Fathers Day

In October two weeks after my Dad passed away we celebrated his Birthday for the first time without him.  The following month it was time to celebrate Thanksgiving without Dad, then Christmas.  For the last eight months there hasn't been a day that I don't think of him.  Today is especially hard because today is Fathers Day.

The day of the year that you celebrate your dad.  When I was growing up, we didn't really make to big of a deal about Father's Day.  My sisters and I would give him some kind of homemade gift, and then we would go to church.  Dad always had this special grin he would give when he felt loved.  I would always see that smile on Father's Day.  When I started working at camp, the best I could do was call him on Fathers Day.  He would always be happy to talk to me and tell me random stories he knew I would enjoy.  When he moved to Florida he would tell me about dolphins and sea turtles.  He was always happy to here from me.  And it was good to talk to him.  I called him many other times throughout the year, but on Fathers Day I could hear that special grin.

When Dad moved back up to Michigan after being diagnosed with cancer, we were able to more things with dad some years we did a cookout, other years we took him out to eat. Some years for one reason or another all of us girls couldn't see dad at the same time.  I would go his place and give him a gift, and he always had to show me what my sisters had brought before me.  He was just so happy.  He told me often he loved me, and there was never a doubt in my mind that he did, but in Fathers Day I could see his love.  I could see his love in his smile.  I could see his love as he told me about his visits with my nieces and nephews.  He was so proud of all of us.  I miss him.  I know that he is proud and still feels loved  by his girls up in Heaven.  Happy Fathers Day Dad!  

Pictured Rocks

From the ages of 14-27 I spent every summer at camp except two.   One of those Summers I went to Africa.  I most likely will share some stories about Africa at some point, but not today.  This is a story about an adventure I had the Summer I stayed home.

That Summer I decided to be "responsible" and take a couple of classes at the local community college to make up for some classes that I had failed.  I also worked a job doing maintenance at college.   It was not a fun Summer. I fumbled through my classes.  I got up every morning and worked my job.  The silver lining was at the end of the summer my friend and I were planning a two week backpacking trip to Pictured Rocks.

The day we left we got a late start.  We had several things to do before leaving town.  I don't really remember what they were, but they were important.  We finally left by late afternoon.  By the time we crossed the Mackinaw Bridge it was starting to get dark.  We found a quiet little campground to spend the night.  In the middle of the night we learned why the campground was so quiet, a train came through the middle about every hour!  Tired and cranky from lack of sleep we got up and headed to the visitors center to check in and reserve our campsites.

Finally we were on our way!  We parked at the trailhead. My friend gracefully put her backpack on. I put my pack on but wasn't quite ready for the weight of a two week pack.  My knees buckled, I tried to catch myself and managed to fall to my knees before falling face forward and landing on my chin.  I hurt everywhere.  My knees hurt, my head was pounding.  I felt the blood.  I tried to get up but it was difficult as I had a 40lb backpack on my back.   For some reason there  was something in my mouth, as I managed to sit up all I could think was "Get thing out of mouth". Meanwhile my friend was appropriately flipping out and trying to help - grabbing her first aid kit. As I began to spit,my  friend says "Why are you spitting blood?"  I finally managed to spit out the object, only to realize it was a part of my tooth.  When I had fallen I managed to bite my tongue hard enough to pierce it with one of my top teeth, chipping it on a bottom tooth.

We went into the bathroom and began cleaning the gravel out of my chin.  I really have to give my friend all the credit here, she did amazing.  She was brave, she was gentle and she cleaned the hole in my chin.  We realized we were far away from any kind of med center or hospital.  We could go home,  we maybe should have, but remember how awful my Summer had been?  This was my one trip, my one bit of happiness before another year of school. We decided to give it one night.

After making a little detour to a gas station to stock up on gauze and Neosporin, we headed into the wilderness.  It was beautiful there were waterfalls, cliffs overlooking the lake, and nature wonderful nature.  That first day we changed my gauze often, and gave me Tylenol every four hours on the dot.  We finally arrived at our campsite in the early evening.  As we walked up to the community fire ring one inebriated woman bluntly stated "You fell forward didn't you?"  So we told the epic tale.  That night when my friend was asleep I realized I was in a lot of pain.  I decided in the morning we would go home.  I fell asleep with the peace that at least I tried.

The next morning I woke up.  I had slept well and my chin didn't really hurt to bad.  It felt like a skinned knee.   There was a still a large "hole" as my friend called it but, I decided I could go on.  So we did.  Our two week hike was filled with great memories.  We met many interesting people, the gauze on my chin always being a great icebreaker. We saw amazing views, and we relaxed. I learned a lot on that trip.  I learned the importance of  keeping a lighter backpack.  I learned more about God by viewing his creation.  I learned how to pray better.  I learned that hotdog are by far my most favorite food.  I learned that with determination and persistence you can do anything.  Most importantly I learned how to be patient and rely on someone else to take care of me, and that I had a friend for life.

The following Spring my friend got married, and I worked at camp again.  I have never again gone on that big of a trip again, but my friend and I have been able to enjoy many smaller weekend trips.  She is my number one hiking pal!  We have taken her kids and my nephews and nieces on trips. We will never forget our trip to Pictured Rocks though and this Summer we plan to go back for a week. I can't wait!

Being bullied

There is a part of my past that most people who know me don't know.  It's hard for me to talk about. I don't really want people to see me as the kid who was bullied.  I just wanted to be accepted then and deep down I think people wouldn't accept me now if they knew. I know that that's not true, but I still have that fear in me.  I guess I should really start from the beginning.

In elementary school I didn't have many friends.  I had one best friend who is still my best friend, but we didn't really play together much.  We spent time at each others houses and went to camp together but we really didn't play to much together at recess. She ended up switching schools in third or fourth grade, and then there really was no one.  I can remember going through spurts of playing with a friend for a period of time, but eventually I would go back to swinging.  I loved swinging. In the winter I would push all the snow away so I wouldn't hit the ground.  I had one swing that was my favorite and I would swing every recess.  Looking back I think it was probably fulfilling my sensory needs from being over stimulated from my ADHD, but if you were to ask me then then I would have probably told you I just like to swing.   When I would swing I would make up stories.  I talked to myself when I made up stories so I probably talked to myself when I sang.  I at least moved my lips.  I still make up stories when I go on hikes and I have to remind myself to keep my mouth closed.  Anyway my point with all that is I was strange.  

In fifth grade I started wearing my brace.  In sixth grade there were two big changes in my life.  The first one was we moved to the junior high building, that had no playground and swings.  The second was that my older sister who was my protector went to high school and rode a different bus.  Sixth grade is also the year where the other girls in my class started to get interested in boys and makeup.  I was immature for my age and still preferred to play with dolls and swing.  In middle school for recess  we had sports teams and would take turns playing the other teams.  If your team wasn't playing you sat and watched the others.  I was and still am horrible at sports and it wasn't fun to me at all.  I honestly can't tell you how I acted, but I am a moody person, and if I don't get breaks from things I don't enjoy ....trainings at work, to many meetings....I turn into an angry bear.  I am sure that I was moody most of the time. Another thing about me is I tend to over react.  I am better at hiding it now, but sometimes at work my coworkers will start laughing at my hand motions and facial expressions when something bugs me.  So here I was this over emotional hormonal teenager that needed sensory outlets an had none.  

I am not sure when the bullying started but I do know it gradually got worse.  I know I got picked on from time to time on the bus in elementary school but my sister would put a stop to it.  As I went through junior high ( middle school) it slowly got worse. By the time eighth grade rolled around it was so bad that I walked home from a bus stop that wasn't mine ( about 3 miles) just so I wouldn't have to endure the hour long bus ride with the bullies.  I can remember it was the worse on the bus, but then slowly it started to migrate to everywhere.  The bullies were mostly boys and I think it just was fun for them to get a reaction out of me ( Like I said before I do overreact, and it can be funny.). Back then however, I was not at point that I could laugh at myself. 

To say the whole class was involved would be an overstatement, but not one class mate stopped it, or helped me through it.  I was alone.  At least I felt alone.  One teacher cared. Just one out of six.  I am forever grateful for that one teacher, but it wasn't enough.  Not then.  I needed more.  Eventually things got so bad that my parents pulled me out of my school halfway through second semester and put me in a new one.  I got picked on there a little bit too, but the biggest difference was I had a small group of friends.  I can still remember boys at the new school teasing me about the way I looked or walked or whatever.  Then my new friends who had not known me for very long, just said " come on let's go away from them, those guys are jerks".  That's it that's all.  I no longer felt like a victim.  I had friends.  They didn't stand up for me, they just told me to ignore them.  That's all I needed.

The summer between my eighth and ninth grade year I started doing a volunteer program at camp.  It made me a different person.  I was encouraged to be myself, and was loved for  uniquely who I am.  

At camp I learned how laugh at myself, how to trust in God, how to lead, how to be a cheerful servant.  Most of all I was loved.  I was loved for who I was.   Camp was my happy place.  Camp was  my safe place.  Every kid needs a place like that.  It doesn't have to be camp.  It can be youth group or 

soccer or drama club or anything.  Every kid needs a place where they can be free.

It was also that summer that I truly forgave those kids who bullied me, and started a long process of healing.  Sometimes it still haunts me though. I still get overly anxious about starting new jobs.  I worry if I will be liked by people. I am self conscious about the way certain clothes will look.  I am writing this mostly for two reasons.  The first is because it's part of helping me heal. The second is much more important.  It's to encourage everyone to be that one teacher who was there, or the kid who told me to ignore the bullies, or be the camp counselor who praises the weird quirky outcasted broken kid to be just who they are.  Be that someone who makes a difference. 

My dad, my inspiration

   When I was 11 years old my dad and I went on our first backpacking trip together.   We knew nothing about backpacking,except that we were sick of the traditional campgrounds and wanted to get into the wilderness.  Our first trip was a disaster.  We found a nice little spot, that turned out to be a porcupine's home. That poor porcupine wasn't happy and yelled at us half the night.  He finally stopped making noise when it started to rain.  Our tents leaked, and we were wet and miserable.   We hiked out the next morning, wet and sandy.  I was freezing cold.  At age 11 I was a scrawny twig... Nothing but legs.  I am sure that the fact that I had no fat whatsoever contributed greatly to my predicament.  We got to my dads pickup and Dad turned on the heat.  As I began to thaw we began to talk about our trip.  We talked about how much fun we had how we could make things better and when we would go again.
    Over the next several years we went on many adventures together.  These were magical times for my dad and I.  We explored Nordhouse Dunes, South Manitou Island, and finally North Manitou Island.  Dad let me be in charge for the most part, I cooked our food, decided where we would camp, and decided what sights we should try and see.  When we hiked we were quiet, as Dad called "walking like Indians". He said we would see more nature that way and he was right.  We saw deer steps away from us.  We saw raccoons, porcupines, Eagles, and Hawks.  My dad taught me so much on those trips.  He taught me about God and how to worship him in creation.  He taught me that although we didn't always enjoy being around people, when we were around them we could enjoy each individual for who they were.  He taught me how to stand on a boat when there are huge waves and not get sea sick.  He taught me that although watching a sunset is great, waking up in time for a sunrise is magical.  I gained so much confidence about myself on those trips, and am so thankful for them.
      My dad and I always had a special bond.  We always have thought simaler.  Dad understood my emotions, which were always a little over the top.  He knew how to cheer me up, when no one else could.  When he died this past October I was besides myself with grief.  The hardest thing was he was always the one who could cheer me up and he wasn't there anymore.  Even the whole four years he had cancer and I had to help him with everything he could tell when I was having a bad emotional day and knew just the right things to say to cheer me up.  He still gave me advice, still encourage me, and still was there for me.  So loosing him was twice as hard, because if I was sad about something Dad could always cheer me up.  Then I was sad because he died and he wasn't there to cheer me up.  As I have thought about I know what my dad would tell me if he saw me crying about him passing away.  He would tell me to find a new river, find a new tree to climb, and to enjoy the life God has given me. Dad enjoyed life, he enjoyed nature and he enjoyed friendships.  Even though he is not here to cheer me up, I can enjoy the things that we enjoyed together and remember all the great adventures he and I had.

My brace

 My most recent post was about how thankful I am that my scoliosis was detected early.  I am thankful every day that I was put in a brace at age 11.  Now I am going to write about some of the things I would rather forget.  My nieces are all starting to grow into wonderful young ladies now, but they are in those years that I think of as "the terrible years" .  You all know the years I am talking about..... Ages 11-15 give or take a few years.  The years you so desperately want to grow up but also deep down wish you weren't to big to cuddle with your mom.
  During those years every emotion is magnified times a hundred, because of hormones, but you don't really understand what hormones even are... You just feel awful.  You want to cry about everything but know full well you are much to grown up to cry.   I try to remember these feelings with my nieces and other young ladies and pray for them.
   My terrible years were also confusing because I also had a brace. My first brace was a Boston brace.  It started at my hips and went to my chest.  It rose a little higher in the back.  People couldn't tell it was there really, but my clothes all had to fit over it so I couldn't wear anything that was not really baggy.   I was already awkward, and I felt even more awkward with my brace.
    The second brace I was put in at age 13 was a Milwaukee brace.  The Milwaukee brace started at my hips and then had metal parts that went all the way to my chin.  There was no hiding the fact that I wore a brace.  Even when I wore a turtle neck the brace could still be seen jutting out through my clothes.   I have never been much for fashion, but during those years when everyone around you thinks what you wear and how you look is what matters I stuck out worse than a sore thumb.
  I once asked a camp counselor why God made me have scoliosis.  I don't even remember who that counselor that was, but I can remember her answer.  She said she didn't know.  She said God is so much bigger than our box we try to put Him in.  She said that she didn't know why I had scoliosis but God has a much bigger plan than right here and right now.  She said that trusting  the God who created everything is hard when we have struggles, but it easy when you try to think about how it would be on your own. She also shared James 1:1-2.  Which I memorized. She also said that some day I might see why scoliosis was a good thing for me.
  Today I can see the good, I work with people with disabilities.  My wearing a brace taught me patience.  I had to wear it 23 hours a day for four and a half years.  I also learned what it like to be judged because of a physical deformity. These things have helped me greatly in caring for the people I serve.  Could God have thought me those things in another way? Yes, he is God, he can do anything. Would I want him to? Absolutely not.  Even though those years were very difficult.  I learned so much and became the person I am today because of them.

How a dumb idea was good

  When I was a second grader I had a great idea to jump out of the barn loft.  It really didn't look to far down, and I was sure that everyone would think that they needed to be my friend if I jumped out.  Who wouldn't want to be friends with an acrobat?  So I jumped..... And I was awesome..... Until I hit the ground.  I somehow landed on my foot wrong.
   I didn't exactly break it, I injured my heal plate.  It hurt something awful.  I went on crutches.  So instead of being the incredible acrobat I had imagined, I got mocked for being a klutz.                        One good thing did come out of my injury though.  I from time to time would have reoccurring pain in my heal.  My mom finally took me to an orthopedic surgeon.  He looked at my heal and discovered my injury was close to the growth plate and that's why the pain would come and go.  As soon as I was done growing the pain would go away too.
    That wasn't the good thing though.... I went to this orthopedic surgeon when I wasn't even eleven years old yet.  He found something else, that was that I have scoliosis.  He diagnosed me two years before the school screening. I had really early detection which allowed me to go into a brace that much earlier.  My scoliosis was progressive and I truly believe that getting into the brace that early was the reason I avoided surgery.  So see my idea to jump out of the barn loft was a great one!

Saying goodbye to my childhood home

Last week I helped my mom pack up the house that I grew up in. She has finally moved and I have had o lot of emotions about it.  It was like saying goodbye to an old friend.
  I have many memories of that old place, but truly I will miss the field more than anything.  I spent just about every day in that old field, walking around the rock pile, walking stick in my hand.   I would pretend I was a great explorer discovering new mountains.  My faithful companion my cat Garfield was always at my side.  In that field I saw my first shooting star and my first moon eclipse.  The field is why I love outdoors, prairie stories, and astronomy.
  It was hard to say good bye, but a nice young couple bought the house and they are expecting their first baby.  Maybe it will be a girl.  Maybe they will get an orange cat and the little girl will learn to love outdoors as much as me.  Or maybe they will have their own great memories in that old house and field.