The Annual Post About Writing for Sports Camp

Last year, I was informed that every time I write for Sports Camp, I come away with the same lesson.

This year's skit was no exception. The only difference is, this is the first skit that my main protagonist didn't struggle with an identity crisis that would be resolved within two acts. But true to form, I over-identified with the script. My deuteragonist, Gracie, was paralyzed by fear of failure and disappointing others.

Poor Gracie.

I understand that the nuances of the script will go unnoticed in the shadow of the superhero, Super Summer, and the crazy (dare I say, silly?) antics of his nemesis and his minions. But I still pray that God will use the Sports Camp Drama team and the script to reach to the children participating in Sport Camp.

Every year, I look forward to this week long event. I don't play sports very well and understand little of how to play organized sports. However, it is a blessing to offer the little creativity I have and share it with a group of extremely talented students. I find a certain joyous fulfillment in writing for the Sport Camp Drama Team and working with these talented kids. They amaze me every year with their acting skills and infectious energy. I am not a funny person, and I am definitely not a comedic writer. I'm the dramatic and broody one. However, in the hands of these students (and some very wonderful adults!), the skits are funny, light-hearted, and entertaining.

Working with them throughout the month reminds me of the great days of rehearsals for both drama club and choir. In high school, I lived for choir and drama rehearsals and performances. I don't sing very well and I can't act, but I often found more joy in the backstage work and the process of learning songs than in the actual performances. And throughout the month of July, I get to rekindle that love for the stage with a group of kids.

This year's Sports Camp Drama Team is exceptional. I'm praying for this team; that God will use them in a mighty way. I hope they see this time together as a blessing as much as I have. We have a long week ahead of us, and I know their hard work will pay off. Whatever happens, I hope they will just have fun. And I pray that God will delight in the joy they have in working together.

If I could write for and work with this drama team every day of my life, I would be a happy girl.

Gratitude

It has been a few years since I've written anything for Christmas Eve.

The last time I had written a play for Christmas Eve came around the time I started this blog. And as I look back at what I had shared on my blog then, I realize that my heart is full of that same gratitude today:

It is because of them, I had something offer that was of some significance. I have so much to share and these people were the ones who had lent their voices. Without them, I would be left with my voice full of silence, a heart full of love, and a head full of words.

Thank you, Denise, Bard, Kyle, and Skyler for lending your voices. You have no idea how much you have blessed me this Christmas. Thank you, Juli, for the opportunity to write something for my church family.

And to the wonderful Discovery Worship Team, thank you for letting me play piano with you. It is always a pleasure to be part of the team...you even let me get away with playing piano while hiding behind the curtain. :D

Choosing Tradition

I'm not sure if I am characteristically a traditional person, but as of late, I am fascinated with tradition.

The sociologist part of me could not stop the flooding questions: How do traditions begin? How does one integrate people into their family traditions? What is the process of changing traditions? Why do some traditions stand the test of time and others fade away?

And the very personal part of me had questions of her own, surrounding one basic question: If and when I have a family of my own, how will my holiday and family traditions change?

It's been ten years since I moved to Tacoma. In that process, I have developed my own traditions, a melding of my church family and my own family. I try to honor both families, doing my best to participate and connect with the people that mean the most to me. However, that process has been a long and hard one. I have hurt some feelings whenever I chose one group over the other.

Sometimes those choices don't exclude the other. Thanksgiving, in particular, is one that I am lucky enough to participate with both families--Turkey Bowl with Kristin in the morning, dinner with the Colliers in the afternoon; Thanksgiving dinner with the family in the evening.

My mind has been awhirl over what I think and feel about my life; what is really important to me--including these holiday and family traditions. In whatever way my life changes, one of the things I am looking forward to experiencing is creating family traditions of my own.

Home Churches and Being at Rest

In the short time since my responsibilities at work changed, I grew accustomed to being busy.

There are some things we should just get used to. Leading a busy life shouldn't be one of them.

The ironic thing is, I led a devotion at work about staying still and the struggle not to be busy. As per usual, I struggled with the very thing I shared in front of a large group of people. I've got witnesses now.

Today is my Sunday morning "off"--meaning, I am not leading worship at my church this Sunday morning. I have no responsibilities. Last month, I was at such a loss at having nothing to do that I ended up doing something. This month, I was asked by my pastor to actually rest.

I realized that in order to do so, I would have to physically remove myself from my regular Sunday morning. And when I say "physically remove myself," I mean, I would have to leave town.

To many people, it may seem counterintuitive for me to go to my hometown in times of stress. But when times get really rough, I tend to travel north to my grandparent's home.

They are home to me.

And in a typical Abby-is-stressed-she's-escaping move, I headed to my hometown.

During my drive there, I got a few text messages that tempted me to come back and ignore this command to rest. But I had to keep going despite this deep desire to turn the car around and help where I was needed. That isn't exactly being still with God.

As much as I would miss my church family, I knew I couldn't rest with them this morning. Not yet. I hope I will someday. But for the time being, the temptation to maintain my usual busyness during my typical Sunday morning would be far too strong for me to overcome.

There was only one missing detail in my plan to rest. Although going to church isn't required to rest, I still wanted to go somewhere.

A few weeks ago, I had a conversation with a friend about home churches. And since I couldn't go to my home church where I grew up, I decided to go to visit his. I have my own memories of this particular church, and it wouldn't be the first time this church had served as a sanctuary for me.

I was a bit out of my element, but despite the fact that it was obvious that I was a first time visitor (that's another blog), the church members were very attentive and welcoming. I encountered God in a way that made me miss some of the traditions I had grown up with. I shared communion with a group of strangers that considered me family for that single moment. I met a few new people (yes, I gave them my real name). I drank a cup of extremely hot coffee in their quaint fellowship hall. One of them wanted to adopt me.

It reminded me of the better times at the church I had grown up in. It also reminded me of my current church family before I got used to my life of busyness.

By the time I drove home, I was at peace. Rested. Still. A little more connected than when I woke up. I remembered the God I had forgotten in my time of being busy.

So, thank you, Church in My Hometown that adopted me into their home this Sunday morning. You may not know it, but you helped me rediscover what I thought I had lost. Thank you for letting me rest.

And to my wonderful church family in Tacoma, I missed you this morning. It may take me awhile, but I will try not to let busyness get between us again.

Be still, and know that I am God. I will be exalted among the nations. I will be exalted in all the earth.

--LORD God to David. Psalm 46:10 (ESV)

Walking Joyfully With a Limp

We should walk joyfully with a limp.

--Jon Fredricks

I really wish I had made up this phrase. Excellent job, Pastor Jon.

Today's offering was based on the story in Genesis of Jacob wrestling with God. He demanded a blessing, and instead received a limp and a new name.

I will not be able to give today's sermon justice, and there are so many great lessons that they all couldn't possibly fit into one blog. However, one of the lessons that stayed with me was about Jacob's limp. Jacob/Israel's limp was a reminder that beauty can come from ashes. Weakness doesn't have to mean defeat. We can struggle with God and overcome. We can prevail even if we walk away joyfully with a limp.

A year has passed since I shared my story of my "limp," so to speak. Despite the freedom and blessing I found after sharing the whole truth, I never spoke of it again. I often elude to it in conversation. I keep the story vague, but never get into details.

Yes, I'm hiding.

And so I offered the story. It was still difficult, but it's getting easier. I'm not dancing on rooftops over what I had gone through and what I hope to become--that joy is still yet to be found.

But at least the limp isn't as painful as it used to be.

Growing Pains

I've been sitting in The Coffee Shop for the past hour, looking at a blinking cursor.

I can't seem to create anything at the moment, but I feel like I should.

But all I can offer is a conversation that has been resonating in my head for the past two weeks. This is a conversation I had with one of the amazing children at my church. I have a hard time that I have known these children when they were toddlers. Now, they're growing like weeds, and will probably surpass my height by the time they reach the age 10.

As a running joke, I ask the children if they could stop growing so that I might have a chance to grow up.

And so, the following conversation ensues:

Kid: No! I want to be taller.
Me: So do I! Just wait until I get taller, then you can grow some more.
Kid: It's not my fault that I'm getting taller.
Me: Whose fault is it?
Kid: Nobody's! God wants me to be taller just like he wants you to be short.
Me: Is that how it works?
Kid: Yup. Why do you want to be something different than what God wants you to be?

I didn't have an answer for that. It's amazing what a child can bring to light. Jokes about my height aside, I do struggle with who I am right now and how I keep wishing it was different. It never occurs to me that it might actually be who God wants me to be right now. And my refusal to be content with this reality is where I experience the most painful kinds of strain.

I want to be so much more, but I wonder if this is all that I will ever be. And if it is, would it be enough?

Tripping Over Nothing

Yesterday (Sunday) my church moved into a different movie theater. (Yes, we meet at a movie theater. I love my church!)

The theater space is vastly different than the other movie theater. And so, our Levites (go Levites!) have to construct a stage. I swear that stage is taller than me. But then again, what isn't taller than me? Two year olds are taller than me.

At any rate, on our first Sunday, one of my friends said that they were "placing bets" on two things:

1. Who will fall of the stage first?
2. How long will it take before Abby falls off the stage?

The consensus is three weeks.

I wouldn't bet against them.

Odds are, I'm more likely to trip over a cable than fall off the stage. And then I will look back and see that I had tripped over nothing at all.