Early last spring I was asked to speak at the youth camp I'm currently at. The request came on a particularly bad night and after looking at the calendar and seeing John was already away at a conference I responded with a "no" to the camp explaining that our family calendar just couldn't allow it. Normally when I turn down a speaking job I feel a sense of relief at not adding to my calendar. This time, however, as soon as I hit "send" I felt uneasy. I wrestled with this feeling for a while before telling John, "I don't know why, but I think I'm supposed to do this camp." I ended up calling someone on the leadership team and saying something along the lines of, "If you still need someone I can make it work." They did, and so I'm here.
Back when I agreed to come I did so with the assumption that the sleep stuff would be sorted out. It's not. I also had a secret hope that maybe God would grant me a dispensation during these two weeks to allow for some extra sleep. God didn't as evidenced by the croup-filled, albuterol-infused nights.
Normally I'm the kind of person who takes at least 30 minutes to fall asleep. Normally I'm the kind of person who drinks Coke at 2 pm knowing it will keep me up until 2 am. But these are not normal times. I'm living on Coke and asleep the minute I close my eyes. It's full throttle living. (Speaking of which, I'm scheduled to play Jello-Wiffleball tonight--I'm sure that will lull me to sleep.)
Nevertheless I'm glad I'm here. I remember the first day of camp telling God that I wanted to be obedient regardless of whether or not I saw results (though I'll confess I whined that this was a "big ask" for God to make and that results, though not necessary would be nice). Without going into detail, last Wednesday I was about thirty seconds into a conversation when it seemed like the Holy Spirit was whispering in my ear, "This is why you're here." And here I am glad to be.
We leave for Indiana on Saturday which means three more nights of five of us sleeping in the same room. Sam had another dose of the crazies a few nights ago. I think God decided if Sam was going to get me up he might as well throw some humor in there.
So after two days of kiddie rides at Nicolodeon Universe, Sam sat straight up in bed and began yelling, "PUT ME BACK ON THE RIDE! PUT ME BACK ON THE RIDE!"
So I did the only reasonable thing a mother could do at that moment. I went with it.
"Do you want to ride The Flyboat again?" I asked.
"YES!" yelled Sam, "PUT ME ON THE FLYBOAT!"
So I picked him up, laid him back down and bed, and said, "Okay, here comes your seat belt," as I pulled up the covers. And satisfied, he slept.
(I totally got suckered into buying this picture. Who wouldn't with a face like that?)