Ice

After dinner tonight my brother and I started our usual job of clearing the table, rinsing the dishes, and emptying the dishwasher. Tonight it was a little more exciting then usual, though. Tonight there was leftover ice.

I couldn't tell you where this excitement came from, this fascination with melting ice between our fingers under a hot stream of tap water, but ever since dish-washing became our job rather than Mom's we've liked it. You turn the faucet as far to the right as it will go and make sure it's on a continuous stream instead of a spray. You can't allow the stream to get too heavy, though, or the fun will be over before it starts. Keep it just above a trickle. Hold the ice between your thumb and your forefinger. Watch the dent turn into a hole, into a crevice, into a wide open space. Listen hard for a hint of a crackle, a dying breath. Watch it disappear. Feel the nothingness between your fingers. Swear something was there a split second ago.

That's the weirdest part, really. I can never pin-point the exact moment the ice becomes water. One second there's something between my fingers, and the next there's not.

My brother looks different tonight. He's been complaining of poor vision for months, and his glasses finally came today. He came home with a haircut as well. He looks much older than he is, but then again, he's getting pretty old. As of last month he's taller than me by a good inch. And he's five years younger.

Harding University sent me an application packet today. It's not my first choice, but I figure I better apply anyway in case my first choice falls through. It said "Apply early!" No kidding. Way too early.

I don't know if I mentioned that this was my second to last year as a Kamper. I went to the banquet with a little boy named Ethan. I kinda fell in love with his excessive knowledge of Spiderman. :)
Anyway, in conversation I asked him what grade he was going into, and I figured it had to be fourth or fifth, because he was so stinkin' cute and little. But I was wrong. He's going into SEVENTH.

I remember when seventh grade seemed old. When Lizzie McGuire was in seventh grade. MIDDLE SCHOOL. The land of lockers and multiple teachers. Remember that feeling? Remember thinking algebra had something to do with the order of the letters in the alphabet? Remember not knowing about the existence of bottom lockers? Remember innocence?

I stopped thinking middle school was old in about sixth grade. At that point it was high school. High school's where you really started figuring everything out. That theory disappeared in about ninth grade. At that point senior year felt old.

Guess what guys? I finally feel old.

"Graduate" doesn't sound that old. It just sounds kinda... kinda terrifying. Because in about a year, real life starts.

And I'm sitting here wondering where my childhood went. Realizing how much of it I have absolutely no recollection of. I have a few very vivid memories. Leaving the theater at the beginning of "How the Grinch Stole Christmas" because Cindy Lou Who was surely being violently cut to bits by the wrapping machine. Fighting valiantly for my belief in Santa Claus out in the parking lot at my elementary school. Getting a rug burn playing in the foyer after church.

I can picture the sights, smell the smells, tell you exactly what the lighting in the room was like. I remember. That was yesterday. But it was really forever ago. My life's disappearing before my eyes.

But maybe it's not disappearing. Maybe it's melting.

Someday I'll be all gone. The faucet of time will continue to rush down on my life and in a blink, in an indeterminate second, I'll be washed down the garbage disposal into eternity. But you know what? I get a few seconds to let the water run between my fingers and feel the inexplicable joy that is living.

I'm excited to melt my ice.

You know you've been to Kamp Koinonia if...

- The word "Hummingbird" makes you think of fright rather than a small winged creature.
- You can play "Clocks" and "Heart and Soul" on the piano but you can't play anything else.
-You've been in heated speculative discussions about what the Jewel Hunt theme will be.
-You've wondered how they're planning on using chopsticks in the Jewel Hunt.
-You know who the most beautiful man in the room is.
-You sing "Row Row Row Your Boat" a little bit different than everybody else you know.
-You've heard legends about both the Korean Mafia and the nearby "insane asylum."
-You've been dared to touch the door of the Bear Cabin.
-You know that if you ever go spelunking, the answer is NOT to tie yourself to your spelunking buddy.
-You've ever found it ironic that you take a long hike to Devil's Head at church Kamp.
-You have been marked wrong on one of those "What I Did This Summer" papers for spelling Kamp with a K.
-You find yourself laughing really hard at puns that normal people probably wouldn't find that funny.
-You've heard stories that make your cresh fleep and give you poosegimples.
-You've felt a little bit guilty about holding hands with someone of the opposite sex during a prayer... because you don't have a stick...
-You hope someday you'll meet a man who'll be willing to carry your purse.
-You've cheered at the top of your lungs for a little girl playing "Hot Cross Buns" on the piano.
-You know that no matter how many horrible tragedies befall her, the cat will come back.
-You know the difference between Bret and Bre-tuh-tuh.
-Tornado warnings make you want to sing a certain song.
-The phrase "Byron Clause" fills your heart with terror and foreboding.
-You've literally been sentenced to water torture.
-You've eaten wild raspberries despite being warned that they could possibly kill you.
-You were a little bummed when the lodge remodeled because even though those orange and purple chairs were heinously tacky, they were COMFY.
-If you're a girl, you've been terrified to use the other bathroom even though the sign says it's a girl's right now.
-You've started about a million lanyards and finished none of them.
-You've heard the same orientation jokes for eight years and you still laugh at them. Every. Single. Year.
-You've sat in the same spot for Quiet Time every year for as long as you can remember.
-You know exactly what a napkin check is.
-When people start cheering during a meal you just kinda go with it. Even though you have full knowledge that there's probably no point to it whatsoever.
-You have a VEHEMENT opinion when it comes to which color is better, green or blue.
-It took you a few years of coming to realize that Bret and Julie are brother and sister.
-You know that if you read Scripture in Tom Walker's class, he WILL interrupt you.
-You've been beaten, tortured, chased by a motorcycle, and sprayed with ketchup all in the same night.
-You've walked into the parlor to find at least three people sound asleep. And it's only Tuesday.
-You started shaving your legs immediately after winning the "girl with the hairiest legs" point in Scavenger Hunt.
-You want to be Bret Carter/ Julie Oehlert when you grow up.
-You've randomly started singing devo songs with several other people outside assembly or campfire.
-You owe some of your closest friends in the world to your years at Kamp.
-You have a box of caregrams that you read when you need a little extra encouragement.
-You've been astounded at the eagerness of a boy younger than twelve to lead a prayer or a song, or at the intelligence and relevance of a younger kid during Man to Man/ Woman to Woman.
-You have actually seen chivalry and have faith in its ability to stay alive even in the present world.
-Words people have said to you at the campfire Thursday or Friday have stayed with you for years.
-You know beyond a shadow of a doubt that Christians can have real fun-- in fact, more fun than the rest of the world.
-You've cried over an Underground Church cop and the fact that you couldn't convert them... only to start crying harder, because you realize that in real life you don't care about REAL lost souls half that much.
-A class/assembly has brought you to tears with its relevance to your life.
-You've tasted a little slice of Heaven.

Kamp Koinonia 2011-- Thank you for teaching me how to better fight the good fight! I love you all and you encourage me more than you will ever know this side of Heaven. Somehow we always manage to keep the perfect balance of total silliness and deep spirituality and it always results in the next best week of my life. Stay strong in the Lord. Tan Kalon Agona.

<3

My Hero

I love super heroes.

As a people, as a species, we've always loved a hero. It goes clear back to Greek and Roman mythology. Look at Hercules, Achilles, Aeneas, Odysseus. They were children of the gods, endowed with some sort of power, sent on a mission from heaven. At the same time, though, they were human, prone to human faults and failures.

Flash forward to the 20th century. Superman, Batman, Captain America, Green Lantern, the Flash, Spider-Man, Thor, just to name a few. Each, no matter their source of power, no matter their protective domain, no matter their secret identity, have been burdened and yet blessed with a singular mission...

TO SAVE THE WORLD!!

Is it really any wonder we love them? Yeah. I didn't think so either.

But it does go deeper than that. At least for me it does.

Of course, we love super heroes because they're, well, super. They play with our imaginations. They do everything we wish we could do. They can fly. They have super strength. They can move faster than the speed of light. They're invincible. Who hasn't wished for a super power? I mean, really. You love the idea. Whether you admit it or not, you wish you were a super hero sometimes. Admit it. :)

But we also love them because they're human. They have problems and weaknesses. Batman is literally, 100% human, totally vulnerable (except for his armor, but... that doesn't prove my point so I'm not acknowledging that). Spider-Man can hardly afford to be a super hero. The Hulk and Thor both have to learn to conquer their anger. Iron Man has heart problems, for crying out loud! Even Superman cringes at the sight of Kryptonite. And, of course, whether it be Lois Lane, Mary Jane Watson, Jane Foster, or anybody else, nearly every superhero falls prey to the number one vulnerability: a love interest.

We like vulnerability. We understand vulnerability. Vulnerability makes us think of ourselves.

But really, truly, in our heart of hearts, the central reason we love super heroes is that they're just that. Heroes.

No matter how a hero acquires his power, he chooses to use it for the good of humanity. Sure, for some the choice is easier than others, but they kind of all hold to Spider-Man's philosophy: "With great power comes great responsibility." (Good grief, that was a nerdy sentence.) Mankind must always come first, no matter what other conflicting personal desires he may hold. Self-sacrifice is no stranger to the super hero. Even motives become subject to this strict code of super hero-dom. Revenge and hate must be absent in a super hero's mentality, though it's a constant battle to achieve this pure mindset.

So you place these supers in a very real world, surrounded by very real problems along with the fantastically exaggerated ones. You give them a responsibility, a vulnerability, and a sense of extreme morality. The result is inspiring. Super heroes remind us that maybe, just maybe, we can do it too. Can we swing from buildings or fly or lift cars or summon lightning? Of course not. But we can hold to this higher code of morality. We can use our talents to help mankind. We can stand up for the good of humanity. We can MAKE A DIFFERENCE. And that's encouraging to say the least.

"Kids like Henry need a hero, courageous, self-sacrificing people, setting an example for all of us. Everybody loves a hero. People line up for them, cheer them, scream their names. And years later, they'll tell how they stood in the rain for hours just to get a glimpse of the one who taught them how to hold on a second longer. I believe there's a hero in all of us, that keeps us honest, gives us strength, makes us noble, and finally allows us to die with pride, even though sometimes we have to be steady, and give up the thing we want the most. Even our dreams." -Aunt Mae, Spider-Man 2

Gonna be a hero?