Dedicated to the Cause

Dedication is a critical ingredient for successfully completing Susan G. Komen The 3 Day – that 60 mile walk to end breast cancer forever. Walking every day and increasing the length and difficulty over time helps walkers achieve their end goal…hopefully relatively painlessly.

To illustrate the level of dedication I have exhibited to this mission, you might be interested in the walk I took today. Thanks to the sweet passenger who kindly took my photo as proof of this dedication. While stranded in the airport, I ran up the half flight of down escalators and I ran against traffic on every walking belt I could find…in some cases, I did it twice. It’s not easy to step off the moving platforms let alone to step off them going opposite the direction without falling on your face.

I had visions of tripping as I got on the escalator because of the changing depth of each step. I had visions of tripping as I got on because I couldn’t run fast enough to actually get up the down escalator. I had visions of my back pack strap getting stuck in the grooves of the steps thus dragging me kicking and screaming back in the direction I had come – although I have no idea how this would even be possible. I had visions of someone trying to get on headed in the right direction while I was going in the wrong direction and thus having to abandon my efforts. I had visions of the security guards taking me away in handcuffs while I protested that it was the delay that precipitated this…um…dedication.

Well, none of these things happened. I just got out of breath and had a little fun to pass the time…um…I mean, I was so dedicated I just had to continue my walking exercise while waiting, and waiting, and waiting for my plane to board.

Trial Walk: Day 3

Today was to be Egypt Valley Trail – a line of yellow dots on a map that head north between Seidman Park and Townsend Park. I added Pickerel Lake to get the full distance needed to achieve 15 miles. These three parks were favorites of Rick and mine for various reasons. Over the years we’d hiked them together dozens of times. I’ve returned alone a few times and the parks have become my own.

My Forester came to a rest at Seidman Park off Conservation just before 6:30 a.m. The weather was beautifully cool and the moon was as bright as could be. It looked a bit like someone chopped a quarter of it off – the edges of that part were far less distinct than the rest. A deer watched me from the middle of my paved walking path; the five pictures I took were all blurry. I saw no fewer than eight deer over the course of this hike; or should I say…they saw me.

After rounding the corner at 2 Mile with the intention of entering the trail head, I found a big sign saying that the trail was closed. Phooey. I stayed on 2 Mile, turned left on McCabe and walked up to Townsend Park and then on to Pickerel Lake where I rested briefly. This lake always provides a sweet view. By the time I got back to the car, I found that the hour was later than my consistent 3mph pace so I used Gmaps to calculate. Yep, I walked 16.5 miles rather than 15.

Given how I felt after the Trial Walk: Day 2, I was a little concerned about this third day of walking. I’m glad to report, however, that I’m no worse for the wear. No aggravated old blisters and no new blisters, and it wasn’t nearly as hot and humid this day. Yes, my whole body ached. Every time I get out of a chair I groan. But…I did it! Just a few more walks at 20 miles each between now and walk day - August 13-15. I think I’m ready for the real thing. As ready as I’ll ever be.

Trail Walk: Day 2

The North Country National Scenic Trail between the Lowell fairgrounds and Fallasburg Park provided for my 15-mile, day-2 trial walk. The Lowell State Game Area map was my constant companion, and quite sweat drenched by the time I was done with it. Another 6:30 a.m. departure was expected to bring me to the finish line (return to my car) at 11:30…hopefully before the forecasted rain showers.

The treetops played in the breeze, which prevented any relief from reaching down below. Sweat literally bubbled from every pore on my body looking a bit like small second-degree burn blisters. I actually had to stop and think when I first spied those tiny beads. The weather wasn’t overly sunny or hot, but on this trail it was like there was no weather…it was perfectly still. The OFF! washed down to my Smart Wools regardless of how hard I tried not to touch my own skin.

I found it odd that the “Public Hunting Area” signs and the “North Country Trail” signs all pointed to the same forested area. Fallasburg park is always a beautiful place to visit. I enjoyed my apple and granola bar there. I wondered whether the feeling of being eaten alive was from mosquitoes or from the tightening of salty, sweat-soaked skin finally drying in the river-induced breeze.
I was going to happily report no blisters today but…um…I found out the hard way that I have a few blisters on the…um…private parts. Surely THAT deserves a donation!

Trial Walk: Day 1

When planning my longer walks I use Gmaps Pedometer to establish the total distance needed. I started the morning with a six mile loop around my neighborhood, went to an 8:15 appointment all hot and sweaty, then finished with nine miles between the John Ball Zoo and Millennium Park.

Beginning on Kent Trails near the Zoo, I pressed my feet down the long, empty, paved trail that runs along the beautiful but very brown Grand River. At one point it occurred to me that this is the area so often seen from the highway as completely flooded. Not much in the way of recent rains boosted my confidence that I would get through with dry feet.

Having never been to the park before, I expected it to be a giant wide open space with a few trees scattered here and there. Instead I found this biodiversity full of lush trees, ponds with all kinds of wildlife, and modern facilities surrounding a beach and swimming area (currently overtaken by ducks). No bugs, no sunburn, no dehydration, no blisters. Nothing but a beautiful journey.

Trial 3-Day Walk

When Rick prepared to run the Old Kent River Bank Run or the Grand Island Marathon he always did a kind of trial run. This trial run was longer than his typical daily runs but usually a bit shorter than the real thing. Then, on the day of the event he would push himself to the finish.

Well, I’m not sure I can walk less than 20 miles one time and feel confident that I’ll be able to repeat that distance for two more consecutive days. Too many things could happen in that extended time – blisters, dehydration, sunburn – that would not be evident in a single day walk.

A trial walk modeled after The 3 Day seems prudent. Today I will begin a three day trial walk of 15 miles each day. I’ll pack my bag and gear up as if it were the real thing. I won’t have access to sweep vans, food stops, encouraging co-walkers, or first aid stations during this trial walk. Getting eight miles away from home and discovering a blister will be met only with the requirement that I walk another seven miles to get home. The only comfort I will have is returning to my own bed each night, very likely following a hot bath.

So, as I put my feet to the pavement consider making a donation to Susan G. Komen as an encouragement to me and as a hope for a cure. Perhaps consider donating $1.00 for each mile of this trial walk – that’s $45.00. I’ll report on my progress with photos and stories. Scenic route recommendations are always welcome – it’s not as easy as you’d think to find long, safe walking routes that don’t require seeing the same things over and over again.

In Sickness and in Health

Because Rick was several years older than I, we generally assumed that I would care for him in all the old age afflictions: forgetfulness, deafness, incontinence, stubbornness, and some of the more serious possibilities such as heart attacks, strokes, or cancer. I was never afraid of caring for him under these circumstances because he did so much to take care of me. But I never wanted him to suffer through any of these seeming eventualities either.

When I think of how he died, I can be nothing but thankful. I’m thankful that he wasn’t sick, he didn’t suffer, and he had no pain. Almost everyone who knew him, including his physician, responded to learning of his death with this exact phrase: “But he was so healthy!” Then we all catch ourselves and think how ridiculous that sounds given that he still died.

I realize that not everyone gets sick and I know that Jesus is my healer, but we promised “in sickness and in health.” Sometimes I wonder, though, who will care for me when I’m sick? Who will bring me medicine when I can’t get out of bed? Who will make me eat some lunch when I know it won’t stay down? I wouldn’t say I worry about these things but I do think about them sometimes.

Wouldn’t it be awesome if we didn’t have to be sick at all? I know it’s possible to eradicate a disease (think small pox) and to vaccinate against them (think chicken pox, polio, diphtheria, and tetanus). I’m walking 60 miles in three days on August 13, 14, and 15 to help bring about the eventuality of eradicating breast cancer.

Guys, wouldn’t you do almost anything to make sure your wife doesn’t have to suffer through this cancer, or worse, die from it? One in eight women gets breast cancer and your donation will fund research that will bring about this cure. Make a donation in honor of that woman you love by following the link on my blog or on my Facebook page. If you’d like to send a special note to her, I’ll arrange that for you too. Remember, you enjoy those breasts almost as much as she does.

“May your fountain be blessed, and my you rejoice in the wife of your youth. A loving doe, a graceful deer – may her breasts satisfy you always, my you ever be captivated by her love” (Proverbs 5:18-19).

Lutembe Beach

(Tuesday, June 15) The first stretch of one of our long, early morning walks in Uganda ended at Lutembe Beach. A young guard awaited visitors – to a place unlikely to have been visited for many decades. He expected payment for entry and 3,000 shillings did the trick. I can’t imagine this guard truly held that job, perhaps he saw us coming and took the opportunity.

Gabriel told me that this gated, guarded, and all but abandoned land was once owned by Idi Amin. Amin was the third president in Uganda and held office from 1971 to 1979. His reign was characterized by human rights abuses, political repression, ethnic persecution, extrajudicial killings, nepotism, corruption, and gross economic mismanagement. International observers estimated that between 100,000 and 500,000 people were killed as a result of his regime.

Amin entertained here, on the beautiful shores of Lake Victoria, in what appeared to have been grand style. Two swimming pools, a few cabanas, some guest houses, and signs advertising darts, volleyball, and basketball littered the grounds. I could almost feel the presence of very important people gathering with Amin to be caught up in his regime. There was a supernatural buzz about the grey, run down, estate.

Beauty and history were in stark contrast at this remote beach location.

Glen Falls, NC

I took my chances on Highway 106 this morning for the reward of another falls hike. I tiptoed past a police car parked alongside the road at about 6:30 a.m. and thought I might get a talking to for walking where there really isn’t a safe shoulder, but I was generally ignored…whew. Once I reached the dirt road that led to Glen Falls, I walked another mile downhill thinking all the while that on the way out I’d have to come back uphill. Such is the fate of a falls hiker I suppose.

After passing a scenic overlook of the North Carolina mountains, the first drop of Glen Falls could be heard in the distance. This drop is 70 feet and was reached by crossing over downed trees, ducking under low branches, and high stepping around the roots protruding high up from the ground. Several zigzag switchbacks resulted in the breathtaking view of the second drop at 60 feet. I snaked my way out on the rocks and plunked myself down to enjoy a little water and some breakfast (a Golden Delicious and some Chex Mix).

The third fall of about 15 feet should have been about 15 minutes down the winding trail. Yes, “should have been.” Each section of the winding trail had the option for a steep and more speedy dissent, but I quickly acknowledged that this dissent would likely be made on my rear end so I opted for the longer and only slightly more stable hiking path. At one point I came to a blaze for those coming from the other direction indicating that Glen Falls was that-a-way. But what if I wanted that third fall? Right or left? You can see where this is heading, right? My logic was that I’d certainly not gone downhill enough since the second drop to be at the third drop yet so I opted for left. Yep…WRONG.

The trail became quite a bit steeper, narrower, darker, and definitely less traveled. Again the “what goes down must come up” alarm was ringing in my head. And where were all the animals? I didn’t even get one mosquito bite and I had no bug repellant on. Should I be clapping to scare off the bears? Are there even bears around here? Well, just in case I let out a loud burp and a few shouts. I don’t think the smell was mine though. I thought about how anyone would find me if I hurt my knee. I had my camera, though, so I could take pictures of the blood if I had to.

I finally had to set a time for retreat so that I could be back to the lodge in time for whatever was planned for the day. At 8:15 I arrived at what was a very disappointing spill (as opposed to a fall) that was obviously not the third drop of Glen Falls. Time to face the uphill battle.

For a reason that entirely escapes me, the tree roots covering the path constantly reached up and grabbed the toe of my right shoe. And I can’t tell you how many times those tree branches combed through my hair; you know, the ones I so easily avoided on the way down. And forget gingerly stepping over the fallen trees, by this time I full on sat my butt down on the thick, sticky trunks and dragged my legs over the top of them.

Forty-five minutes later I emerged unscathed but quite sticky and probably very smelly. The dirt kicked up from the trail covered my legs up to my knees and my pretty Susan G. Komen-pink clothes were drenched with sweat. The old bird watcher man in the parking lot seemed a bit nervous when I appeared. The three mile walk home was nice enough and that police car was still parked in the lot. Huh, three hours? There wasn’t that much traffic.

Around 2:00 (and at 8:30 that night) that police car was still parked in the same spot I saw it at 6:30 that morning. I approached carefully only to discover Recessi-Annie sitting in the driver’s seat. Psyche!

Why Walk?

Before beginning the quest to achieve 60 miles in three days, I regularly walked four miles daily. This practice became part of my emotional, mental, and physical health routine after Rick died. Whenever I began to feel like life might just overwhelm me, I would walk. Actually, I walked regularly so I rarely got to the point of overwhelming (although it did happen). I suppose you could say that my tears are in my footsteps. Walking was and still is soothing and enjoyable, and part of my regular health routine.

I typically listen to books on CD that I check out from the library and load to my iPod, for example: Playing for Pizza, The Appeal, Eat Pray Love, and I’m currently listening to The Poisonwood Bible. The Poisonwood Bible takes place in the 50s and is about a family of six who moves to Congo to serve as missionaries. I sometimes listen to worship music – yes, that person walking down the street with her hands in the air is probably me. And I occasionally listen to a playlist Rick had loaded on his iPod for running.

I also enjoy some quiet time while I walk. During this quiet time I ponder the deeper things of life. I work my thoughts and feelings into semi-comprehendible ideas. I roll these ideas over and over in my head until I figure out what to do with them. Some end up in this blog, others end up talked through with friends, and still others are just for me and Jesus.

Walking 60 miles to fight breast cancer in honor of my Aunts Jean and Jill was a natural choice.

Cullasaja Gorge, NC

Walking very carefully along highway 64 heading west out of Highlands, NC, I picked my way along Cullasaja River. I left the Inn at about 6:20 so as to avoid traffic on the narrow, shoulderless, mountain road. Moving across the road from one side to another, I attempted to extend the line of sight (of me) for oncoming drivers beyond to just beyond the tight corners. Hugging the guardrail on the ravine side and the rock cliff on the mountain side, I was able to step out of the path of the cars and trucks by about 12 inches. Perhaps not the smartest walking plan, but it was beautiful.

The Callasaja watershed was a wide manmade fall at the end of the backwater area, which was lined with beautiful cottages. Deeper into the Nantahala National Forest, Bridal Veil Falls, at about the 2.5 mile mark, boasts a 120 foot drop and is the only fall in North Carolina that can be driven under. Dry Falls, at about the 3.5 mile mark, were anything but dry. A meandering path led down under the falls where the cool spray enveloped me. I reflected a bit on how much Rick loved these kinds of sights.

Back on the road the traffic was noticeably heavier so I headed back toward town rather than continuing on. The walk back was much more difficult - all uphill. As you can imagine, the town got its name for a reason, it was high in elevation (4,110 feet). Because I returned rather than proceeding on, I missed walking to Bust Your Butt Falls and Callasaja Falls, with a 250 foot drop. Maybe next time.

Beaverdam Baptist Church

Pastor Phil brought a team of 18 people on the mission trip to Alaska and I wrote about this group in a previous post about Southern Hospitality. When I arrived at church Sunday morning, Big John was waiting for me, all smiles. Inside, all those folks who had been on the mission trip wrapped themselves around me…some of them did so several times. Remember my love language is touch. Yep, I love that kind of welcome!

But then…everyone I met in the church did the same thing. Without even knowing who I was or that I’d been a guest of Pastor Phil, everyone else at the church introduced themselves and gave me a big hug. One dear lady said they don’t do handshakes. I could love a church like this for sure. I could easily see how this church and Pastor Phil fit together perfectly. I dare not guess who came first, but they were certainly all very sweet people.

I attended Sheila’s Sunday school class and was so impressed by how much the people cared for one another. We may have spent a bit of time socializing, but I could hear the content of that socializing as ministry. Pastor Phil taught about Revelation and revival in the morning and evening services. Monday’s prayer night was probably the most moving, there wasn’t a dry eye in the place. So many needs were lifted up to the Lord. I pray that the Holy Spirit would rain down on the people of Laurens County and that they would find their home among the people of Beaverdam Baptist Church.

“Love one another. As I have loved you, so you must love one another. By this all men will know that you are my disciples, if you love one another” (John 13:34-35).

Pastor Phil and Sheila

I had the honor of meeting Pastor Phil and his team of 18 people during Mission Trip #1 in Nome, Alaska. Beaverdam Baptist Church is their home and the church is situated in Laurens County, South Carolina.

I visited with Pastor Phil and his wife Sheila this week. When I arrived, Pastor Phil dropped everything he was doing and we spent several hours just talking. Sheila returned from the grocery store, having bought groceries for me, and showed herself to be a beautiful and very precious woman. They prepared their lake house for me and provided for my every comfort in an abundant way. Pastor Phil and Sheila truly showed me the love of Christ.

As I reflect on the warm way they loved on me, I think about how we are called into relationship with one another. What a wonderful model they’ve created for their family, their church, and for me. For more reasons than one, this couple will forever have a very special place in my heart.

I am struck by the way God began orchestrating this relationship many years ago with a desire to visit Alaska. I believe God had a purpose for bringing Pastor Phil and I to Alaska at just the right time just as I believe he orchestrated our meeting again this week. His timing is perfect and I believe this will not be the last time we meet, but I believe that our stories will continue to intertwine for many years to come.

“He has made everything beautiful in its time. He has also set eternity in the hearts of men; yet they cannot fathom what God has done from beginning to end” (Ecclesiastes 3:11).

One in Eight

Think of your most favorite eight women in your life. Just eight. These are women who listened to you complain or cry – like when work was frustrating or when Rick died. These are women who fed you spiritually or physically – like at regular iHop breakfasts or Panera lunches. These are women who made you laugh and smile – like when they played dress up or when they asked you to read a story to them.

Undoubtedly some of these women might yet still be just girls, or they might be girls who have grown into beautiful women. But one in eight women will get breast cancer in her lifetime. Which of these wonderful eight women in your life would you choose to have breast cancer? You have to pick one because, statistically speaking, one of them WILL get breast cancer. Which one would you pick?

I think of my daughter and of having watched her grow from this darling red-headed two-year-old into a beautiful woman and mother. I think of my daughter-in-law and the precious life she is making for her family. I think of my kind-of-but-not-really daughter who loves me no matter what. I think of my oldest granddaughter and the day she realized that she and I were the only two people in the family with blond hair and blue eyes. And I think of my youngest granddaughter whose smiley jabbering I could listen to for hours.

Which of these women do I choose to assign breast cancer? Yes, Jesus died so that we don’t have to choose and so that our life can be eternal. For this I am so thankful. Yet we still live in a fallen world which means that breast cancer still hurts the people we love most.

My challenge to you is to give to Susan G. Komen 3-Day for the Cure on behalf of all the women in your life. Sound like a big task? It is. Allow the Holy Spirit to bring an amount to mind and then give that amount for each of the girls in your life. Isn’t a little financial sacrifice worth the hope of saving these girls from this disease?

Rebecca, Katie, Jessica, Kyhana, and Addie – I love you way more than the $50 I am pledging for each of you. I pray they find a cure so that you and your children and your grandchildren never have to experience breast cancer in your lifetime.

Click on the link on my blog at the right or on my Facebook page to make your donation today. I challenge you!

“Although you have been forsaken and hated, with no one traveling through, I will make you the everlasting pride and the joy of all generations. You will drink the milk of nations and be nursed at royal breasts. Then you will know that I, the Lord, am your Savior, your Redeemer, the Mighty One of Jacob” (Isaiah 60:15-16).

Rock Quarries

(Tuesday, June 15) On the first of our long, early morning walks in Uganda Gabriel, Agustine, and I stopped a rock quarry halfway up to Lookout Ridge. Up, up, up. Gabriel said that climbing uphill one mile was like walking two miles. Up, up, up some more. We added this extention to the walk so that the distance would be just over 10 miles.

Five or six men were breaking down the stone. Quarries are plentiful in Uganda, those I visited seemed to contain quartz. Gabriel began a conversation in Luganda with the men working in this quarry as if he’d known them forever. To me, he described the life of a quarryman and showed me the difference in quality between various cuts.

He also described the difference for women who work in a quarry as compared to men. Women, he said, were paid the same as men but had to hire men to do part of the work for them. For example, some of the stones are too heavy for women to move so they must pay a man to move it for them, thus reducing their net salary.

You heard about Grace, the old lady working in a quarry with her family. You also heard about Eseza, one of four children whose mother died in a rock slide while working in a quarry. After discarding a stone I picked up, I discovered an inch-long cut oozing blood…surprise. "Mzungu’s are soft," said Gabriel. Quarry work is dangerous, is at the bottom of the pay scale, is highly competitive, and is often the only work available.

Before we left, Gabriel selected a fine piece of stone and later gave it to me as a keepsake.

Training to Walk 60 Miles

Walking 60 miles is a whole lot different than walking four miles, my pre-Komen state of readiness. The coaches at Susan G. Komen encouraged developing a training plan and offered several models along with weekly reminders. Because I signed up later than most, I didn’t have the luxury of a 24 week training plan or even the 16 week plan. So I started with event week and worked my way back in two mile increments so that I could see how many miles I should be able to walk each week.

Once I got to 12 miles each day, I began to feel more fatigue. I suppose that is why the coaches recommended shorter walks during the week and longer walks on the weekend…not the same distance every day. Further, walking 12 miles meant spending four hours walking every day. That’s a huge time commitment.

I admit that I’ve slacked off from walking the increasing number of miles required on a daily basis. For example, this week I am supposed to be able to walk 16 miles. I walked 15 on Sunday, 12 on Monday plus door-to-door, 10 on Tuesday plus door-to-door, and 4 on Wednesday plus door-to-door. Thursday was mostly rain so I took a break but still managed the door-to-door. My next walk will be 12 miles and then a 16-18 mile walk over the weekend. Oh wait, I’ll be traveling…

This commitment to walk 60 miles and all the training that goes with preparing for such a walk should not be taken lightly…nor should the demand for a cure for breast cancer. “These forty years the Lord your God has been with you, and you have not lacked anything” (Deuteronomy 2:7).

Front Porch Perspectives

Stepping onto the front porch of each and every house on my street, I learned two very important lessons.

First, the front porch of a home communicates a lot about the family living inside. Many front porches conveyed a warm welcome. They were decorated with chairs, signs, or mats of all sorts. The front porches were bright, tidy, and inviting. They almost called me to ring the doorbell. When I walked up to these porches, I felt like the dwellers might just invite me in for lemonade. I don’t understand, though, why those homes with welcome signs were locked.

Some front porches, though, had been taken over by all forms of life. They instilled a sense of fright and made me feel that retreat might be my best option. The air was still and the spiders webs, bird nests, and general tree or flower related debris covered the porch. And the mosquitoes…yikes. To my surprise, though, most of these homes had some very generous indwellers.

Second, I realized that after seven years of living here I know very few people. Mark, Shannon, Margaret, and Sally were all significantly influenced by breast cancer. Mark’s wife died of breast cancer just after Rick died. There may have been other unspoken loved ones impacted by breast cancer too. I even introduced myself to the wife of a boy I used to babysit for; his mother had breast cancer a way long time ago. And Paige was just so darn sweet I am sad to have not known her forever. She invited me back to tell her stories of the walk.

As a community, over the four days I walked door-to-door so far, we’ve raised $621.00 to fight breast cancer. Yea my new friends!

Event Clinic

The volunteers at Susan G. Komen do a terrific job of organizing for the 3-Day for the Cure event. Last night I attended an Event 101 Clinic via phone where walkers (separate meetings are held for crew members) learned more about exactly what happens at the event.

One of the benefits we have is a personal web page, the same place you go to make donations. We are given a number of tools to help us navigate the event such as fundraising tips, a handbook, logos to make business cards or other event materials, training tips, and contact with coaches via email. At this stage, about four weeks prior to the event, we’re asked to perform the necessary steps for online check in:

1. Submit medical form
2. Watch safety video
3. Purchase towel service
4. Reconcile the fundraising account
5. Select a tent mate

The end of the clinic was devoted to Q&A and the coordinator did a great job of responding. I’ve contacted the coaches@the3day.org a few times myself and have had a great experience with them too. The event clinic was well worth my time. While I haven’t completed the online check-in yet, I believe I’m on track to successfully complete this 60 mile walk.

10 Miles in Africa

(Tuesday, June 15) Gabriel met me at the gate at 6:00 a.m. for an early morning walk. Before coming to Uganda, I asked about the possibility of arranging for a long walk to keep up with my 3-Day for the Cure pace and to see parts of Uganda not easily reachable. Twas dark still and navigating the canyonous, red, dirt road was challenging even with a flashlight. We walked about 15 minutes down Entebbe road to pick up Augustine from the School of Ministry. Between Gabriel and Augustine, as pointed out by my aunt, I was guarded by angels.

One of six students in his School of Ministry class, Augustine described his work with his classmates in evangelizing in this area and his ongoing work to disciple these people. His boldness is admirable. Augustine also serves as a translator at the church we attended.

Back onto another canyonous road, as they all are such when diverting from Entebbe road, we followed the shore of Lake Victoria from a distance. Passing us on the road were children walking to school in their uniforms and lots of men hauling numerous empty water jugs toward Entebbe road, their bicycles overloaded. I cannot imagine having to haul water every day from miles away on these roads.

A few extravagant houses (likely owned by Americans) were well positioned on this beautiful land. In stark contrast were the small brick houses, and then the shacks hardly the size of my bedroom. Further away from the road the homes were in poor repair and of modest material. It seemed as though those homes were positioned on a small plot of land where they grew the only food they would eat.

The birds in Africa are amazing, so many different birds than any I’ve seen in America. The only one I recognized was the partridge and that was because of the introduction that used to accompany The Partridge Family television show. At one point I did see a bald eagle, as had been seen a few other times on this trip.

The children in the area stared with jaws dropped at this mzungu as we passed and most wouldn’t even wave hello. This response contrasted with the children nearer Lauren’s duplex who live nearer Entebbe road. Beautiful, very dark-skinned children, screaming “Hi mzungo” at every pass.

Knocking for Knockers

I walked through my neighborhood with my five-month-old granddaughter to raise money to help ensure she doesn’t get breast cancer…when she gets breasts. We’ve got to be methodical about it so we don’t miss houses and don’t overlap houses when I go out tomorrow. There are a lot of houses in my neighborhood.

I prepared a little business card type piece for people who may wish to donate online, and pray that they actually do it like they promise. I also prepared a letter to leave for those who aren’t home, most of which will be ignored, but you just never know.

Into the conveniently pink stroller she went, jabbering all the way. While she explained that we were “knocking for knockers,” people were in awe of this little jabberer. Most people responded favorably, although it occurred to me that the homeowners association probably has some clause about solicitation. That might fall under the “ask forgiveness later” principle, right?

One dear lady asked for prayer because she has bladder cancer. Yea Jesus, you can heal her. Another guy was kinda mad because he doesn’t have any money, and he’s been praying and why doesn’t God answer, and “no” I can’t pray for him because he’s busy in the kitchen. Guess what, I said a little prayer for him after he slammed the door in my face anyway. Several people asked about my inspiration to walk and I had the opportunity to tell them about my dear Aunts Jean and Jill.

After an hour and a quarter, about 30 houses, and three mosquito bites, I came home with $140 toward the $2,300 I have to raise. I was pretty excited. If I go door to door 16 more days I’ll have enough to participate in the walk. Question is, how much was my jabbering granddaughter a factor in their decision to donate?

End Breast Cancer

The Susan G. Komen 3-Day for the Cure is a 60-mile walk over the course of three days in the fight to end breast cancer. I’ll be walking on August 13, 14, and 15 in the Detroit area. That’s 20 miles per day in weather that will very likely be hotter than 90 degrees every day.

Did you know that 1 in 8 women in the U.S. will be diagnosed with breast cancer in her lifetime? 1 in 1,000 men will also be diagnosed. Without a cure, one person will die of breast cancer every 13 minutes in the United States. That's why I'm walking so far. To do something bold about breast cancer for the people I love. Read about my inspiration for Mission #4 on my blog.

Watch me continue to break down walls, build compassion, and show grace as I train for this walk and interact with the thousands of other men and women whose lives have been changed because of breast cancer. You’ll get to hear about the beautiful places I train along with some of the difficulties in training for such a long journey.

Bye-bye Campers

Homemade cinnamon rolls every Saturday send the campers home satisfied. I had four responsibilities that contributed to their success. First, I got to mix five pounds of sugar, five pounds of brown sugar, and five cups of cinnamon for the filling. Yep, I even got the measures correct. Second, I got the privilege of frosting these cinnamon rolls. The technique is one I enjoyed… using my hands (gloved, of course). Third, I got to be sure each serving line had plenty of rolls for the campers who came through. I had sticky fingers all morning because whoever frosted the cinnamon rolls got frosting all over the edges of the baking trays. Fourth, I got to eat them. Yuu-uum!

Glory Bowl

At each week’s end, Lake Ann Camp holds a Glory Bowl. The event draws all the junior high age through high school age campers to a bowl-like depression in the ground. In the middle of this bowl is a giant pile of wood ready to be set aflame. A few songs and one match later, the pile is lit and the students line up to give their testimonies about what God has done in their lives this week.

The fire blazes on and so does the line of students wanting to give God the glory for their camp experience. I was impressed by how many students felt they were challenged and stretched while here. I thought about how appropriate the Refiner’s fire was for this special event.

I spent some time at the Glory Bowl reflecting on the work God is doing in me through my experience at Lake Ann Camp. Humility, service, and obedience are words that come to mind. I don’t say these words lightly, nor can I honestly say that I didn’t struggle against them. I can also say that I was sometimes embarrassed, which just highlights the fact that I have too much pride.

I can say that I was keenly aware of my purpose here and that I worked hard to fulfill that purpose to God’s glory. I met some wonderful young people who really love Jesus and who are doing their best to grow up in him. I pray that if there be any way to keep these young campers from tragedy and pain in their lives that it be done; but if that isn’t possible, I pray that God’s will would be accomplished in and through their lives. Amen.

“Take this cup from me…” (Luke 22:42).

Weights and Measures

Cooking for more than 400 people every day is a work of gigrundous proportions. Portions aren’t measured by cups, but instead they are measured by pounds. I supposed the regular cooks here get used to it and know just what size mixing bowl to use – laundry tub size or swimming pool size.

I was assigned to mix the cheese layer and the sauce layer for lasagna based on a given recipe and the mixing bowl was preselected for me. I started with the cheese layer because it was smaller. I knew there was a problem when I got only two of the four ingredients into the bowl and it was already full. Surely the experienced second cook knew what size bowl would be needed so, um…

I added 2-10 lb containers of ricotta cheese and was supposed to add 2-10 lb bags of eggs…or so I thought. Okay, well…let me preface this story by saying that the printed recipes included the package size from which the measure was to be taken. So, for example, if you needed 1 cup of sugar the recipe would say something like this:

Sure Fine Sugar 2-10 lb bag 1 cup

Interpretation: Sure Fine Sugar comes in a 2-pack of 10 lb bags and you only need 1 cup for this recipe. Well, I learned to interpret these recipes AFTER I poured a 10 lb bag of liquid eggs into the mixing bowl…heh…I only needed 1.5 lbs not 2-10 lb bags.

Okay so, you know I am not the best cook and that God has a sense of humor by sending me to work in the kitchen. But I can follow a recipe…usually.

“Give, and it will be given to you. A good measure, pressed down, shaken together and running over, will be poured into your lap. For with the measure you use, it will be measured to you" (Luke 6:38).

Chapel #3: Prayer Changes Things

Based on Luke 11, Ken said that prayer is a means to an end. I must pray to accomplish God’s will.

• But God is so big, he doesn’t need me. Divine-human cooperation (that’s from my pastor) is desired by God to bring his will to fruition.
• God has a plan and it will be done. If I don’t pray, he’ll use someone else. Do I want to give up that opportunity?
• Prayer is work, invisible work. Illustration of turning the oats every day for two weeks so they dry rather than heat up and burn the barn down.

I often feel that my prayers are powerless and that God’s will shall be accomplished with or without me. Yet the way Ken described prayer during chapel gave me some new perspectives to think about.

“For everyone who asks receives; he who seeks finds; and to him who knocks, the door will be opened” (Luke 11:10).

Glory to God Forever

So let my whole life be
A blazing offering
A life that shouts and sings
The greatness of the King

Take my life and let it be
All for you and for your glory
Take my life and let it be yours

The worship in senior camp is awesome. Each day I sing songs I already know and they touch me in a new way. I want nothing more than for my new life to bring glory to God forever.

Computers at Camp

Camp is supposed to be about spending time with new camper friends, old camper friends, and counselors doing activities that expend lots of energy – like rolling down a hill in a giant bubble, riding on a zip line, swimming, or on things like Fight Night – all in the name of Jesus. Of course twice daily chapel and quiet devotional time are essential parts of camp too.

I noticed Lake Ann succumbed, like so many other camps I’m sure, to providing a computer room and WI-FI access in the commons area. During break today, a group of campers collected in the commons area to watch some video on a laptop. About six guys were gathered around the small screen hooting at the funny show. Around the room were laptop bags with the black lifeline connected to the wall outlet.

If a camper doesn’t have a computer, he or she has a cell phone and is flipping through pictures or calling friends. How different from the days when a postcard had to be sent on the first day of camp to be received before you got home. And, here I sit with my own computer…

“Yes Please” and “No Thank You”

Would you like some chicken? Yes please.
Would you like some potatoes? Yes please.
Would you like some peas? No thank you.
Would you like a rice crispy treat? Yes please.

Would you like some spaghetti? Yes please.
Would you like some sauce and meatballs? Yes please.
Would you like some corn? No thank you.
Would you like a breadstick? Yes please.
Would you like some apple crisp? Yes please.

Would you like some lasagna? Yes please.
Would you like some green beans? No thank you.
Would you like some garlic bread? Yes please.
Would you like a brownie? Yes please.

These campers are some of the most polite young people I’ve ever seen. Now, if we could only get them to eat their vegetables.

Chapel #2: Satan Uses Our Mind

Speaker and preacher, Ken Rudolph, talked about how Satan uses our mind to accomplish his work when we allow him to. As only God can do, I had just been contemplating some of the traps I sometimes buy into – pride, power, control, etc. You all know me well enough to know these problems are/were my close companions. Yet I’m beginning to recognize some different thinking patterns. I’m taking instructions and correction from high-school-age kids about exactly how to cut a giant tray of cake, or how to scoop apple crisp. I’m fetching things for anyone who says “go,” and the life guard who yelled at me for going beyond the smiley face while kayaking received an obedient, and unquestioning boat turn around.

It occurred to me that I might have felt otherwise about these orders at another time in my life. I might have thought – but I’m not a camper, I’m an adult…I am quite capable of managing my kayak around the tiny lake. I might have said, “here, you cut these like this,” or “go get me that, please,” or “shouldn’t this be done this way to save energy and money?” But nope, I’m totally giving in to the fact that I don’t have a clue and I’m not sure I want one.

It’s kind of nice, really, to not have any responsibility other than obedience. Just do what I’m told and trust others to know what they’re doing. What if we trusted God in that same way? Totally let go, no worries, just do what he says one task at a time. I know that we’ve all heard these words before but this camp experience is helping me really understand what it means. I guess I show my immaturity by being this honest but…well, I’m sure you saw it before I did. That’s what this year is about right? Breaking down walls – in part, that means being authentic.

The Stand

So I'll stand
With arms high and heart abandoned
In awe of the One who gave it all

So I'll stand
My soul Lord to You surrendered
All I am is Yours

We sang this song in worship tonight before chapel, including a few verses I’d never heard before. This is one song that I can’t help but let the tears flow down my cheeks sometimes. I don’t know if it was Rick’s favorite song, probably not. But it was one of two songs I asked the worship team to sing at his memorial service.

I will never forget what he looked like standing in the sound booth at church with his arms spread wide open as far as they would stretch, his head tilted back, his eyes closed, and the words of the song coming from his lips. He may have even forgotten all about the sound needs of the worship team during this particular song. Total and absolute love and abandon. Sometimes when we sing this song I look back to that sound booth thinking I might get one more glimpse of him there. That picture in my mind. My curly-haired Ricky singing to God with his whole heart. I am so thankful.

Praise and Worship

Praise and worship is my favorite way to be with God. Perhaps I should say that Bible study or prayer or some other discipline is my favorite so that I sound super spiritual. I love those other ways of spending time with God too, but praise and worship – singing and music – are the BEST!

Of course every church conducts praise and worship times differently. On one extreme, some churches sing traditional hymns the numbers of which are posted on a wooden board at both sides of the pulpit - #126, #52, #221. They use an organ to accompany the congregation, only an organ. They don’t clap after the song, and they especially don’t clap during the song.

On the other extreme (as though I’ve been exposed to so many different church worship experiences), some churches sing contemporary songs from the radio. They have a band with electric guitars, drums, and an assortment of other modern musical instruments. They clap and dance and sing according to the moving of the Spirit.

I realize some of the reason for a given approach to praise and worship is related to denominational distinctives. I also realize that everyone connects to God in a different way. I’m just saying the way that I like to commune with God is the latter extreme (or near extreme).

I particularly love songs that talk about touching God in some way – The More I Seek You. I also love songs that make me want to dance – Oh Happy Day. And I love longs that talk about how there is renewal after pain – Your Love Never Fails. What songs do you love?

Fight Night

I think I missed the point of the first Fight Night challenge. Somehow everyone ended up with cream all over their faces and paint all over their bodies. Following an enormous amount and volume of cheering, the participants slurped colored water into a straw and tried to “wash” the cream off either their own teammates or the other teams – it was all so confusing.

All the while, the emcee was doling out points for various oddities. One team got points for making a puddle – don’t ask how. Another team got points for screaming the loudest. I don’t think the emcee really kept track of all those points.

Next came the smallest guy’s turn to put on panty hose. I’m happy to say none of these guys had a clue how to do it right – toe of the stocking first. Once on, and points appropriately (or inappropriately) awarded, each team had to blow up and stuff balloons into the panty hose. More points. Pop all the balloons, more points.

Next came the slime bucket filling thingy. Toss a cup of slimy water into a far away bowl on the top of your teammates head. The first team to fill their bowl wins. More random points awarded even though no one actually filled their bucket. Teams got points for dumping their buckets on their heads and other random acts.

The fire truck sirens blared and all the kids rushed off to the designated matt where they were fire hosed off. Then, a four-way tug-o-war and a little slip and slide.

Way fun! Can’t I be a senior camper too?

The Kitchen

The kitchen at Lake Ann Camp runs like a well-oiled machine with lots of moving parts. I’m learning a lot about the processes and enjoy helping where I can. This morning we ate “pan cake” with apples topped with cinnamon frosting. Yum. For lunch we had chicken patties and crispy fries (no fries for me, pant-pant).

Spaghetti was on the menu for tonight and I heard there would be no silverware with which to eat this spaghetti. Here’s what one participant looked like after successfully completing his first plate full. Sometimes the food would be arranged in a more attractive manner to further entice passersby.

There are dated shelves for leftover food. There is a rotation system for incoming dry goods – pack on the right, draw from the left. Sounds like the four gallons of milk in my refrigerator. Gotta keep track of which is the oldest and drink it first. There’s even a list of things to do when you think you’re “done” to which I frequently refer. You’d be proud of me doing me two least favorite things – cooking and cleaning – and doing them well (I think).

The team I work with has been starting to show me some of the camp claps and chants. They’ve even invited me to “Fight Night.” I’m afraid of what that is but I look forward to finding out…I think.

Connecting Challenges

By the evening of my first day I can see that my challenge will be finding people to connect with. The campers have their camper thing going on and the counselors the counselor thing. No one has a clue who I am nor do they feel burdened to be responsible for my volunteer experience. There are so many campers of all different ages it’s hard to know where to turn. I desperately want to connect with a small group of any age.

I know the burden is on me. I will try hard to connect with some of the staff youth with whom I work in the kitchen. I hope to meet some of the women who are sharing my dorm room. From here perhaps I can find a group with whom I can enjoy camp activities.

And then there was chapel…

I’m sitting in the back row at chapel, a nightly event with different age groups at different times of the evening. Among the counselor introductions, Nathan mentioned that his father passed away two weeks ago and invited people to come talk with him about that. All of the sudden I realized that I’m not letting God orchestrate these connections, but instead I’m trying to be in control. Then I remembered Carissa’s story about devoting herself to full time mission work in Spain. These are two people I needed to meet and thus promptly introduced myself and had short chats with them both. I’ll be back, oh yah…I’ll be back.

After this younger group was done, the senior high kids came in for their service. The worship was a lot of fun, energetic, and helped me recognize God’s presence here. Okay, I can not do this. I can let God open the right doors and highlight the right relationships for me. He can connect me in the places I am most needed or that I need most. Yea, it didn’t take too long to remember that God can do a better job of making connections than I can.

Three-Mile Hike

I had a surprising amount of free time after having settled my things in Sunshine #6 and before returning for dinner duty. As I was leaving the cabin, someone pointed out that the camp just finished a three mile hiking path. Oh, is God good. I was directed to the path’s beginning but found the Frisbee golf course instead. Oh well, it was still in the woods. I followed the course past several “holes” and came to the high ropes course, not in use at the moment. I passed a road and eventually found what I thought was intended to be the hiking path.

Hot and sweaty now, not really dressed for hiking in 90 degree and humid weather, I met up with a very persistent fly. This fly was not letting me get away. I walked faster, swatted harder, waved my arms, hollered, and did all sorts of acrobatics to escape this thing…all to no avail. He preferred to land in my hair and I contemplated letting him stay. At least I’d know where he was and he wouldn’t be otherwise troubling me. But…there’s something creepy about feeling a fly crawl around in your hair.

The fly and I proceeded up and down the path until we came across a horse corral. A band of masked senior level students chased me back to the road and the main lodge for fear of becoming a paint ball target.

I found a somewhat safer (so I thought) spot on a bench to watch some junior level students play a game that had something to do with running while they had underwear (or something like it) wrapped around their ankles. Then…bird poop from above landed on my shirt. Hot and slimy. Okay, so this three-mile hike ended up to be something other than what I expected but the afternoon was still a good one.

Sunrise #6

Just before my kitchen service was done, Chefy informed me that I’d been appointed to Sunrise #6 – the cabin and room in which I would make my home for the next week. Generally the Camp seems to have lots of large lodge-like buildings each with several dorm rooms, and Sunrise is right next to the dining hall. Room #6 is in the lower level and, as Chefy described, houses the women who are not serving as counselors.

Fourteen beds fill this room in the form of seven bunks. I noticed that all the mattresses were covered in plastic wraps, perhaps they thought I might pee my pants after making a red bucket. Really, though, I’m glad the mattresses are covered.

A number of towels were draped across the beds and in various states of the drying process, although I’m not sure how they’ll dry in this damp, breezeless room. I dragged my junk down and claimed a bed near the door, one with an electrical outlet nearby. I can already tell that the fan will be my very best friend this week, right after the DEET.

Make a Red Bucket

One of my first chores following the meal was to “make a red bucket,” which has nothing to do with making pee-pee (sorry, but that’s what it sounds like). The mop room has an elaborate, seven-point set of instructions posted on the wall next to the equipment. I can’t tell you all the steps because they’re top secret…well, I can’t remember them all well enough to write them down.

I do know they involved putting a red bucket in the bottom of a tub, putting a long hose in that bucket, turning the dial to something like soap or detergent and pressing the red button for 4 seconds. THEN, turn the dial to water and press the red button for 20 seconds. Ta-da…I made a red bucket – a bucket full of warm, soapy water.

I’ll report back to the kitchen 20 minutes before the first wave of dinner campers at 5:00.

Later: Ah-ha, I got a secret picture of the seven-step bucket process. Don’t tell.

My First Day

Chefy (Brent) introduced me to Mr. Squishy (trash compactor) and Crusher (box crusher), and the general process for food service. It quickly became apparent that I would like this man. He had a system for everything and emphasized how important those systems were for the smooth function of the kitchen. Yahoo! This is going to be an awesome week.

I was entrusted with a Lake Ann Camp baseball-type cap, brown and ragged and very used, and I was told it was mine until the end of time. Then, an apron of my choosing to be used for the week. Finally, the sacred nametag. I quickly scrawled my name on a crooked slice of paper only to observe the fancy, creative, and colorful ways all the other staff (youth) designed their nametags. Rats, I want a do-over and some crayons.

I began my service by rather clumsily helping as a coordinator of sorts. I don’t remember what the actual job name is but I watched the food lines and made sure each of three had the proper supply for the upcoming camper groups who would file in every quarter hour. Three of us will have this coordinator-like responsibility – Adam, Hannah, and me.

Never Under-Expect from God

Immediately after Rick died I had this calming sense that God would bring happiness and joy back into my life at some time in the future. I just knew it. As My Second Year was opened before me, I found that little by little he was doing just that. Not only was he creating a new kind of happiness and joy but I was totally and completely under-expecting just how good he would be. I don’t deserve it, but I accept his goodness toward me.

As I prepare to leave for Lake Ann Camp this morning, I’m excited about meeting all the new friends. But I’m more excited to see what God will do. As nervous as I am to meet all new people in a place I’ve never been, I trust God. I continue to surprise as he puts the experience together – circumstances, people, needs, abilities. He is so creative, and kind, and loving.

What I look forward to most is how he will use me to help others. Will I listen? Will I be obedient? Will I be bold? Will I love these campers and leaders? The only thing that might hold me back is me. Pray that my expectations of God would not be lowered and that I would have the courage to meet him whenever he calls.

“There is no fear in love; but perfect love drives out all fear, because fear has to do with punishment” (1 John 4:18).

Packing for Lake Ann Camp

Today I realized that I don’t have to go shopping in preparation for Mission Trip #3: Lake Ann Camp. Happy dance!

Most volunteers stay in their own camper, but I’ve been told there will likely be room for me in a cabin with some of the girls. I love that I’m getting the opportunity to serve in the kitchen and that I’ll have the opportunity to interact with the campers on a more personal level too.

Throughout the week I’ve been making a note of the things I might forget: Malaria medication (a residual requirement from having been to Uganda), Bible, sleeping bag and pillow, DEET, cool weather clothes, bathing suit, flashlight, towel, sandals, camera, a watch with an alarm, pajamas, and sun block. I’m thinking I’ll bring a fan too, just in case such a luxury might be useful. I wonder if I could bring my kayak or canoe? I wonder if I could bring my walking shoes? I wonder if I’ll be allowed out of the kitchen at all.

I asked if I needed to bring my own meals and supplies like toilet paper. The man I’ll be working under said, “The toilet paper is on me.” Um…I can arrange for that.

“Before” Friends and “After” Friends

At first I thought I never wanted to have any friends who didn’t know Rick. I didn’t want friends who could not somehow recall that I was married to him, that I loved him, and that he died. I’m not really sure why this was so important to me. Perhaps I thought people who did not remember him could not know me. Perhaps a large part of my identity was now defined by this moment in time.

Thankfully, I still have a lot of friends who have known me for many years and who knew Rick and a little about how we felt about one another. These friends provide a sort of empathy that I occasionally need/want. They express a kind of understanding and compassion at having watched me walk this crazy grief journey. They’re a bit of a link to a time when Rick was still alive, to his memory. These are my “before” friends.

Yet as I walk My Second Year, I’m making a lot of new friends who view me through an entirely different lens. These people never knew me as a married woman; they never knew Rick or my love for him. They didn’t watch me learn of his death, lean into grief during the first year, and they didn’t watch as My Second Year emerged. These people know me as an individual, and they know me with more of the rough edges worn off. These are my “after” friends.

These new friends have little sympathy for my grief. They don’t see me as having once been married and as having lost something quite profound. They take me at face value – no history, no brokenness, just me. They also have little compassion or tolerance for any expression of grief. Don’t misunderstand, I am not saying these are not compassionate friends. I am saying they cannot relate to me in the same way my “before” friends can relate to me.

Today I am so glad that I have both “before” and “after” friends. They provide a kind of balance I didn’t know I would need. They also provide a kind of freedom; a freedom to figure out who I am without losing who I was. I want all my friends to know just how important they are not only for the personal relationship we have but also in this bigger picture of how all these pieces of life fit together…every person matters.

Yard Sale for Uganda

Friday and Saturday - July 2-3.
464 Adaway SE
Ada, MI 49301

Donate your stuff, or buy mine. All the money will benefit ministry work in Uganda.

Summer Camp

I’ve never been to summer camp, although I have been camping in the summer. I wonder how different they really are.

I thought summer camp was all about the kids, the fun, and Jesus (if you go to a Christian camp). From what I remember, they have activities like archery, horseback riding, praise and worship, Bible drills, crafts, postcards, and swimming. Campers meet people from all over the world (or at least the state). They build friendships that make them want to return each year.

The Lake Ann Camp brochure, however, shows the camp as having an AquaGlide Revolution (a giant water thingy), the Screamin’ Eagle (an 800 foot zipline), paintball (which explains the war paint), and a fight night (or maybe this explains the war paint). The “what to bring” section of their website mentions brininging clothes that can be ruined (i.e., extreme fun).

These activities perfectly align with the camp’s value “You Cannot Teach an Unhappy Camper: Fun is not only a key expectation of our campers, it is also fully compatible with everything good and wholesome about our Heavenly Father, the author of every good and perfect gift. We laugh a lot!”

Seriously? This is not the camp I remember hearing about. I’m kinda envious now. I want to be a camper and a volunteer.