Back from the Dead

Oh, hi!

Reagan's not dead; she's surely alive...

Suddenly, I get back to the real world, and I forget that maintaining contact with others still matters.  Oops.  Thanks to those of you who have sent the, “Hey, where the heck are you – did you make it out of Alaska alive?” e-mails to remind me to start updating again.

Well, I’ve been back to 2 months.  Since then, I’ve done a significant amount of sleeping and catching up with people I like and meeting new people and getting more involved at my church and a little bit of road tripping.  The usual. 

…….

This is an excerpt from the "Missionary-ish Tales" e-news.  Read the rest here.

The Art of Letting Go

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I walked past the open door, my travel mug refilled, ready to once again plug away at figuring out how the next few months of my life would look after leaving Echo Ranch Bible Camp.

But the outside beckoned me.  Maybe it was You.  I don’t know what it was, but something told me not to go back downstairs, isolated, a slave to the Internet’s grand and varied offers for what my future could look like.

So I went.

This summer, with all my intents and purposes of growing, improving, and letting go, was exactly not that kind of season.  It was a season of holding on.  Holding on to what if?s in a recently ended relationship, projected hopes of a new Christian community, expectations of my stunning performance as a leader, and above all, the confidence that I would know exactly what I would be doing with my life once it was all over.

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I walked past the Purple Bench.  I had originally intended on stopping there.  Maybe sitting down and enjoying the view of… the bath house?  Or maybe just the feeling of sitting in the sun.  But I kept walking.  I didn’t really know why.  Maybe I would go lie down in the middle of the sports field.  Soak up the rays that aren’t easy to come by during a summer in Southeast Alaska.  The path there was a little to the left.

God had called me here.  There haven’t been many times in my life when I could say that with confidence, but I knew it to be true now.  But as the weeks progressed, I watched my expectations crumble before my eyes.  I was a seasoned professional at this.  If any experience should have hammered that truth into my brain, it would have been the Race.  But I thought these were more realistic.  Instead, loneliness seeped in when quality time and vulnerability were scarce.  Feelings of failure abounded when my attempts to fulfill my role fell short. Uncertainty, anxiety, and depression crept up on me as I considered the possibilities and unknowns of my future again… and again… and again.  And, to top it all off, nobody liked feedback. 

I spent the summer being everywhere but here, and I knew it.  I felt like I had already thrown away opportunities to make the most of it, and nothing had even come out of all my fretting about what to do next.  I tossed, turned, and lay in a miserable heap of pity party in my bed one afternoon during the final few weeks, mulling it all over.  I listened to Jesus music and asked Him what heck I was supposed to do next.

And then I saw myself, scrambling around and trying to devise all these plans for what I would do.  But I wasn’t scrambling on the ground.  I was in the palm of a very large hand, and I didn’t even realize it.  I ran from one side of the palm to another, never noticing the fruitlessness of my efforts to do what I thought was best.  Because the hand was attached to Someone.  A wrist, to an arm, to a chest, to a neck to the head… of my Father.  My Father who was watching me run to and fro and sort of smiling knowingly.  As I looked in at myself, my scrambly little body, I thought, “If I were God, I would think that was so ridiculous. Why wouldn't I just trust Him, that He sees everything, and He's holding me, and He's in control? Why wouldn't I just rest, secure in His hand?"

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I turned right.  Why, I really didn’t know, but I didn’t really think about it.  Until I saw it and remembered.  The tiny little camp house referred to as the Love Shack. 

I had frequented this little home during my previous summer here because that is where my “camp mom”, Lyn, had lived.  We had talked together of things that mattered as she mixed together our favorite lemon drink concoction.  She told me her story.  And I marveled at how a woman so formerly broken could now be so full of love, grace, and joy.  

  

So often, my spirit’s response to a gentle Truth that sets it reeling is a simple, “Oh.”

I felt awakened.  Affirmed.  But not yet satisfied.  I knew there was more to trusting Him than just knowing I should do it.  It had to do with knowing Him.  Loving Him.  But what did that really mean, truly loving God with all my heart and soul and mind and strength?  I had seen others live that way.  I had been reading about it recently in one of the many books hailed by my World Race leaders.  I knew God was trustworthy, and I knew I loved Him.  But did I love Him like that?

          

I smiled as I walked up the porch steps and opened the door.  After making sure it was actually vacant, I settled into the couch where Lyn had shared her life with me four years ago.  Glancing around me, I noticed a book on the side table.  The Art of Loving God.  

I read the whole thing.  I cried.  I thanked.  I prayed.

I released.

I'm still processing through these kinds of things.  Intimacy.  Trust.  Love.  But in those still, sweet moments, I knew my Father was reaching down to me -- for me -- and saying, "Here, let Me help you understand a little better."  Maybe the point isn't me knowing all the things or being enough or getting it right or, you know, in control.  Just give. it. up.   (And haven't I already written like 56 blogs about this?)

What about you?  What kinds of things has God helped you understand in the midst of your own Crazy Land?

It is finished.

Echo Ranch’s final camp week of the summer ended on Friday, August 9^th, with 10- to 11-year-old kiddos on tractors bound for the beginning of their 2-mile hike out, waving goodbye to the canoes, the zipline, and everything else.



It was such a good week.  Of course, there were a couple of mishaps with campers not getting along, rolling their eyes instead of following directions, and burying their watches in the sand for safekeeping (and forgetting to mark the spot)…  But, overall, God provided a week for us to really enjoy the kids without trying too hard.



Although I didn’t counsel that week, the Broncos are definitely my favorite age group.  They’re the kids who are still young enough to think you’re awesome and not be embarrassed to open up about their lives and ask all the questions, but they’re old enough to have relatively intelligent conversations and understand the Gospel.  As usual, a few of the kids came to camp with zero/very little church background and no knowledge of Jesus.  One of them, Thomas, was attentive, wide-eyed, and inquisitive after every chapel message.  He absolutely soaked it up.  I honestly don’t know whether he made a decision to trust Jesus by the end of the week, but I can say that boy knew the News was Good.

Another boy struggled with other questions, like how to find “Oppossums” in the Bible.  After a bit of questioning from his counselors, they finally figured out he was talking about Psalms.

While I didn’t get to counsel in a cabin, I did get the opportunity to preach at chapel!  Our weekly message series always (usually) hits on these topics:

1.     Who is God?
2.     What is sin?
3.     Who is Jesus?
4.     Salvation
5.     Community & Evangelism

I spoke on #3, which basically consisted of throwing up a PowerPoint slideshow of about 20 pictures of stories about Jesus – and just talking about them.  It was awesome.  Of course, a lot of the pictures were a little cheesy…







But the kids listened.  And they were amazed.  It’s easy to forget just how incredible each detail of Jesus’ life on earth was until you make yourself a character in the story, imagining you were seeing it with your own eyes.  Seriously, Jesus raised a dead man to life?  He walked on the surface of the sea?  He made the blind see and the lame walk?  Most of us have heard those stories a million times, but our jaws would be dropping if we saw Him doing those kinds of things today.  (Want to know something cool?  That stuff still happens.)

The last picture of my slideshow sermon was of “The Last Supper.”  I asked the kids if they knew the name of the painting.  One of them yelled out “The Mona Lisa!”...  I tried not to laugh too hard.



Echo Ranch’s fulltime staff is entering into a new and exciting season.  Most of their heavy, intentional children’s ministry is focused on the summer camps, but they are seeing more and more that discipleship in the “off” season is absolutely essential.  During the last few weeks of camp, the director met with the counselors and brainstormed about how to "do discipleship" effectively.  Many kids need and desire this kind of spiritual leadership in their lives year-round, not just during the summer.

That’s where I am, too.  I’ve been home for just over a week now, and I am deeply craving discipleship in my own life.  I still don’t know what my next steps are.  Many of the counselors are in the same boat, and the failure to walk off our destination flights with a five-year plan in hand was a source of anxiety for some of us.  In spite of my inability to control every aspect of the future, though, God has been reminding me that my fulfillment will never come from my performance and circumstances, but in knowing and resting in Him.



As you read this and think about the kids and the counselors and the staff and me, please be lifting all of us up to the Father.  Ministry and discipleship, these things aren’t meant to be simply a “season”.   Pray that He opens our eyes to what He is doing and that we recognize His invitation for us to join Him.  Pray that for yourselves.  You won’t regret it.

Thank you all for your support and encouragement this summer.  I’ll keep you posted as God leads me to what He has next!

One Week Left

One week left.

After nine weeks of essentially the same games, the same messages, and the same meals—some of each being really awesome, and some I never want to experience again—looking at week ten before me holds a bittersweet essence.

I love camp, and in many ways, this summer has flown by.  Kids come, get acquainted with the cabins that will function as their families for the next four or five or six days, do all the activities, learn all about Jesus, and leave.  In other ways, each week can’t seem to end soon enough.  Kids throw tantrums because they don’t want to go to chapel or sleep or leave their stick they just found outside, and counselors get cranky because they want to have a moment to themselves or get any sleep or check all their Facebook notifications.



Some of the woes are certainly more legitimate than others.  Throughout the course of the past nine weeks, we’ve seen the effects of the brokenness that pervades much of Southeast Alaska.  Our second senior high camp was the week after the 4th of July.  Unlike the first round of high schoolers, this group was on the younger and less enthused side.  The activities and overall level of participation was a little more chill than usual, but it wasn’t just that.  There seemed to be this darkness that permeated that week.  As each day went on, we kept hearing these kids’ stories.  Stories of abuse and rape and inability to believe anyone could be good or trustworthy.  Stories steeped in a darkness you could feel.  A darkness that had settled over the hearts of these kids.  A darkness that became a hardness to the Truth, an inability to believe in the existence of God, let alone a God who could love them.  Our hearts broke as we listened to them open up, as we shared their stories with each other, as we prayed over them.  Prayed that they would be able to believe in the God who, for whatever reason, allowed these unspeakable things to occur – yet deeply desired to be their Healer.

Some of these kids didn’t have terrible stories.  Many had been campers since they were little, but they had heard the Truth so many times that their hearts became hardened with indifference.  They didn’t care anymore, and a few weren’t even sure that they believed it.

Even some of the counselors could feel this hardness creeping up on themselves.  They were getting tired of hearing the Gospel preached week after week, becoming complacent to this message of a hope they were no longer feeling.

It was that week that many of us started praying new kinds of prayers.  Not just ones for strength or patience or energy.  But prayers against the Enemy himself, who was intent on keeping us from seeing God.



Don’t get me wrong – the Light is present as well, and it’s transforming lives before our eyes.  Some of those kids who hear the message for the first time become captivated by it.  They don’t understand how God could always exist, or why He would choose to give up His Son, or why He loves them when they don’t deserve it…  But they accept it.  And they return home with a joy they have never experienced before.

I met an 11-year-old girl named Mani, who had been adopted from India when she was little.  She arrived at camp with no church background and very little understanding of anything Jesus-related.  But she listened.  And, little by little, it started soaking in.

It was her second attempt at the zipline.  The day before, she had been too scared to jump off the platform at the top.  This time, she remembered that one of the speakers had talked about God protecting us.  So she prayed that He would help her.  And then she jumped.



Marcus, a senior high camper, came from a small island community.  He was a fully-grown kid who was painfully reserved and soft-spoken.  I never saw him smile, and as I took his order at the camp store, I had to lean far over the counter toward him to hear what he was saying.  But as the week went on, his demeanor changed.  His counselor told us that he had accepted Christ, and the rest of us could tell.  He smiled.  Hespoke.  He began a life of walking with authority because he knew he was loved.

There have been hard weeks, but these kinds of stories make it all worth it.  With every struggle, every desert place, there has been opportunity.

Opportunity to hang out with a 13-year-old girl in the Yurt and talk about the way she sees Jesus and herself.  About her fear of not being good enough, in spite of all her efforts.  Opportunity to share about how I’m there too sometimes, but how I’ve discovered that having an actual relationship with Jesus is way better than trying to be perfect, because all our good deeds are like filthy rags to Him anyway, and He still loves us when we miss the mark.

Opportunity on the laser tag field, when one of my girl counselors who’s been sick for three weeks shares about the time she lay in a heap of misery on her bed, and God reminded her that He is her strength.  At a time when my faith had been severely lacking, I got to be encouraged and challenged by hers.

Opportunities to fail again and again and again, so I can realize that it was never about my performance in the first place, but about His power.



As camp draws to a close, please help us pray that we end well.  That God would fill us up for this last group of kids, that the kiddos would be open to what Jesus has to say to them, and that the fire would remain as both campers and counselors head back to real life.

I’ll be hitting “Lower 48” soil on August 27th.  As far as plans for September and beyond, those are in a hazy, unknown state, as usual…  (You can pray for that, too.)

What’s God been doing in your life lately?  Has He been giving you opportunities in places that seem dark?

And how can I pray for you?

The First Half

Well, we’re officially in our fifth week of camp.  Wow.  It’s hard to believe that half of the summer has gone by so quickly.  In five weeks, we’ve seen a group of 7- to 9-year-olds, 11- to 12-year-olds, two groups of middle schoolers, and a group of high schoolers come through.  Each group hikes for about a mile or two around the cove into our little home nestled in the woods, unpacks its bags, and gives itself over to a routine packed with both fun and meaning.

Some may be wondering what a typical day at Echo Ranch Bible Camp looks like, so I’ll try to break it down really quickly.  Meals are typically around 8, 12, and 5:30, and all the time in between is packed with activities that can include canoeing, archery, pedal carts, riding horses, sleeping, ziplining, laser tag, buying goodies at the camp store…  Basically, all the fun things ever.  Counselors (cabin leaders) have the opportunity to meet together every morning for a devotional and feelings-sharing time while their babies play a game outside.  There are chapel sessions in both the morning and the evening, where speakers share the messages on God, sin, Jesus, salvation, and community.

After chapel, counselors lead a devotional with their campers, going over the message and answering their (many) questions about God.  Those are always my favorite times.  I like to drag a mattress off of one of the bunks and put it on the floor of my cabin, in front of all the kids in their bunks.  Together, we break down all kinds of theological conundrums, like Well, if God created everything, then who made Him?  What is the Holy Spirit?  How do we know the Bible is true?  Have people ever seen angels?  Why did Jesus die for us if He never did anything wrong?  How can God be three different things and one thing at the same time?  What will the end of the world be like (and then all the follow-up questions in all their varieties…)  How do you get to Heaven? (One girl was super confused about songs about staircases to Heaven and highways to Hell…)  I. love. it.  There is nothing as beautiful as the faith of a child growing right in front of you.  Especially for the kids who have never heard the stories, clichés, and “Sunday School answers” before.  Especially for those who walk into the week with apathetic ears and out of it with hearts on fire for the first message that ever brought them hope in life.  That’s what we’re here for.  What I’m here for.  What God made us to do.

Equally as rewarding is the time I’ve gotten to spend bonding with the girl counselors.  A few times a week, I wander around camp to check in with them, inviting them to share the celebrations and woes and all the feelings that come with counseling 8-10 kiddos a week.  Sometimes they share other struggles, stories from their past, their dreams for the future, what God is teaching them.  Sometimes I share about my own junk, and sometimes we laugh about how screwed up we all really are, but at least we’re not alone.

A few other things we’ve laughed about over the past few weeks…

• During Bronco (11- and 12-year-olds) Camp, one boy accidentally wet his pants.  When all the other boys in his cabin started laughing at him, one of his counselors ran to the bath house, sprayed water all over his pants, ran back to the cabin, and said, “Look, I accidentally peed my pants too!”  The boys looked at him, incredulous.  “Really?!  Are you serious?”  The counselor responded, “Yeah, you’re not cool unless you’ve peed your pants!”  At that, four more of the boys let theirs run.


• They don’t get many thunderstorms here in Juneau (it has something to do with the mountains or valleys or whatever).  We’ve gotten two or three over the last couple of weeks, which have been the first that some of the kids have ever experienced.  It might as well have been the Apocalypse.  One of the counselors and I stood on the porch of one of the cabins, watching our campers around in the rain like chickens with their heads cut off and scream bloody murder every time they heard a thunder clap.  Exclamations included things like, ‘I heard the lightning!  I saw the thunder!  I thought I was going to die!’


• Every comment from Colt (7- to 9-year-olds) campers (babies) this week.  “I don’t want to dream about unicorns!”  “You know what I forgot to bring?  My magical tree that grows pink crystals!”  And then the wrath that ensued when I asked their counselors if all their babies were present.  Oops.

As we head into the second half of the camp season, please be praying for us, that we will keep going strong.  Many of the staff and counselors are exhausted, sick, and feeling burned out.  Pray for our camp speakers, that they would relay the Truth of the Gospel effectively, and that God would open up the hearts of the campers to receive it.  Pray for the campers, that they would commit to following Jesus, and that they would not lose heart when they return home, regardless of what life looks like for them there.

I love and appreciate you all.  Please let me know if there is any way I can pray for you.

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.

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.

Contact Info!

I'm Here!

 

Family & Friends,

I have arrived at Echo Ranch!  Just wanted to send a quick update to let you know I’m safe and sound in the middle of nowhere.  In fact, I’m so deep in the depths that there is no phone signal, and they will soon be blocking Internet connection to pretty much anything but e-mail because it hogs all the bandwidth.  Good times.

……..

This is an excerpt from the "Missionary-ish Tales" e-news.  Read the rest here.