Your
peace rests over it, coddles it like a fresh-out-of-the-dryer blanket.
Your
grace settles like the rain: unobtrusive, subtle, gentle. Here you are at work.
Everywhere you are, but here I am less blind to it.
I
feel your peace in my soul. I feel tangible renewal. I feel the hot coffee
slipping down my throat, warming my body. I feel the cool breeze tiptoeing over
my skin.
It
is euphoric.
It
demands my attention.
I
am aware because all the things I cram on my plate, heaping and ugly and messy,
are wiped clean. All I have before me is to serve you, this community, and
campers on trips.”
Madi Krueger works
in the pack shack at base camp. She spends her days meticulously measuring
ingredients for trip meals, making sure that each camper, leader, and guide who
goes into the mountains has enough food to conquer the trails. Madi is a senior
at Western Washington University and is studying journalism. While here at base
camp, she loves playing her ukelele named Whimsy, spending time on the dock,
and reading through the Harry Potter series for the first time.
It’s funny how my priorities have changed since arriving
here at Beyond. Objects that once used to be strapped to my body or mind have
taken flight from my thoughts and now wither in the cobwebbed corners of my
mind. My phone currently sits at the bottom of my backpack, lifeless and
untouched for days. I only use it to read downloaded sheet music for my
ukulele, which gets a lot more action since I’ve gotten in the habit of worship
on the dock or subtle strumming with the sunset. The makeup I devoted twenty
minutes of every morning to and the chemicals and substances which, I believed,
made me “pretty” and “enough,” were hurriedly tucked away to the bottom of my
bin. The few mirrors here at base camp show me an old and familiar face that
God always saw as beautiful and enough, mosquito bites, sunburns and all. I had
cautiously tucked away that face full of childlike wonder and playful curiosity
in the name of growing up. I bathe in the salty inlet, breathe in open and
star-lit skies from my sleeping bag on the dock, and laugh at how very
ridiculous it is to get frustrated over exactly 33 bags of skim milk powder. I
cram my body on the floor of a crowded room to watch the first movie I’ve seen
in a month, forget what a flushing toilet sounds like, and give thanks for a
massive bowl of that rare vanilla ice cream. I wish I could save up enough of
these moments to last the rest of my life.
My mind, even, has been freed from the shallow places I once
anchored it to in order to keep it afloat in the busyness of life. The magnifying
glass I once spent too much time under, the self I built up and hid behind to
show my worth, has been kicked aside and traded out for a better view of others
and of God. I’ve been able to dive deeper into what it means to be a follower
of Jesus, what it really means for his redemptive love to wash over me, and
what it really means to realize His sufficiency is more than enough for my
inadequacies. I’m raw and flawed and human here because I’m allowed to be. Learning
to set aside self-centered thoughts gives me the freedom to look more closely
at others, flawed and human themselves, and love them better for it. I see the
blistered feet of guides who walk kids along the mountainous horizons, the sore
backs from raking trails, and the stress tears from food that never got shipped
in. I’ve also seen the smiles that stretch around campers faces while guides
sing and dance in goofy costumes at opening club. I’ve watched their eyes widen
while “holy cow, another meal!” gets added to their already humongous backpack,
and their nervous looks while gazing up at the mountain they’re told they can
climb. It seems I’ve seen them expand and shrink in a paradox of growth here.
Eyes grow, smiles widen, and faith expands while standing on the summit or in a
small room called the “Pack Shack,” feeling smaller than ever before. In it all,
God remains the same size, just a little clearer here, to them and to me.
It was my third trip of the summer and I was excited to go with a leader, Ernie Fraser, who has brought trips to Beyond for the last ten years.Right away he told my guide partners and me that life stories took high priority on his trips and would be told and listened to even if we had to forfeit “making it to the summit.”I liked the sound of this from the start.
This trip consisted of three families who were ready to jump into an adventure together.Most folks had never told their life story before, and by the end of the week, I was struck by the incredible depth of love dwelling in each person, much like God’s love for us.God’s love was felt tangibly and everyone walked away from the trip closer to each other and closer to God.
In the wilderness and Beyond context, the walls we have created in previous relationships are quickly broken down, which leaves room for hearts to be touched and impacted by the Holy Spirit and by others on the trip.It is a phenomenal and extremely unique experience for anyone willing to embrace the adventure and live life to the fullest.
From our guide manual:
“On Walls”
-By Mike Wolford
Everybody has them.
It is said that people are lonely because they build walls instead of bridges.
I have walls. What do they look like?
They are high, but thin; strong, yet brittle;
And they are transparent.Why are they there?
To keep from being hurt.
But my walls are vulnerable;
Not to a bulldozer or a bazooka or a hand grenade or a hammer.
My walls want to crumble; they will crumble.
At the touch of someone who cares enough to gently knock.
Once the walls have been penetrated, treat the stuff inside with tenderness and care;
For not many have ever been where you are and not many may ever follow.
