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lunchbox_lunatic
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Name: P. Micah
Interests: Silence, original thoughts expressed creatively, apologetics, sleeping, spending time outside-- taking in God's creation, living a relaxed life, seeking to glorify God best I can.
Expertise: Keeping words few, puzzling contradictions, talking in circles, avoiding definite conclusions, and generally overthinking.
Occupation: Student
Message: message me
Member Since:
2/8/2005
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| I really didn't intend on this entry being so long. I don't quite know how that happened. My first summer at Mountain Adventure camp, I was a counselor. Your basic beginner's level position at a camp (at least, one that doesn't own its own campground). I loved it. The experience of working so closely, so personally with all these different individuals with autism was so unlike anything I had ever done, so fulfilling, I fell in love with the job. And I remember looking at the people who were activity directors that first year and thinking, more than once, "Man, I would hate that job. I would never want to be an activities director." After all, most of the joy of working at MAC came from those relationships I formed with my campers, from spending every hour of those days with the same person, getting to know them and understand them and forming connections with them. As an AD, you lose that; you spend all your time setting up activities and taking down activities, cleaning up people's messes, leading big events, and missing out on all those awesome little one-on-one moments with the campers. There was just no way that being an activity director could ever be as fun or as rewarding as being a counselor. I came back for my second year, and pretty much felt the same way. At the end of that summer, I anticipated it being my last one at camp. After all, I didn't really intend to make work with disabilities a career, it was more of just an interesting and rewarding hobby. Two summers was enough, and it would be time to start getting serious about long-term plans. But then I ended up going to Alongside Discovery in Europe for a month and a half that summer, and since I didn't leave for that until July, I came back to camp one more time to be a counselor for half the summer. By that time, all my returning camp friends were ADs, and it was a weird dynamic. I could kind of see myself in their shoes from time to time, because I knew them and had been there for a lot of the same challenges and experiences that they had. I loved my job though, and it was a good way to spend a few weeks before doing something completely different in France and Estonia. And I knew for certain that I wouldn't come back to camp for another year. Camp was finished *signs "finished"* My senior year, I found a placement at L'arche through AmeriCorps for the year after I graduated. I would start a week or two after I graduated and stay for a year, and then go on to seminary. But God apparently had other plans for me. As did Elsa. She e-mailed me and asked if I might be interested in returning to camp for the summer. I said no, I already had other plans lined up. Besides, I told myself, I had learned all I was going to learn from camp, and needed to move on to something more serious, which being at L'Arche would help me to do. But the mention of camp was enough to make me go back through some of my hundreds of old pictures from past camp years and remember some of my times there. I began to really miss camp. Then, a few weeks later, Elsa contacted me again, imploring me to reconsider and see if there was some way I might be able to squeeze camp into my summer schedule. I thought and prayed about it, and finally decided that financially, logistically, and in every other way, going to camp again was not only possible, but advantageous. However, I still had this barrier of feeling like I had kind of had every experience I could, and had gotten all I could out of camp. Until I realized-- I had gotten all I would not out of camp, but out of being a counselor. There was a whole new world to consider in the position of activity director. Tentatively, I asked Elsa if I could be mailed an AD application to consider filling out. As I filled out the application, I already began to realize how much more there was to learn at camp, so many more different angles to take on the experience. I actually began to look forward to possibly getting the position of an AD and seeing what new challenges would arise. I got the job and was one of a rotation of three ADs taking turns in different areas. As I knew it would be, being an AD was very very different than being a counselor. Different responsibilities, different (i.e. longer) hours, different challenges. People asked me throughout the summer which one I liked better, being a counselor or AD, and the most honest answer I could offer was "they're both really different." I just didn't know. I still missed some of the interactions that come with being a counselor, and was a little bit jealous of those counselors who had parents lavishing thanks on them and campers hugging them goodbye because they had bonded so closely. But being an AD wasn't all bad. It had some perks, and had some enjoyable moments too. But one of the biggest results of that summer was my realization that working with people with developmental disabilities was indeed more than just a temporary hobby, but was a vocation, a calling from God toward a long-term career. Seminary was not where I needed to go; work with disabilities was. That was my ministry, and it wasn't one that three years of theological studies would prepare me for. And it was because of being an AD that I was able to have that realization, I think. The position of AD is a little more analagous to a real-life position in the field of DD than beinga counselor, more planning and strategic and intervention and less warm fuzzies and relationships. And I realized that, even though I missed being a counselor, I could handle a more AD-ish job long-term. But I still planned on last year being my last year. Again. After all, I was locked into a year-long term at L'arche, so there wasn't much way around it. I was grateful to camp for all it had given me and done for me, but it was evidently time to move on. So on to Jacksonville I went. My time there was hard. No, my time there was miserable. I was thoroughly unhappy, overwhelmed by loneliness and depression, and frustrated at feeling like all my plans for my life had fallen through and that I was just spinning my wheels there everyday, accomplishing nothing. I then discovered a loophole-- though I had signed up for a year term, "a year" was actually defined by a certain number of hours, and as long as I had completed that many hours, I could leave at any point after 9 months. Soon after I discovered this, along camp faithful Elsa, inquiring if perhaps any of my plans had changed and I might be available to return to camp again. I wasn't sure at first. I felt kind of bad about leaving the people at Harbor House just for my own personal pleasure, especially after I had told them I would be there for a year. But it didn't take long for me to come to my senses and realize that I had to go back to my first love-- camp. And now here I am. In the lounge of old, haunted Davis Hall for my fifth summer of Mountain Adventure. I'm the floating AD this year, which means that I do all the other ADs' jobs on their day off. It's the job I wanted. I get to lead outdoor activities, arts & crafts, special events, and administer medicines and first aid to the campers, all the while providing behavior intervention and crisis management as needed. And, as proof that I've come a long way since my first year here-- I love my job. I love being an AD. And there are so many reasons why. I still get to interact with the campers individually. And though I don't necessarily form as close a relationship to the campers as the counselors do, I do get to know almost all of them to some degree, something that I didn't get to experience when I was a counselor, focused only on one camper for the whole week. There's also a unique set of challenges and skills that come with the AD position, challenges which I've come to appreciate and look forward to. As an AD, I get to involve myself in all of the most intense moments at camp, the ones which usually end up being the most rewarding in hindsight. As an AD, I feel a little more in control of things. I also feel that every day is important, everyday I'm doing something valuable with my time; I'm always accomplishing something. Most of all, as an AD, I feel older. For a while now, I've felt ready to move on in life (see my entry "An unexpected readiness", written some 14 months ago). I'm ready to move into full-time adulthood, to leave behind my teenage years. I'm eager to shed some of those boxes that I fell into when I was in high school and early college, to shed some of the labels that were applied to me, to become the new person that I was being called to be. Contrary to Peter Pan, I do want to grow up. And as an AD, I feel more grown up. I can see how I've progressed from being a counselor to being an AD, and it makes me realize how much more mature and capable I am. Being in this position of responsibility, directing, managing, "being the magic," as it were, makes me feel older, wiser, one step closer to being an adult. That's not to say that everyone who's a counselor is less mature or capable than me; it has more to do with my progression from one position to another than the positions themselves. I just keep thinking back to those people who were ADs my first year, knowing they had been there for so many years and had seen so much, remembering how they appeared to me... and realizing that I am in that position now, and people probably feel the same about me. It's a weird feeling, but I like it. I'm an AD. And I wouldn't have it any other way. 
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| I've had such monumental realizations in the last few days. It's a bit overwhelming, but oh so wonderful.
The last year has been very difficult for me. Anyone who has talked to me knows that. I endured the pain of a broken relationship which I had anticipated being permanent. I was in an environment in which I was lonely and unhappy, surrounded by negativity, and feeling like I had no purpose to my days. And I've spent those same months terrified of my future, believing that the terrible things I was feeling at the time would continue for the rest of my life. Make no mistake from what I'm about to explain— those feelings were real. All the heartbreak, all the misery, all the frustration, all the fear were very very real. And, some might say, justified. But I've realized something.
Though my struggles were real, I have not handled them well. I obsessed over them. I sat on them and let them simmer, boil, and grow in me. I focused all of my thoughts on them, and any time someone asked me how I was doing, my immediate first thought was always "worse than I've ever been." I thought about how unhappy I was so much that I actually began to find my identity in those things. I have been defining myself in terms of my hurt over that lost relationship, my irritation with the people I was living with, and my anxiety over what lay in store for me. By letting those things define me, I was letting them control me.
I can't let that continue. Those things are not who I am, and I can't let them become the whole of me. Above and before everything else, I am the beloved of God. I am his child, forever the subject of his grace and mercy. I read in Galatians "You are all sons of God through faith in Christ Jesus, for all of you who were baptized into Christ have clothed yourselves with Christ." The Holy Spirit come into me and transformed me, and in doing so allowed me to call the creator of the heavens and earth Abba. I can address Him with the same familiarity and intimacy that Christ did. And in I John, "What love the father has lavished on us that we should be called the children of God. And that is what we are." That is what I am. No matter what else happens to me, nothing has ever or ever will be as important as that moment when the Lord first took me into his embrace and called me his child. And it is standing on that foundation, looking from that perspective, that I must view all else that happens to me. I have to first push it all at arms length and re-center myself in God's love and become clothed in Christ. Only then can I properly view all the other things that happen in my life.
And of course, when I do that, when I step back from it all, remind myself of who I really am apart from all that has happened to me, it all becomes so much easier to bear. I am not what has happened to me— I am who God made me. What's more, contrary to my behavior recently, I really don't want to find my identity in those things. I don't want to be a person just spending my life feeling victimized and hurt over my past; I don't want to always be resentful and unsatisfied over whatever my present situation may be; I don't want to be always living in fear and hopelessness with regard to my future. I truly don't. I want to live confidently, joyfully, and assured of my true identity. And through the moving of the Holy Spirit in my life, I am able to be those things and so much more. Praise God!
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I've also found other reasons to change my attitude, my approach to my life. The truth is that no one likes a self-pitier. People who define themselves in terms of how hard their life is, or what has gone wrong, of who has hurt them, or what might happen to them, are not enjoyable people to be around. They don't bring life to those around them, and so everyone avoids them. I know I don't like people who live that way. And now... I have become a person who lives that way. I've felt for a while now that I really don't like myself; I don't like who am on a lot of levels. But I've only just recently realized that this is quite possibly one of the biggest reasons— I don't like myself because I spend so much time thinking about why I don't like myself and all the reasons I have to feel down on myself. But I don't have to be that way. I am only going to not like myself if I'm defining that "self" as the collection of things that have happened to me in life, or as a collection of everything I've done in my life. But if I can get back into an attitude of my "self" being nothing more and nothing less than the child of my Abba, then I know I will be much more confident in myself, I will enjoy my own company so much more, and other people will enjoy my company more as well. Win-win-win.
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Also, there's another angle that actually kind of surprised me when I first thought of it. Bear with me here. One day, if the Lord sees fit to grant me my deepest desire, then I will have children. I will have little people who have been entrusted by God to my care and my provision and my teaching. I will be responsible for bringing them up in a Godly way, and teaching them how to relate to themselves and others in a right way, how to approach their lives in a way that is glorifying to the God who placed them under my care. But as we all know from our own lives, as much as we learn from what our parents tell us, we learn so much more from how they live their lives. We adopt their attitudes and their approaches without even knowing it. We learn how to deal with our problems by watching how our parents deal with their problems (for instance, by the way, a child whose parents use divorce as a solution to their marital problems will likely grow up thinking the same thing). On a personal level: my child is going to learn how to live his life by watching how I live mine.
Now, the things that I've dealt with in the last few months aren't entirely particular to me. I mean, sure, they've been personal. But a lot of it is just stuff that happens in life. Sometimes you're rejected by someone you love. Sometimes you find yourself lonely and friendless. Sometimes people don't follow through on their commitments to you. Sometimes you are forced to deal with people that don't really like. Sometimes you're placed in a living situation that is joyless and directionless. Sometimes your worst fear for your future is a distinct possibility. Those things just happen. And they will probably happen to my child during the course of his life. And how will he (or she) know how to deal with them? By observing how I dealt with them when I faced the same issues. And I want my children to be confident in their identity as a child of God; I want them to face their problems from that perspective, and not let their hurts and fears control them; I want to see them live their lives in joy and faith and hope. And if I want to see that in them-- then such needs to be present in my own life, starting now. It needs to be my practice to face whatever happens with the strength, grace, and confidence that comes from knowing who I am and why I exist, so that when my children look to me, they can learn how to deal with their own problems in a healthy, productive way, rather than a self-pitying, self-destructive way.
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I will change your name
You shall no longer be called
Wounded, outcast
Lonely or afraid
I will change your name
Your new name shall be
Confidence, joyfulness
Overcoming one
Faithfulness, friend of God
One who seeks my face.
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| I don't know if my return to xanga is going to be long-term, or if this is just a one-shot, but I had thoughts to share.
I've been kind of bored lately, and though I've long said that I don't particularly care to have television in my bedroom, we had a friend of the community donate a TV to our house, and I decided to take advantage of it. I don't have cable, so I only get about 2 and a half channels, which is good. That way I'm not tempted to just watch or flip through channels incessantly. Nevertheless, like I said, I've been a little bored. Because of that, I've resorted to watching things that I wouldn't normally watch. And it's about those shows that I have comments now.
The first is American Idol. Now, I can handle watching the last few episodes of a season, because I know that there is at least some genuine talent being displayed; it's not my favorite, and I get frustrated with the glorification of idolatry (and yes, I do think that people make these stars into idols), but I can be entertained by a good talent show. What I don't understand is the people who say "The best part of American Idol is the first few episodes, where they have all those people who can't sing on there." For the first time, I tried watching the first episode of this season's AI a couple weeks ago, and found it just infuriating, for precisely the same reason that other people seem to love it.
The way I see it, when thinking about those people who can't sing at all but still come out to audition, is that there are two possible scenarios. The first possibility is that these people really don't know that they can't sing, and genuinely believe that they are musically talented. If that is the case, then the producers of the show are just exploiting naïve people, taking advantage of people who really don't know better. The makers of the show are knowingly making fellow humans into laughingstocks, parading them around to be mocked by the country, and I have no interest in supporting that kind of cruel, manipulative behavior by watching the show. The second possibility is that these tone-deaf auditioners do know that they don't have any talent, and are just trying to get on TV by any means necessary, even by knowingly making fools of themselves. And if that's the case, then I'm just as irritated by that kind of self-centered, obnoxious, attention-seeking behavior, and also don't have any desire to indulge it by watching the show. Either way you look at it, there's nothing noble about anyone's intentions (except arguably, though not definitely, the contestants who really are talented), and absolutely no reason to give them the satisfaction of being on my television.
The second show that I gave a try is the new "Moment of Truth." Holy cow, talk about absolute garbage. Seriously. For those of you who don't know, the premise of the show is the the contestants have, before taping, answered 50 or so questions while hooked up to a lie detector. Then, on the show, they are asked 21 of those questions in front of family, friends, and everybody watching the TV. To win money in increasing amounts, they have to answer all the questions truthfully. If they lie once, then they don't win anything. The questions range from somewhat harmless ("Have you ever snooped around in a co-worker's desk?") to intentionally humiliating ("Have you ever padded your underwear to make yourself look better?") to downright destructive ("While married, have you ever flirted with another woman online?")
And again, the idiocy of this show is due to both the producers and the contestants. The show is obviously designed to create arguments and distrust in the relationships of the person in the seat, especially their marriage. Who on earth told the producers that it was their job to expose to the world, and to their loved ones, all of these people's indiscretions and infidelities? They know that some of these things would wreck a marriage— and yet they ask them anyway, all for the sake of satiating the viewing audience's perverted, bloodthirsty cravings. The executive producer said something along the lines of "If these questions cause someone's marriage to fall apart, then I think that's a good thing. The truth should be told at all costs, and if the truth pushes two people apart, then I think we're doing them a favor." It may be true that honesty is of paramount importance in a relationship... but that doesn't change the fact that it's not their job to reveal those things. It is no one else's responsibility, save maybe a close, concerned friend, to bring up other people's sins, regardless of how harmful they are, and there is no excuse for doing it on national television. It's just demented.
And then, of course, just like American Idol, I can help but be frustrated at the attention-seeking dolts that go onto the show. They've taken the lie detector test. They know the questions that are going to be asked. They know they've done things that they don't want other people to know about. So how is it that it's a surprise when those questions are asked? Why on earth would you do that to your relationships, and to yourself? Is the money really worth it? And taking into consideration that regardless of how you answer while on the show, the people watching are going to know the truth because it will tell them when you've lied, why would you sit there and take that abuse? Why would you put the people you care about through that? It just completely boggles the mind, what could motivate someone to do that. It's so clearly stupid. And I have no interest in wasting my time by watching someone else destroy themselves.
So that's my rant. In case you're wondering, I don't spend all my time in front of the TV. And I have been thinking about much more important things than all this. But I just wanted to throw all that out there. So there. | | |
| I'm blogging, but not here. If anyone really genuinely wants to know what I'm thinking about these days, let me know, and I'll direct to you where I'm writing my thoughts now. | | |
| Should I start blogging again? | | |
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