Well folks, I’m back on the grid and despite my previous
blog post, I did not end up spending my month in the trees. In fact, quite the
opposite. I ended up in the bakery, feet on the floor, under cover from the
elements, including the sunshine. How I ended up there? Well logistically a
post went up on our Facebook page about a week out desperately seeking a baker.
I jumped (no pun intended) at the chance to not be suspended from those wires
and to my surprise I was switched from ropes to the bakery. But beyond that, I
knew in my core that God had provided me an answer to my ceaseless prayers. Needless
to say I was ecstatic, mostly. Working in the bakery meant spending every
beautiful day inside, and it meant I wouldn’t have the chance to interact with
nearly every camper each week. And although I wrestled with the creeping fear
that I’d later regret my decision, I’ve come to realize that God knew exactly
what he was up to when He put me in that kitchen.
Not So Much Myself
Through my 29
days of service I learned some pretty cool things about not only myself, but
about this endlessly awe inspiring God we serve. The first day we got there we
jumped right in to the work we’d be doing. Within my first hour of being in the
bakery I was given a brief tour, taught how to scoop cookies to freeze and how
that was different than scooping to bake, met too many people to remember
everyone’s names, and was handed a metal skewer and told to clean a months
worth of crumbs and dirt out of a floor drain. Needless to say I was
overwhelmed. And I began to learn that I really have become a lot more
reserved, at least initially, than I was in college.
I was
always confident and crazy and truly myself right from the get go, but not this
time around. Going to Saranac and not knowing a single person was really hard
for me. It took me a while to open up and reveal my true self to these new friends.
For the first three weeks I felt little pieces of this newly fashioned outer
shell slowly chipping away, but it wasn’t until week four that I really felt
like myself in this sea of once strangers. And I was really surprised by this.
Marks of time, of heartbreak, of loss, they’ve really come to define me, and I
didn’t quiet realize this until I got to Saranac in June.
Grace Upon Grace
Not more
than a few days in to my 4 weeks as a baker I had to measure some yeast. I’d
never measured yeast before, and come to think of it, I’m not sure I’ve ever really
used yeast at all. So there I was, completely unaware of the weight of yeast,
trying to measure it on this yellow ounce scale in a baker’s container I’d
zeroed the scale to. I’m pouring and pouring until I empty an entire bag. And
I’m awkwardly trying to look like I know what I’m doing but I’m watching the
needle on this scale bounce and rest at the 2-ounce line. It’s frozen there,
like actually stuck and I need it to get to 14 and I don’t want to ask for help
because that’s admitting that I really have no idea how to complete this
actually very simple task. But I didn’t need to admit my error because in the
most loving way possible Morgan, one of the full time staff in the kitchen, came
over to me. In the sweetest tone and with a smile she suggested that I might
have used too much yeast, and that the scale actually circled around past it’s
maximum and was now stuck at 2 ounces. So after removing a majority of the
yeast from the container I found the needle landing safely at 14. I had done
it. Of course, my perfectionist, need-to-do-everything-right-to-gain-approval
self freaked out and over apologized for my error. What I didn’t realize at the
time was that this was an example of something I’d heard talked about in the
kitchen during my first few days.
I first
heard about this “grace upon grace” thing during one of three tours I got of
the kitchen on my first day. And while I understood it conceptually I’m not
sure I fully grasped it in my core until I started making mistakes, like I did
the day of the yeast situation. We ended up putting the extra yeast I’d poured
into a bin, labeled it and put it in the reach in freezer. For about a week we
joked about my error each and every time we reached into that freezer and
pulled out that massive bin of mistake yeast. And I began to realize it’s okay
to make these mistakes. It’s okay to ask questions. It’s okay to fail, and to
not know what you’re doing right away. I’ve always sought perfection as a way
of earning my right to be whatever it is I’m trying to be, in this case a
baker. But I don’t need to be perfect, I only needed to work hard and serve well.
Miracles
Early on I
heard about how “miracles happen every day in the kitchen.” One of the
shortcomings of my faith is my struggle to fully and honestly believe in
miracles. But after this month I’m coming to understand that a miracle isn’t
some grand thing backlit with golden rays. No, miracles can be big cookie
baking in 12 minutes flat when every other week you have to put it in for extra
time and this week you got it in the oven late to begin with. Miracles can be
pizza coming out on time even though they were started three hours late.
Miracles can be finding 600 hot dogs you thought you lost. Miracles can be
somehow plating 600 pieces of cake in 27 minutes with only four sets of hands. Miracles
can be having just enough snickerdoodle cookies already frozen so you don’t
have to make and scoop 800 more. I began to realize that miracles are God’s way
of reminding us that He’s really got things under control. We might try to have
it all together, time things just right, measure, scoop, pour just perfectly,
but lets be honest, we’re not in control. Sometimes we under scoop cookies,
sometimes we forget to count adult guest, and sometimes we spill quiche mix all
over the kitchen floor. But even still, even through all of that, we never miss
a meal, every person gets fed, and that can’t be on us, that’s gotta be God
because there’s no other explanation for it.
Numb Hands (Enough
Strength to Face the Day)
I didn’t
realize when I signed up for Summer Staff that I’d be working 15-hour days. But
upon arriving I quickly learned that the majority of my days would be spent
either in the bakery, setting up for the County Fair, frozen stiff for Tableau,
or lugging chairs all over camp in the rain and dead of night. After the first
day I wondered how on earth I would even be able to work so hard for so long.
But now looking back I realize that there is no way I did that on my own. The
first week my feet were swollen and hot and sore, my legs burned and my muscles
felt like I stretched them well beyond their breaking point. My eyes felt heavy
like the lids were actually 5 pound weights and my right hand started to swell
and ache almost immediately. I thought for sure I’d keel over on the floor one
day and not get up until someone dragged me to my bed. But you know what? After
the first week it didn’t get harder, it actually got easier. It got easier to
get out of bed in the morning and not feel dead, it got easier to stand on my
own two feet and hold myself up, it got easier to keep my spirits up. But that
wasn’t me, for sure it wasn’t me. If I was left to my own devices I would have
surely ended up keeled over on the floor. But Christ gave me strength. He
honestly gave just enough strength to face each day. And it really was enough.
There was a
trend running through the right arms of those of us in the kitchen. It started
with the bakery intern, Amanda, and her numb arm. Her fingertips would get so
numb in the morning she couldn’t feel her phone to turn her alarm off. And soon
my friend Sparky in the kitchen found her right arm aching so badly she
couldn’t sleep through the night. And now here I sit at my laptop almost a week
later and still a sharp pain shoots through my right wrist as I move my
fingertips to hit the keys. The knuckles of my middle and ring finger on my
right hand haven’t been able to crack since week one even though they’ve both
desperately need to. For weeks I couldn’t even get my rings on my swollen fat
fingers if I had coated them in Vaseline. But despite the cramping I felt deep
in my palm and the sharp pain in my wrist, despite the numbness of Amanda’s
hand and wrist, despite the throbs that coursed through Sparky’s arms at night,
we kept going. We kept scooping cookies, and duffing bread dough, and we kept
dancing and singing and laughing and smiling through the pain, or the inability
to feel anything we touched. And that surely wasn’t of our own doing.
Sin Talk Wednesdays
Every
Wednesday at Saranac this summer the camp speaker talks about sin. On our first
Wednesday at camp, our Summer Staff Coordinator, Ben, told us how crazy stuff
happens at Young Life Camps on Wednesdays. I didn’t believe him. No way would
he convince me that somehow crazy things happened because the camp speaker was
talking about sin. It’s a coincidence; crazy things are bound to happen at a
camp of nearly 600 people. But let me tell you, I quickly learned that he was
right.
The second
Wednesday at camp was enough to sell me. It started at 6am when two of the AM interns
found the lock on the cooler had been put on incorrectly the night before,
making it impossible to be unlocked with the key. But since the kitchen opens
earlier than any other building on camp, it took a while before anyone on
maintenance could come and cut the lock off. Unrelated, there was an egg
shortage in the area that resulted in a menu change from egg breakfast to
quiche, which surprisingly takes fewer eggs. But quiche has to be made in the
large mixer, the same large mixer the bakery needs to make pizza dough for
dinner that night. This menu change did buy me one extra hour of sleep,
allowing the bakers to come in at 7 instead of 6 while allowing the AM cooks to
use the mixer. But when we got in at 7 on this particular Wednesday we found
the cooks just beginning the quiche mixture. It wasn’t long before we were
informed that halfway through the process they noticed the strainer they were
using to strain the eggs was dirty, which meant everything had to be thrown
away and they had to start over from the beginning. Now we were really far
behind and by the time the pizza dough was done and prepped for the PM cooks
the whole kitchen was nearly 3 hours behind schedule. After lunch I learned
that Meghan, the other Summer Staffer in the bakery and 1/3 of our hands
wouldn’t be coming back into work as she’d been feeling sick all morning. This
left us a down a set of hands for scooping ice cream sundaes, a task that
required nearly a dozen people. Each week all of the adult guests at camp had
the chance to help in the bakery scooping ice cream sundaes and provided us
with those needed hands. This week, though, there were only four. With Amanda
and me that would be only six. But it had to get done anyways. Upwards of 350
bowls of ice cream had to get scooped. So the six of us plus one willing PM
kitchen intern got down to it, each taking on the role of multiple people in a
dizzying race against the melting ice cream to get it done in what seemed like
record time.
Later that
day as we were cleaning the floors in the bakery we did a recount on the
brownie number for dessert that night. And wouldn’t you know it, 64 brownies
short. That’s one entire pan. It was an easy enough fix, though. Making
brownies is pretty simple, just add water to the mix and pour. But a trip to
dry storage to grab another bag of brownie mix revealed yet another hurdle in
this endless day of chaos. There was no more brownie mix. We had to make a batch
from scratch. Morgan, though, offered to make it, allowing Amanda and me to
throw in the towel on what was later deemed the worst day of the summer in the
kitchen. But I’ll tell you something, when I got to dinner that night, and
praise God it’s a late dinner that night, every camper and staff person had a
pizza ready for them. Every brownie got cut and plated and dusted in powdered
sugar, even the 64 made from scratch just hours before service. I’m not going
to say that we just worked hard enough to get it all done, because in between
those moments of pure chaos were moments of prayer. Even through those sprints
I took between lining sheet trays with empty ice cream cups and running
finished trays of sundaes into the freezer I was praying. I think we were all
praying. Sometimes out loud as we duffed 30 ounces of pizza dough and watched
the time tick by on our watches. Sometimes in our heads as we searched all over
for just one more bag of brownie mix. And our prayers were heard and surely
answered.
If this day
alone wasn’t enough to back up what Ben had told us on week one, our final
Wednesday in the kitchen absolutely removed any shred of doubt in my mind. We
came into the bakery at 7, and the quiche was well underway. Ryan, the AM kitchen
intern told us he’d be done in 5 minutes, perfect. After he stopped the mixer,
he and Sparky, and AM Summer Staffer in the kitchen, lifted the mixing bowl
into the rolling trash can that we use to transport the mixing bowl. As they
rounded the corner into the kitchen, and fully out of our sight, we heard a
crash. “It just can’t be the quiche,” Amanda said. It really truly didn’t sound
like the mixing bowl, it sounded like something smaller, some less significant.
Or maybe I just wanted it to sound that way. When we walked around to see what had
fallen it was like seeing a brutal accident on the highway. You want to respect
the victims by not looking but you just can’t seem turn away at the same time. There
on the floor, all over the floor, was the quiche mixture. 200 eggs, gallons of
heavy cream and milk, a yellowish white pasty fluid all over the ground.
Everyone stopped what they were doing and looked. It was like that moment was
frozen, the air still. Later on Sparky told me that watching that bowl fall to
the ground was like watching it in slow motion. Slow enough to know you were
screwed, but too fast to do anything about it.
But after
that moment of suspension, it was all hands on deck to clean the slick floors and
remix the quiche. The floor was met with squeegee’s and mops, the bakery
cracked all 200 of those eggs with a perfect balance of speed and precision,
the milk and heavy cream were remeasured and in what seemed like no time Ryan
again stopped the mixer and asked me to help him lift the mixing bowl back into
the rolling trash can. This time making it to the kitchen fully upright.
Two things
really astonished me about this whole quiche ordeal. First, the grace with
which the situation was handled. Ryan didn’t seek pity, nor did he feel
inadequate to remake the quiche after it spilled. Rather, he assessed the
situation, made a game plan, and put it into motion without a second of
hesitation or second-guessing or insecurity. And everyone else in the kitchen
jumped in any way they knew how. We cracked eggs like it was a race and the
prize was 500 well fed campers and leaders, we cleaned the floor like it had
never once been cleaned before, and we somehow managed to get the kitchen and
the bakery back on their feet. And by some crazy trickery of the clocks we even
had pizza dough done ahead of schedule.
So yes, the
affects of Sin Talk Wednesday are real, and they can be seen first hand in the
kitchen. But what’s bigger than that is the closeness of our God on days when
He knows His children are most vulnerable. It was through His provision that we
were able to make it out of that kitchen every Wednesday close to on time and
with every mouth fed. It was through his provision that we were able to make it
out of that kitchen on any given day. Because miracles happen in that kitchen
everyday, especially on Wednesdays.
Humility
I have to
say that working in a kitchen may be one of the most humbling experiences I’ve
had. As a camper at Saranac in the summers of 2010 and 2011 I never once
thought about where my food was coming from. To be completely honest if you’d
have asked me about it I’m sure I would’ve assumed the desserts were just
bought somewhere in bulk and then served out to camp. I definitely didn’t think
about the people working in the kitchen, sweating because opening windows
compromises the dough’s ability to rise and because long pants and hats are
required at all times, even with four ovens roaring at 350 degrees and
temperatures outside crawling into the 80’s.
So if I
didn’t think about these cooks and bakers when I was a camper, chances are most
of these campers I served didn’t think about me. During Work Crew Summer Staff
Night at the end of the week (a time for all of us to stand on stage and share
a little about our experiences in hopes that some of these campers would feel
called to the same kind of work in the future) we stood on stage and shared our
names, where we’re from, and what our job was. More times than not, campers
cheered for individual people even though they were asked to hold all applause
until the end. But what was interesting was that everyone that got singled out
was someone on ropes or waterfront, never the program techs, or us in the
kitchen, never those of us with behind the scenes jobs. And that’s really okay.
There’s something important to be learned from working in a position where
virtually no one at all see’s you. And I’m so thankful to have learned that, to
have adapted and grown thankful for my position. Because just as each one of us
is a part of the greater body of believers, each of us play a different but
essential role. We in the kitchen are essential in God’s eyes, and that’s all
that really matters.
Selfless Service
What does truly sacrificial
service look like? I’ve learned about it as an Orientation Leader, I’ve
discussed it with my mission teams both years I went to Haiti, and I’ve even
read about for classes I’ve taken in my four years at Gordon. And while I’ve seen
glimpses of it, in the way my mission team gave up their spring break to travel
to the 100 degrees of Haitian heat to build homes for a week, and in the way my
apartmentmates sought to serve one another by doing their dishes or bringing
home food for one another, I’m not sure I’ve ever seen it in such an
overwhelming magnitude.
At Saranac
it was like living in some parallel universe, one more like the one we were
originally designed to live in. It was a world without hesitation. Eggs needed
cracking? We’ve got it. Work Crew could use some extra hands in pits? Summer
Staff is on it. Bussing tables? We’re all lending our hands. It was incredible
to see the way people put themselves last in order that others loads could be
lightened. How can I help? What can I do to most effectively alleviate stress
from this situation? Where can I be most useful? It was like these were the
first questions we were made to ask. And here at camp we were asking them. We
weren’t passively ignoring situations as they’d unfold around us without
seeking a way to help. Even after we’ve worked our own full days and finished
all of our own work. Even after all of that, we still searched for ways to lend
a hand. Even if it meant losing an extra hour of sleep, even if it meant
getting your hands dirty, even if it meant learning how to brown sausage when
you’ve never cooked meat before. Serving became not just our mission, but our
only way of living.
The Power of Prayer
I’ve never been good at praying.
There it is. I’m terrible at praying. Truly honestly the worst. I’ve tried to
discipline myself but after a few weeks of good momentum something inside me
breaks and laziness leaks in through the holes in my soul and soon I’m flooded
and my prayers are dry as stone. I’ve tried praying at set times every day,
I’ve tried praying out loud, I’ve tried going on prayer walks, I’ve tried
praying through journaling. And they all work for a little while, and then it
becomes stagnant. I get too caught up in saying something overly rehearsed and
when I begin to sound less than eloquent I stumble and fall. And sometimes I
fall asleep praying, and most times my thoughts drift into my to-do lists and
my fears and my worries. And isn’t that just the most ironic thing you’ve ever
heard? I’m here talking to the God who created my very being and my very next
move and I’m neglecting to listen for Him because my worries are screaming too
loud in my big ears.
But if
there is one thing I’ve come to know from Saranac is the true impact of prayer.
Every time Tim, the camp speaker began speaking, we prayed. Every time the
weather threatened an outdoor meal relocating indoors, we prayed. Every time we
begin an event, we prayed. And you know what, those prayers did some pretty
radical things. If nothing else, 344 kids came to know Jesus this past month,
and that’s pretty sweet. Our prayers were answered and God’s faithfulness
permeated even the trickiest situations. Of course not every prayer was
answered in the way we hoped, but that’s not how God operates. We’re praying to
receive His will, not our desired outcome. And at the end of the month, I have
to say His way is the only way I would’ve wanted things to go anyways.
Friendship and Fam
I showed up to Saranac not
knowing a single person. But I left with a whole new family. Isn’t it crazy how
a shared love of Christ can bind people so closely? I had some pretty real
conversations at Saranac, conversations that make you really think about who
you are and who your God is. Hard conversations that leave you different than
when they found you. And in all of that I found a family. We laughed, and
cried, and hugged, and jumped into life head first. We sought opportunities to
serve one another and love one another and fight for one another. Gaps between Work
Crew and Summer Staff and inters were shattered and we blended into this one big,
crazy, happy, weird family.
And I’m
especially thankful for the family I found in that kitchen. The kitchen I
awkwardly walked into on the first day having not a clue in the world how to bake
a single thing for 600 people. The kitchen where we could help each other
recover from what could have been irrecoverable disasters. The kitchen where
laughed loud and cried real tears over bowls of cookie dough, and broke the
handle off the cooler door, and sometimes snuck extra pizza dough upstairs for
a snack, and got chased out of for getting caught eating brownie off the pan.
The kitchen where we made fun of each other like siblings but then hugged it
out at the end of the day. Between everyone in the kitchen and everyone outside
of the kitchen I found this crazy family. And it’s because of their love and
willingness to serve that I was spurred on to work even harder and with a
bigger smile.
Many Thanks
I am so thankful to have had the chance to work in a
kitchen. There is something life giving about doing work that goes pretty much
unnoticed with a bunch of Jesus loving people. There is something sacred about
waking up when the sun does and walking across a quiet and subtly hazy camp to
begin your day’s work. There is something soothing about turning on all of the
lights to illuminate a once darkened space when even the sun that slants
through the windows is dim. Working in the kitchen wasn’t like anything I
feared it could be, it was exactly where I needed to be. It was exactly the
work my hands were being prepared for while I was too busy to notice. God had
planted me in that place for a purpose. Working on Summer Staff was like
nothing I’ve ever done before and like everything I’ve always needed to do. I
am so thankful to Tim Johnsen for encouraging me towards Summer Staff while I
was at camp for Work Week, and to Allison, one of my best friends, for her
relentless pursuit to get me to Young Life 6 years ago. I am thankful for my
Summer Staff family, and for the interns in the kitchen, specifically Amanda
who became a friend even after she really got to know me. I am forever grateful
for the work of young Life across the world and the way it is used to reveal
Christ to kids and lead them into a relationship with their Father. I went to
Saranac as an older version of myself, less refined, and less likened to
Christ. But coming home I know I’ve been changed, and I am so thankful for
that.
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| Saranac Village Work Crew and Summer Staff Session Two 2015 |
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