. Because there is a season for everything under heaven, and for today, for me, it is a day for mourning.

And if you are reading this with a sense of slightly confused sympathy, I'm happy for you. I really am. And I hope that pleasant naivete lasts as long as it can. But someday you'll know the truth of this whole process in a way that I would not wish on anyone. But in that day, when the light seems a little dimmer and the noise of creation is a little bit quieter, take the time to grieve. Because even the Lord of the universe wept at the grave of his friend.

Most importantly today was also a day to walk away from that grave, to get back into the car and to move on. Because I don't live on that hill, and no one does except memories and dust. And that is a wonderful thing too. Because my Redeemer lives, and in my Heavenly Father's house are many rooms… and somewhere up there an ever increasing group of men and women that I love are living a life that I cannot even begin to imagine. But for today I must walk the path appointed for me, in the manner that they taught me to. And that too is a powerful thing. And one that includes, but is not limited to, a hillside in South Dakota.

A painful place to start again.

It is a particularly odd exercise to find myself writing again… It has been a very long time and to be perfectly honest I'm not even sure how long it has been. I have  recently been reminded that due to circumstances this summer I have deprived my (admitedly tiny) audience of my questionably literate ramblings about camp this summer.

Unfortunately this is not due to the lack of ability to write, it is due to the lack of ability to be in attendance at camp for the fullness of the summer. And while I hope to be more present at camp in years to come… this may be the end of being able to take full seasons and spend them in that way. Just one of many things that I am currently in the process of internalizing and properly mourning; and on that list the topic of camp is a relatively minor concern, which should indicate the importance of the list itself. However those are topics for another post, and I shall relegate them thusly. Instead I have a more timely topic and I shall focus on it. 

Today was a day where a great man was memorialized and buried. Earlier this week Marvin Reinhold, A man I always knew as Grandpa (or very occasionally as Tige), passed away. And while by all accounts this was as normal of a death as could be expected it still hurt. Grandpa Reinhold was 85 years old and the last time I saw him he had a sparkle in his eye that easily rivals my two year-old nephew for mischief and joy. Grandpa and his wife were among the heart and soul of a camp ministry called Rainbow Bible Ranch, a place I called home for many years. I must that particular camp was a training ground for much of what I am even today. We mourned Grandma Reinhold back in 2004 and now we mourn the loss of Grandpa. And as grief is odd and hard to translate into anything coherent I will instead fall back on one of the old cliches and tell you who Grandpa was to me by telling a story.

At some point in the past, the late 90's or so I was at Rainbow for a week of camp. By this time I had already attended several summers and had fallen in love with the annual ritual of attending camp, riding horses, and growing spiritually in ways that took the rest of the year to fully process. This year was no exception, and as the normal camp routine on thursday night dictated we watched a movie called The Harvest. Even then I knew the story well, so I listened to it more than I actually watched and let my thoughts drift around the themes the story discussed. At the end the staff always use the film to present the gospel and allow the opportunity for campers to respond and have one on one conversations. Although I was quite assured of my salvation I took advantage of the opportunity to talk to a staff member and discuss what had been stirring in my heart and what we in Christian circles summarize as "the call". Well that night I ended up paired with Grandpa Reinhold.

He looked at me with those gentle eyes that always seemed to look right into the depths of your soul and loved you anyway. He asked me what was on my heart, and I rambled for what felt like hours. I told him how I didn't know why or how it would look but that I felt called into some kind of ministry, and even though I had no clue what that would lead to (and in some ways I still don't) I knew the next step was to work there. Grandpa just looked at me, and with absolutely no condemnation, ridicule, or doubt just smiled and then placed both of his huge hands on my shoulders and began to pray over me. And the next year (whenever it was) I started on the road to working at camp. It was a long journey and one fraught with devastation and triumph. I grew a lot at that camp, and through that time Grandpa was often a voice of comfort and encouragement. Even when my confidence in myself wavered, or when I had done something incredibly stupid Grandpa would smile and with surprising gentleness would spur us on to greater things.

The craziest thing about this story? It's not unique at all. In my own memory it is one sliver of almost a decade of time spent there at that camp, and these moments were so frequent as to be almost taken for granted. I say almost because they always meant the world to us every time they happened. The other thing you should know (and I suspect some of you might) is that my experience was only one of (at minimum) hundreds of others who experienced the same. If the greatness of a man is measured in how he does justly, loves mercy, and walks humbly with God then Grandpa Reinhold was among the greatest men I have ever known. And in the same way that I cannot wait to meet my own Father on the other side of this mortal coil as a man whole and without sickness, I cannot wait to see all of the stories I was told fully realized and see the soul reunited with a body that can finally keep up.

But tragically, that day is not today… So, farewell Grandpa. my mentor, my guide, my example, my encourager, my brother in christ, and my friend. I will see you again. But not yet… Instead may we all be worthy of the mantle you passed to each and every one of us that grew up under your teaching. You are missed, and you are loved.

The pain of blessing; Walking among giants

Yesterday was a day of incredible blessing, and one of the (at least recently) most difficult things I've ever done. Yesterday I climbed into my new car, and drove off for another brief time in Wyoming.

For those of you in the know, this may cause some puzzlement. Why should getting a astronomically huge upgrade in vehicles cause any sort of emotional difficulty? I mean, I drove a car that I loved to be frustrated with and that had major breakdowns on a semi-annual basis. Not to mention the convenient vent holes in the rusted out body panels, or the windows that would happily roll down... but only roll back up through a heroic feat of strength. And why would it be sad to say farewell to the purposefully avoided thought that I drive all over the midwest and the car doesn't have a spare tire for the increasingly likely event of a flat. Well on the one had it's sad because that car was a huge blessing regardless.

That car was a gift from a dear brother at a time of need. I had recently lost my other vehicle to a collision with a deer and was without a vehicle or the means to acquire one. And in that place of helplessness my friend gifted me my little green car. A car that we had both spent countless hours driving/riding around in during high school. A car filled with good memory and well-earned rust and dust. And it served me well for over three years. I learned to drive a manual in that car, and to keep a set of earplugs handy because it out  roared most heavy machinery for the first two years until I could get the muffler fixed once again.

I learned how to pull a starter out of that car and that a stubborn starter can sometimes be awakened with a hammer. I took that car to camp for three summers, and it faithfully got me there, faithfully had some major mechanical issue while I was there, and newly repaired faithfully carried me home again.

I will miss that stupid thing... it was a daily reminder of grace and provision. Not abundance, but enough.

And now I look at the car that I own and I struggle calling it mine. Because forever in my mind this car is my father's. Sleek, black, and filled with a host of modern bells a whistles it is a thing of beauty. I loved this car when it first replaced our old “canadian battlewagon” during the cash for clunkers program. And I loved this car whenever I borrowed it for short periods to drive around town.

Me and my little brother took this car to Chicago when we moved him home... and for a very brief moment we thought that it had been stolen (and it had in a perfectly legal but no less annoying manner). I remember this car sitting in the garage for the last two years. Every time any of us would return home there it would be, as a steady reminder that its driver was gone, but he would never be forgotten. And in a very real sense that car was a comfort of the greater things my heavenly father was gifting my earthly one even now.

And now I own that car. And I am ecstatic and sad. Because that is my dad's car. And it's like a small hug to be able to feel his presence every time I see it. But I also can't help but know that there now is an empty garage at my mothers house because of that blessing. And I can't help but be reminded that dad is gone, and that he won't be returning to take back his car.

I was swamped with all of that joy, sorrow, and a surprising amount of raw pain right as I was saying good bye to my mother. As we both stood in the doorway to the garage she said “it's yours now” and completely against my better judgment I burst out crying and said “no it's not” after an indeterminate amount of time, several long hugs and more tears than my precious male ego would tolerate in almost any other context I got in the car and drove off...

It's amazing how humbling it is to be blessed so completely over the last month. I was surrounded by a family that I love dearly for almost the entire time. And I got more sleep than I have in years. Coming up on two years without dad it still remains a bit odd to not have him there. And as I played with my cute nephew bearing his namesake this last week  the bittersweet rolled over me again and again.

So why the title? Well... I've said what seems like hundreds of times now that this sort of pain is good. Because the loss (and the blessings) are the result of an incredible group of people that I get to call family. Would that all people be so blessed this side of heaven.  

3.22 The End. (again)

This week was a blessing and a great note to go out on. We had a large group of 7th and 8th graders and it was a pleasure to see a totally different style of directing implemented this week. I definitely learned a few things.

This week we went to a "new" lake (for us) and it was fun and exciting. I got to work on the pontoon crew again and had an enjoyable comparison to years past where I was indispensable on that job, but this year I'm just an option. It was a good feeling.

This week was my last working with Hunter on the cliff... it has been a joy and a learning experience to see his quiet strength at work day in and day out. How he's gracious, silly, and loves what he does. He never set out to teach me anything (other than a few new knots and how to aussie) but I learned a great deal by observing. I'm really looking forward to another year together at Grace.

I also faced my terror (I'm afraid of heights) and rappelled Aussie-style twice this week! For those that don't know, rappelling is normally a sitting position where you lean back and walk/run/jump backwards down a wall or cliff. Since Australia is the land down under, or upside down to where we're at... Aussie-style is where you rappel face first, leaning so far forward you're running down a cliff in defiance of the natural gravitational order. It was a fairly large accomplishment for me to do it the first time... so I had to do it again to prove to myself that it wasn't just a fluke. (A group of campers even witnessed the first one)

and finally the highlight of the week, and possibly the summer... In my scarce posts this year (22 is about a third of the amount I have done in years past. Granted this summer was 14 days shorter... but still) I have talked a little bit about my internal struggles with finding significance and/or finding my place at camp this year. This was partially put to rest when I was given the privilege of being a counselor for a week (my boys were great!) and finally buried with a stake through the heart yesterday afternoon in our end-of-the-week meeting. Captain Tibbs (or mild mannered Adam if you prefer) decided, entirely unbeknownst to me, to allow time for people to share a way that I had impacted them this year, or a camp story that we had together. It was humbling, encouraging, and generally shocking to me how many people shared... and how it wasn't just shallow stuff... Turns out God has been doing more through me than I ever realized. I can't take credit for that... and it was a perfect end to a wonky year.

So, Where does that leave us now? I'll continue to write and post periodically for a short time as I figure out what the next year is looking like. I often process through writing and when that's possible to share I will (but if this summer is an indicator then more of that will need to stay off the web than years past).

The immediate future looks a little like this:
-return to Rapid City tonight
-do laundry/rest/etc. for a few days
-Drive from Rapid City to Omaha on Tuesday
-Get integrated/trained for my new job at the school in Omaha
-Go on the RA trip for a week
-Return to Grace and complete final prep for new students arrival
-start classes

And that all happens in the next month (or less). I'll also need to find a second part-time job relatively quick after the start of classes. And there are a few other semi-important things brewing as well. It's shaping up to be a great year already!

Thank you for walking this journey with me this summer. I hope you stick around, but know I appreciate all of the prayer, comments, and encouragement more than I can adequately express.

-Nick

3.21 Rambling introspection? Don't mind if I do.

A week goes by again... and no blog posts. In short it was a great week, we had 90+ kids here at camp and that kept us all on our toes. I was a bit worn out by the end and needed as much sleep as physically possible. 

And now I'm going to talk about another thing. Because I can. 

Yesterday I was out at the rappelling cliff (some people use walls, we have a cliff, we're cool like that) and at the end of one of the groups had the opportunity to rappel down. (it was faster, and more fun than hiking around) and as I was getting set and positioning myself on the top part the kids started yelling advice up at me. Apparently when I'm taking my time and getting my balance (easier said than done at the top for us tall types) I look like I have no idea what I'm doing. I mostly ignored the advice and waited for my comrade to hook in as well, because it's more impressive when the kids can see both of us speeding down the wall. (He always wins but he also goes aussie-style and I don't) 

As I started down the cliff at a rapid pace I couldn't help but chuckle, both because of the exhilaration of the wind and the heat from the rope warming the glove on my brake hand, as well as the fact that all of the advice from below almost immediately changed to exclamations of surprise. 

As I was unclipping a few seconds later at the bottom of the cliff I had a moment of clarity. How I rappel is how I do a lot of things. I'm not super great at starting usually... It takes me a little while and a few shaky steps to get comfortably setup and prepared for the rest of a task. I have found this to be true in returning to school (my grades were decent from the start but have improved steadily) to jobs I've worked in the past where I jump from rookie to competent in a very short time... but when I'm a rookie I'm quite a rookie. 

This also applies to my internal life, searching for churches and struggling to find a family.. but once I'm past the awkward start I have  relationships and friendships for years. Or this applies to romantic relationships... most die in the completely awkward stage because I'm not good at starting. But investing and maintaining? that I can do fairly well. (at least most days) 

I know this is a bit introspective and you're wondering why this should matter to you or anyone for that matter. (Let me tell you, come closer) It matters because people all around us learn a host of things about our character and personality based on things that we don't even think about. All of the signals that we give off without intending to are road signs to our internal struggles or serenity. While you can attempt to mask those signals (some have more proficiency in this than others) or we can give false indicators in the end our soul will shine through. I would encourage you to become proficient in reading your own signals, not so that you can become more proficient in deceiving people but that you can know yourself better and in so doing you can know your weaknesses in a very honest sense. 

I'm sure this made more sense to me than It does to you, and I'm ok with that. (after all it's my blog) 

Blessings Friends!

-Nick

3.20 The 5 B's and the beginning of the end. (as well as the end of last week)

I once again realized that I've moved from the realm of slight neglect into something more serious with this space... whoops.

Last week took a lot more out of me than I initially anticipated. On the on hand I really wanted to do the job of being a counselor well. I wanted the boys who were "stuck" with me to have a fun time and deepen their walk with God. Both are objectives I think we achieved. However I was unable or unwilling to give up the limited amounts of sleep I was able to acquire in order to post updates. My apologies for the frustration, but I'd like to think I've got my priorities straight.

The week was an incredible success. We took all of the boys (all 8 campers) out to a "secret guys campfire" a short hike away from camp. By the time we'd hiked out and back... they were ready for bed and hopefully remembered something a little special about that time with the guys. I know all of the staff who went along will remember that night for a while.

The title of this writing also shows another major development in the timeline. The five B's are a concept that I heard from Dr. Linder back at GraceU. They are as follows: "be brief, baby, be brief" and I'll try to do the same for the sake of time and sanity at this juncture. In short my time at camp is drawing to a close shortly. In roughly 10 days (the 25th) I will conclude my last day at camp for the year. And a few short days after I'll be back in Omaha (Lord willing at least) to begin my new(ish) job as an RD at the school. It'll be crazy and wonderful... and require all kinds of energy and whatnot. I'm looking forward to it, and hoping that my recovering from (most of) a summer at camp will not hinder my ability to do that job well. I also feel for my comrades here who will complete two more weeks of camp after I leave before they go their separate ways. I've never not finished before... and that's tough.

This week (and next) I'm back on the rappelling wall where I began the year. And it's a great job... but I'm starting to carry a little bit more physical stress and fatigue. Please keep me in your prayers as I strive to do the best that I can, and to be as present as I can with whatever I've got in the next few weeks.

In some ways I'm beginning to feel an emotional and spiritual pull in many different directions (here, Omaha, South Dakota, and elsewhere) and while those pulls are all absolutely fantastic. I'm not really giving most of it the attention it deserves. Or at least that's what it feels like.

I know this is cryptic and not nearly as thorough as you or I would like, but... Here I sit, surprised by life, content with joy, and just generally focusing on the positive and not letting the host of reasons (why all of the things I'm dealing with or facing soon should crush me and so forth) to ruin the blessings I have experienced and seen.

The Lion is on the Move... and every so often he lets me ride along.
-Nick

3.19 The tiny ninja's arrive!

The day dawned early (or it felt early at least). A few short hours later it moved into the routine of starting the week. We got our assignments for campers and I had a whopping two kids! 

They're great but they are tiny ninja's. Even when they're on board with the plan... 5 seconds and a shiney thing later they vanish. One of the staff jokingly said that "i'm keeping better track of your kids than you are" which isn't entirely untrue... because they aren't running off on purpose. They're just the 3rd grade versions of my attention span. 

Short story... we're having tons of fun. And we're working out our sense of normal for the week. And now I'm out of time.