So It Begins

After the dreary wind and drizzle of the first several days here in Auke Bay, Alaska, it has become unseasonably gorgeous outside.  Right now, I’m sitting in our dining hall in front of the windows that overlook the front beach of Berners Bay.  Breathtaking, snow-capped mountains tower out of the water.  Most of the counselors, having arrived a few days to a few hours ago, are hanging out on the beach, enjoying the sunshine and each other.  Thank God.  I was worried they were never going to say any words on their own.


I’ve been in Alaska for 12 days now, but it somehow feels as if it’s already been a month or more.  Although things have normalized at this point, they got off to sort of an eh start.  Coming back to Echo Ranch after 4 years feels kind of like visiting a house I used to live in.  This place is familiar – sort of – but these people aren’t.  The day after I arrived, I jumped right into the work staff groove, helping out with kitchen prep and cleanup (basically, cutting veggies, making dessert, and washing dishes 230981 times).

The first night I arrived, I was just in a funk.  I took a long walk (with my 3^rd cup of hot tea of the day in hand) around the camp, just exploring, remembering where everything was, talking to Jesus, recounting all the woes.  It was weird and lonely.  And cold.  And I just kept thinking, What the heck am I doing here?  

It wasn’t weird coming out the first time, at that phase in my life.  I was a college student and could just up and leave for the summer, no problem.  I wasn’t really concerned about my family, and I didn’t have a pending relationship back home or at school.  I wasn’t “soul tied”.  Things are so different now.  My relationships with family members have deepened, and I find myself worrying more about how things are going back home.  I think about my potential plans for the fall, feeling uncertain of what the best thing is (and we all know how I do with decision making).

I sat at the top of the zipline platform and whined and sat in all my uncertainty and my junk.  I thought about my World Race training camp, now 19 months ago, when God told Allison Johnston to honor all that we had left to come there.  I didn’t resonate with that then, but I do now.  I thought of Jesus’ disciples, who immediately abandoned everything they were doing and followed Him.  And that made me feel a little better.  I guess I had just thought that abandoning everything physically meant I could abandon it mentally/emotionally as well, and that hasn’t been the case at all.  And then of course I know I’m supposed to just trust Jesus and stop freaking out (the usual), but I don’t really know what that looks like.

I still felt kind of blah after all that, but then I kept going on my walk and saw all my special buildings, like the chapel where I had puppeteered and worshiped Jesus a zillion times, and the house where my “camp mom” lived and made me tea and told me her super crazy and detailed life story and listened to my woes, and the camp store where I would soon purchase some comfy sweatpants.  I went inside a cabin and smelled that signature firewood/stove aroma, and I was immediately transported back to the days of living with campers and attempting to get that dang fire to stay lit.  It was glorious.  And I felt refreshed.

The next couple of days were just a process of my initial social ineptness transforming to mostly social eptness.  I’ve gotten used to this “warming up” process by now and have been cutting myself a lot more slack, as far as not thinking I’m an idiot and stuff.  I started to feel like I was settling in, finding my place.

Counselors started arriving early the following week.  In spite of initial fears of counselor advising failure, I’ve been amazed at the ways I’ve been able to connect with these girls.  Many of their demeanors and life experiences are very similar to mine, both in the past and the present, and God has blessed me with so many opportunities to share some of the vast depths of my wisdom with them.  Ha.  Seriously, though, I hear their stories and think, time and time again, Yep.  I know what you’re saying.  And I’m right there with you now, or I’ve been there before.  And I’m pretty sure it’s going to be okay, because God has a knack for working stuff out.  I’m seeing the evidence of our God, who hand picked all of us out of each of our normal lives and brought us to this place, with all our baggage and failures and quirks and fears.  And, slowly but surely, I am seeing Him make us one body.

He is so good.  And, at least for now, I know I am right where I am supposed to be.

This post is adapted from an e-mail update I send out to friends and family who are interested in my missions experiences.  If you would like to be added to that list, just e-mail me at reagan.taylor88@gmail.com to let me know.

My People

The rain poured heavily outside as we sat cozily inside her kitchen.  A sharp contrast to the cold, dreary, wet outdoors, the room was warm and colorful, rich with an ambiance that simply made you feel at home.  As I relaxed comfortably at the table with my legs propped up on the chair in front of me, my friend spoke of her life’s goings on:  adjusting after transition, learning a new role, and moving into the future.  I soaked in each second, but I’m not sure how well I actually listened.  All I could do was look at my friend and grieve for the time to come – for what would no longer be the same.  Not just for her.  For all of us.

Over the past seven or so years, I’ve acquired a handful of “worlds” that have gifted me with some of my favorite people.  Olivet Nazarene University:  seven girls who went from college floormates, to college roommates, to real life best friends.  Anderson, IN:  people with whom I worked, lived, watched The Bachelor, and learned to be vulnerable.  The World Race:  those traipsed across the planet alongside me, saw me at my best and my worst, and encouraged me to just be.  And then all the “miscellaneous-es” who changed my life along the way.

It had been over a year since I had seen many of them; it felt like both yesterday and forever ago.  It wasn’t that hard to leave.  It was time.  But I also knew I would be coming back to visit “sometime after the Race,” so really, it wasn't like I would be gone for good.

After seemingly countless hours of car time, I finally made the roundtrip across the mid-eastern side of the country to find my people once again.

There has been a great deal of surprise and pain in my life over these last few weeks, and I found myself emotionally whoring myself out to these people, my people, who have deeply known my heart at one time or another.  We had shared stories of failed relationships.  We had held each other during heartache.  We had counseled each other through difficult decisions.  And we had simply listened when answers seemed elusive—an act that was often more significant than the answers themselves.  Confiding in them once again felt simultaneously refreshing and completely exhausting, and the retelling of the trials and tribulations never lessened the pain.  But there was a freedom there.  An affirmation that were meant for community, bearing one another’s burdens, and not navigating life on our own.  There is healing out in the open.  Out in the light.  Maybe it has something to do with being fully known and loved anyway.

Chalk writing on wall by Kylee

It’s times like these when I want to gather those I love into my arms and stick them into my bright blue Gregory Deva 70-liter backpack so I can take them with me wherever I go.  Some of them might have to share sides of the packing cubes, because honestly, I’m running out of compartments.

Who can say that they have even one community where they are always loved, accepted, and treated with utmost grace?

My heart aches with loneliness, loss.  But I know, too, that I can’t walk away without feeling unbelievably blessed.