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.

It's hard to type with your hand all wrapped up. I thought I had broken my hand, so I went to the ER to get an x-ray earlier today. Good news! It's not broken! But I do have a serious contusion that will take a week or more to heal. They're having me keep it wrapped (and elevated, although I've not been doing that) to keep the swelling down, and to aid in the healing process.

How did it happen? Eh... heh... welllllll... I was taking out the trash.

I know, I know. Lame, right?

The dumpsters at camp have these huge, heavy metal lids that we prop open with iron stakes. I propped open a dumpster, tested the stake for endurance, then heaved my trash into the open chasm, only to have the corner of the bag clip the iron stake and send the lid tumbling down upon my poor, vulnerable hand. Fortunately, I was wearing rubber gloves, so it tore the glove instead of my skin, or it would have been REALLY nasty!

After all was said and done, I realized that I could still play guitar, so I'm happy.

Not super fast, but faster than the average person.

Which is why I'm taking a sick week from summer camp, to try to "get back on track" (i.e.- not feel like I'm dying as much as I am).

This means that I have my phone and computer for a whole glorious week!

It's nice, knowing that I can post later and not try to force the words out now.

I'm going to go make popcorn for supper.

Well, actually, it's Week Three for me, because we count Staff Training Week as Week One. But it's the second week of having campers.

Both cabins of girls have requested and subsequently loved my playing guitar and singing softly to them while they fall asleep. I don't know what it is, but I guess it's soothing... so it's kind of become my summer camp tradition :)

The improv group that I'm a part of had our first performance on Monday. It was definitely improvisation, because the other activity was cancelled due to rain. We had an hour's notice to pull together some games and get to know each other as actors, since we hadn't worked together as a group before. We spent an hour each day for the next two days working on our improv skills as a group, and though our performance was good (considering the circumstances), we are a lot funnier and smoother now that we've had time to "practice". (Because really, how do you practice improv? You don't. You just prepare, I guess.)

I like my girls in the cabin, but I don't know them very well, because I'm in the kitchen all day, rather than working with the kids. I'm actually kind of liking the setup. I'm not impatient with them, because I haven't been dealing with them all day, so when the other counselors are on their last nerve, I can take over and give them a break. I'm like the on the bench replacement. I think it works okay. I don't know how my fellow counselors feel about it.

I've discovered this week that there is a rather strong undercurrent of discontent that runs through the staff ranks, from kitchen to counselor. I don't talk to the Exec staff hardly at all, but some of my fellow kitchen staff and some of my fellow counselors have opened up to me about their "disgruntlement". I don't blame them. I have some discontent of my own- there are some rather glaring discrepancies that bother me, and I do take issue with some of the ways the camp is run. But I realized this week that it's really not my place to say anything, and voicing that discontent is not going to a.) change anything or b.) make my work environment a happier place... so I keep quiet. Maybe my purpose for being here is to be a Fairy of Good Cheer or something. I mean, not that it doesn't eat at me sometimes, because it does, and I get really irritated... but I'm trying to find reasons to be thankful despite it and in the midst of it.

One thing that bugs me A LOT is the micromanaging, though. I was frosting cinnamon rolls yesterday morning, and the Boss was standing there watching me, and telling me how to do it.

*Point* "Too much frosting there."

(Silently scraping off frosting and relocating it to another cinnamon roll or two)

*Point* "Too much frosting."

(Silently scraping off frosting and redistributing it amongst five other rolls)

*Point*

"I'm working on it."

All the while I'm thinking, Really?! Are you really going to stand there and micromanage my frosting cinnamon rolls? Don't you have a camp to run??

And it's that, compounded with the "we don't want to give the campers a choice or anything fancy or anything nice, really" mindset that bugs me. Because Lord forbid that we put out two colors of juice, because then they might have a choice. Heaven help us if the salad is "too fancy" (meaning more than lettuce, a tomato wedge, and ranch... possibly some croutons or a slice or two of cucumber). And if you commit the unpardonable treason of putting out options for salad dressing, you might as well kiss your job goodbye.

I'm done ranting. But I do get frustrated with the senselessness of it sometimes. Or the obvious favoritism that is displayed at times.

But I'm not here to worry about that. It's hard enough as it is.

I had a hard week. Several nights, I had nightmares, and my emotions went spiraling downhill as a result. Those days were hard. I was glad I had an iPod. My health has been suffering, too. Every time I eat, my intestines start cramping and churning. I don't like it. And many days this week, I've had to stop what I was doing several times and sit down, because I was close to passing out and/or throwing up. The Boss broached the idea of taking a week off to rest... and I was sorely tempted to say, "Yes!" I don't want to lose the money, though, or the respect of my co-workers, and the thought that the week I take off   (or the couple of days) might be the week/days that God had brought me to camp for and I would miss it is enough to knock the idea right out of my head.

I might, though, if my health continues to go down... maybe just 2 days. I could stay at H's.

I actually wasn't sure I was going to make it to my day off. 9 days with no break is... too much. That's why God created a 6-day work week. (Here we are, an Adventist camp, and we're totally doing away with Sabbath rest. How wack is that? But I guess it's necessary for the running of the camp that we work...) But I keep reminding myself that God has me here for a reason... and that's what's kept me here. I wasn't driven to the point of desperation by homesickness, but I was just... ready to be done with this. Ready for a day off, I think.

I have to go pay bills, now, in my few remaining hours of computer possession time.

Despite it all... God is good. He's on the throne. I can make it 4.5 more weeks.

“O taste and see that the LORD is good: blessed is the man that trusteth in him. The LORD redeemeth (ransoms) the soul of his servants: and none of them that trust in him shall be desolate.” {Psalm 34:8, 22}

“For my thoughts are not your thoughts, neither are your ways my ways, saith the LORD. For as the heavens are higher than the earth, so are my ways higher than your ways, and my thoughts than your thoughts.” {Isaiah 55:8, 9}

Wow. What a week. (Nine days, actually, since my last day off... now I understand more of why God instituted Sabbath rest. I don’t like not having it!)

They took away our computers and cell phones on the first day of Staff Training, which would be the Sunday before last. I had heard, and was hoping, that they would let us keep our phones and comps during training week, but no such luck.

I wrote six letters last week. Boy, how I miss communicating...

Staff training was busy. The returning staff say that they don’t remember working this much or this hard during training weeks before. I wouldn’t know any different. My days are all pretty much the same, since I’m in the kitchen.

I feel like some sort of superhero (or maybe supervillain?)-- by day, I’m a mild-mannered member of the kitchen staff. By night... I am a girl’s counselor. Yeah, yeah, nothing too thrilling in the way of saving the world. But, if you think about it... I am helping to save the world a little bit. The kids look up to the staff, and the way we interact with them could affect major life decisions. Kids are extremely impressionable, especially at this young age (6-8). So as I am a good influence on these girls, I am helping to make the world a better place, a little bit.

When the campers showed up on Sunday, I realized what a heavy responsibility we have as staff. I remember being a camper and being in a sort of awe around the counselors (not the kitchen staff, unfortunately!), like, “Whoaaaaa... They’re so COOL, and so much older, and so... whoa.” Now, I’m the staff. How the tables have turned!

The reason I included those verses at the beginning was because I’ve had an interesting experience with God these past nine days. I did NOT want to be in the kitchen when I first came up here, then I was okay with it, then I had to come to terms with the fact that I might be in the kitchen all summer, and now... I’m in the kitchen all summer. And it’s okay. As a matter of fact, I’m enjoying it!

I got my Food Handler’s License last week. I got to play short-order cook and crank out quesadillas for a hundred-odd people. I got to be part of the serving team for 600 people last weekend. There have been a lot of challenging experiences, and a lot of fun and laughter to go with them. I just pray that I can be a shining light for God, no matter where I am. The LDS group that was here had some nice things to say to me.

“You’re always so cheerful and smiling! Look at her! She’s filling up the lettuce, and she’s still smiling!”

“You have the most gorgeous voice.”

“Thank you SO much! I love croutons!”

Hehe.

Then there was the homesickness that I have dealt with for the last two and a half months. It got so bad that I was going to leave... again. I just wanted to go home, to be where I was wanted and loved, because I was feeling like a failure or a burden here. THEN, in one of our staff meetings, the Boss told the group that anyone who was homesick should just go home. They don’t want homesick people here who are going to be bringing the kids down, or doing a halfhearted job. I thought, “Aha! An easy out! But should I take it? Should I actually leave?”

So I prayed... and cried. I did a lot of crying. And I prayed that God would help me. But the feelings didn’t go away. I was still down and sad and missing home desperately.

That night, I dreamt that I actually drove back home, and I walked into the living room and the family was there, and Juneaux was there, and I was so happy to be home, and they were so happy that I was home, and... I was miserable when I woke up.

So in my quiet time with God, I prayed again.

God, if you have a reason for me to be here this summer, then I need you to take away my homesickness, and give me a heart of happiness and joy, a heart that’s willing to serve.

I still felt sad and lonely, but I went to work anyway. Around lunch time, I stopped short as I realized, I’m happy! And I’m not homesick anymore!

Don’t get me wrong, I still miss home. It’s a wonderful place to be, and I want to be back there as soon as possible... but I’m not homesick. I can wait. It’s okay. I’m not desperate and pining and miserable because I’m not at home anymore.

And time has passed, and the horrible waves of homesickness have not washed over me again. God is good. I tasted, and I’m amazed. And I know that his plans and thoughts are way higher and better than mine... because I sure didn’t plan on being in the kitchen this summer, but it’s been a growth experience that I never would have anticipated. It’s been good, and I’m glad.

Yesterday, I was told that 5 or 6 of the kids here at camp are here because I went to their school recruiting. I got an “attaboy” from the Boss. :)

I’ll probably do a separate post with pictures of the camp, so I’ll wrap this up... because I want to call D. I haven’t talked to him yet (I had to go shopping for jeans yesterday, and I don’t do well shopping and phone talking at the same time), and today’s our 2 month mark.

I’m glad I’m here, and now I know that God has a reason for my being here this summer. No more uncertainty. I like that.