What happened? *Long Post Warning*

What an eventful week it's been.

Time is a river, and the current has picked up quite a bit (for me) lately.

I left summer camp early. I really, really struggled with the decision, as there were a lot of reasons that I wanted to stay. First of all, I loved playing the guitar and singing the girls to sleep at night. I almost feel like that was the reason God took me to camp in the first place! It really fulfilled me.

Secondly, the big improv show during the last week was a big draw for me. I love all things humorous (to a point- I hate crude or unintelligent humor), and I'm naturally a rather dramatic person, so it was something special that I was looking forward to. Even now, I feel twinges of anticipation mixed with heavy dollops of regret when I think about it. Also, J fell off a horse and broke his ankle, and M got tackled by a kid and broke her toe... which means that now, the improv group consists of... 3. So sad.

Naturally, I didn't want to leave my new friends. I knew we'd miss each other, and I know the workload will be heavier on them now that I'm gone. That's the last thing I want- to burden the others. In addition, I thought that I was really needed in the kitchen, and that I was more or less "crucial" (not quite that urgent, but I can't think of the right word) to the smooth production of meals for our group of 300. (There's a Music Camp that is renting space on the camp and running concurrently with our camps, so we have quite a lot of people trooping in the cafeteria doors!)

Welll... the day before I left, the Boss took me out of the kitchen because I had made a mistake. The head cook is sick, one of the other staff had just had oral surgery, another one has a colon infection, and another one had the day off, so were were running short on staff. As I was cleaning up from lunch, I decided against cleaning the grill, since we were going to use it later to make quesadillas, and in the past, I've always been told that, if we're going to use the grill later, don't clean it yet. Well, that was the wrong choice. The very next day, I was out, because I wasn't "aggressive enough". Yup. Apparently, there were also complaints from the kitchen staff that I was taking too long to cook my special food and eat, and that I seemed to care more about my food than I did about serving the other food. (Which, by the by, is balogna, because the kitchen staff and I are on totally cool terms, and if there was a complaint, I would have heard about it from them. And I don't know what he was talking about with food- I usually eat quick, simple things because I don't have the energy to put into something elaborate.)

That really angered me. It wasn't that alone that sparked my rage, but a series of events and small things that built up to the point where I realized that I genuinely dislike the Boss. He infuriates me. That's hard, because I really don't want to be dismissed for physical assault! :) (Oh, yeah, and there's that whole "I don't like hurting people" thing. Ah, yes, and being Christlike. I can't see Jesus practicing his left hook on someone he doesn't like.) Aaaaaactually.... God's been trying to get me to pray for the man. I have, reluctantly at first... but I know it's a discipline I need to continue. I recognize that God does not want bitterness, anger, and resentment to fester inside my heart, and this is a good way to keep it from taking up residence. It's hard to hate someone while you're praying for them. Ever tried it?

I think the beginning of the end came when Gluten Free Girl showed up. There was a camper this last week who is gluten free.  That's fine. I know gluten free. I've been doing it for, what, three years now? I fully expected to be put in charge of her food, and I was willing to do so. As I thought, it got (more or less) delegated to me, so one evening while there was a lull, I was writing down the week's menu so I could plan what she was going to eat. The Boss walked in, asked what I was doing, and when I told him, he said to stop it. It was a waste of time. Do something useful. "She'll eat what we give her."

Right. You're going to cook for her? You walked in, looked at the biscuits and gravy, and asked if they were gluten free. Brother, please.

I was furious. The one thought that burned its way clearly to the forefront of my mind was, "You don't even know. YOU DON'T EVEN KNOW, MR. 'ICANEATWHATEVERIWANT'!" (Actually, there were a lot more exclamation points and bolding and highlighting and whatever going on in my head, but... this will suffice.) And truly, he doesn't know. Nor does he care to know. He blazes ahead in his "sympathetic" ignorance, bulldozing any others who do not do things his way, for it is his way or the highway. 

I thought to myself, I'm still going to do it, just not when you're around. See, the girl's parents sent a whole bag of stuff with her, but, as most GF stuff is, it's all mixes. The poor girl had to wait an hour the first day for her food (some pasta with cheese) because he didn't think ahead and make a pizza crust for her.

So he comes up to me later and says, "I just don't want you burdening yourself with that." I immediately replied, somewhat shocked, "It's not a burden."
"Yes it is," he says. "It's a burden. Don't waste your time."

What?!?!?!?!?!

Okay, whatever. You're the Boss. And, I'm ashamed to admit it, but one of the main reasons I let it go was because I wanted to watch him crash and burn. (I really, really didn't want to sacrifice the poor girl on the altar of my "vendetta", but I knew that if I tried to oppose him, I'd be fired anyway, so it wouldn't have made much of a difference.)

It was after that the mistake and subsequent removal from the kitchen happened.

An overarching theme to this whole drama is the fact that I'd been getting sick- very sick. Constant exposure to the foods I'm allergic to have broken down my body's resistance, and it has basically been responding as if I'd been straight up ingesting the foods. This is bad. This is very bad. But I can be a soldier. I can tough it out. I started taking pain killers, which helped some. I knew that I couldn't hack it 'till September, so I had decided to leave in two weeks, when camp was done, because they neeeeeded me!

Well, after our head cook threw up in to the trash can, I was trying to dish up the beans and the Boss kept saying, "I'll do it. I'll do it," and taking the stuff away from me. Okay... Are you going to let me do my job, or no? (This is the evening of the grill-cleaning fiasco- I hadn't cleaned it after lunch, and now they were cleaning it and making quesadillas.) The Boss turns to me and says, "If you're sick, you leave, too."

"It's not a contagious sick."

"If you're not feeling good, you leave. We don't need you getting more sick."

This wasn't a sympathetic, I want you to heal and rest and get better statement. This was more of an I'm tired of you being sick statement.

Well, I left. I went back to my cabin and I punched the walls and kicked the bed and screamed some unearthly primeval scream and I sobbed until my eyes were totally bloodshot.

I felt so worthless. I felt so weak. I felt like everyone else on camp was doing their jobs, pulling their weight, and I was dead weight. I was still furious over gluten free girl and his callous disregard for her needs (and, by inference, my needs). Like in everything else, he would do just enough to make sure she got something, but nothing too good, because, well, that would take time. It would take money, Lord forbid.

I was almost to the point of self-harm, I was so distraught. I knew that my thinking was off, so I went and asked for my phone. If that wasn't an emergency, I don't know what is! Unfortunately... not a single soul in my support system answered their phone! Of course. *grim smile*

Praise God, he knew what I needed. My staff roomie walked in, and we got to talking. As it turns out, I'm not the only one who doesn't like the Boss (a fact I knew about the kitchen staff, but not about the other staff) and who is really frustrated and annoyed by his inconsistent leadership and favoritism. They're pretty much here for the money.

He's not a good leader. He doesn't teach, he censures. If you make a mistake, you've got problems. He's inconsistent in many ways. He is a micromanager who insists on things done his way (even if you've already received orders that are contradictory). He's manipulative. He's cheap. Not frugal, or a "good steward", but cheap. He's insincere. He puts on a good face, and sometimes I actually feel like he cares about me, but then the veneer wears thin, and I see that he doesn't. (That's part of the inconsistency- if you're going to pretend, at least keep up your front!) He talks about God, sometimes, but I see no walk to his talk. He says things, "my God this" and "my God that", and I find myself thinking, If your God is anything like you, I wouldn't serve him in a million years. He runs an organization, not a ministry.

And that, I think is the true reason why I left. I can't work with the man anymore. He's killing my soul.

Wednesday night, I was informed that I was going to be taken out of the kitchen, so I wouldn't continue getting sick. Awesome! That was a total answer to a prayer J and I had not minutes before!! I was so stoked! Then the kicker: "If you can't handle that, we're going to have to let you go."

Ahh, I see. So I'm not indispensable. Hmm. Well, there goes that objection...

I left that encounter with the Boss and headed to the fire pit for worship. One thing to the Boss's credit- he picks awesome camp pastors. The worship that night was about living rich. God is our Father, yes? And God owns everything, yes? So, if we are children of God, then why do we worry about money? In Christ, we have everything we need- we are rich!

Huh. Well... there goes objection #2. I've been so worried about money- how am I going to pay off my SOULS bill?! That's what's kept me here so long...

After those two objections were removed (and quite speedily, I might add), it only took the encounter the next morning to convince me that I no longer needed to put up with the Boss's shenanigans.

I approached him after Staff Meeting to ask how he wanted me to balance my new schedule with food preparation and eating (because at the beginning, he was almost phobic about my eating different food in front of the kids). That was when I was told that I'd take my rest hour to cook all three meals. I'd just have to plan ahead. (At this point, I was thinking, I thought planning ahead was a burden and a waste of time?) Because I couldn't have "an hour and a half to cook and eat like you are doing now" (this is where the complaints comment came in). It was all very... how do I describe it? Curt. Inflexible. Close-minded.

This, from the man who wooed me to his summer camp with smooth assurances that I would have all the time and resources I would need to make this thing work. Now I'm being shut down, accusations are being thrown in my face that I knew nothing about, and I can sense that he's tired of dealing with my issues.

If he had brought up the complaint in a different spirit so that I could correct the situation, rather than using it as an excuse to deny me previously agreed upon terms, I may not have gotten so angry. As it was, I was immediately... enraged. I cannot recall the last time I was so furious, with the exception of the day before, and even that was a toss-up. I knew I had to get out of there, or I was going to hurl my full water bottle at his face. He did, however, reluctantly give me permission to go right then while the kids were having worship and set up my breakfast, because I hadn't planned ahead, but this was the only day. How kind of him.

I flew to the bathroom, tears stinging my eyes, and I checked to make sure that there was no one around. Then I hurled the water bottle into the corner with all my might (and broke it, sadly) and broke down crying. I can't do this, God. I can't do this! I can't work with him anymore! I can't do this... please, don't ask me to do this... I mean, I will if you want me to, but please... I can't do this....

I collected my water bottle, headed back to my cabin, and proceeded to punch some more walls.

YOU DON'T EVEN KNOW. YOU HAVE NO STINKING CLUE.

More screaming, more tears, more prayer, a bruised hand... and I was done. I was leaving.

My objections had been removed. I was free. The things that had held me there before were not enough to keep me there anymore. What is an improv show when the laughter echoes from a hollow soul?

One thing that had chained me to this place was guilt. If I left, I was a quitter, a failure. I can't handle that. But now... I know that, as a human being with worth and value, I can say no. I can stand up and say, "I will not take this anymore. I do not have to be treated this way."

I didn't leave because of homesickness, and I didn't leave solely on the basis of my broken health. I left on the basis of my broken trust. I trusted the Boss, and he has seriously disappointed me. I don't trust him anymore, needless to say. He's not a safe person, and it's okay for me to remove myself from that situation.

Before nightfall, I had that job my dad offered me. I'm going on a paid road trip. I'm going to see natural wonders, the works of God's hands. I'm going home. And I'm happy about that.