White Earth 2013

I have never seen so many bugs in my whole life. Black flies, clouds of mosquitos,  canopies of dead gnats on the picnic tables each morning, and at least ten ticks found somewhere on my body every day. And I was camping. With my daughter.

After our nightly ritual of evicting the ant colony and killing the mosquitos inside our little tent, Annabel and I lay down Wednesday night exhausted, sweat adhering me to my sleeping bag. We were at White Earth Indian Reservation for the week. Our days consisted of singing, playing basketball, making crafts, swimming, and talking about (and showing in hugs, and questions, and rough-housing) the love of Creator God with over 50 Ojibwe kids.
.

These are some of my best friends in the whole wide world. 
It's so fun to work with them every year at White Earth!

Tired and a little stressed, Annabel and I lay in our tent listening to the approaching drum roll of distant thunder. Not long into my sweaty slumber, I woke up to the bright strobe of endless cloud lightning and steady, swelling thunder. My tent offered a flimsy defense against the deluge that followed and soon, water pooled in our tent and dripped down onto our faces from above. I grabbed Annabel’s half-soaked sleeping bag and hauled her up onto the air mattress where we slept fitfully the rest of the night.

One of my hopes for Annabel was for her to build friendships
with people from a different culture. I think we succeeded!

In the morning, a bright sun illuminated our soggy tent village and I stumbled toward the tiny rustic cabin that housed half the team, all our supplies, and most importantly, the coffee. I barely noticed that a giant pine had fallen within 5 feet of the largest tent’s front door. So when I walked in, a teammate glibly remarked, “Good news! You’re alive. Bad news… no power.” Which meant no coffee.

I curled up on a chair with my bible and journal and stared blankly at them for a while. I finally wrote, “I am grumpy,” and set both books aside. I tried to pray through the thick mental cloud without success. My incantations seemed worthless. God, this sucks.

As we were leaving for the rec center in Elbow Lake Village that housed our day camp, the power came on. So 30 minutes later, I was nursing a cup of coffee as our team stood in a circle and prayed for the day. Still sulking, I was silent and motionless.

These are the northern lights we saw on our last night.
Our team was ecstatic!

Then, without warning or invitation a cold shiver moved from the top of my spine to the bottom and my brained snapped into sudden focus. My mind began to work again, my body felt electrified, and I began to think about bigger things than my soggy sleeping bag. I thought about the realities of life on the reservation—abuse, addiction, abandonment. And I thought of the softening work God was doing, his love and attentiveness toward these kids. An image materialized in my mind’s eye: a great eagle (contextually appropriate if you ask me) perched on top of the rec center, its wings outstretched to cover the entire building, it’s black eyes glinting, guarding against anything that would threaten those kids. Throughout the day, I could feel God. But I didn’t do anything to make God come. He was just… there.

"Hip-hip-hippopotamus!" Had fun
leading goofy camp songs all week.

I think that’s the tension of working with the Holy Spirit. There’s nothing I can do to make Him be with me. He will not be conjured like a ghost. He’s his own person. Yet we know he loves to be with people and He takes pleasure in our pursuit of him. It’s a fine line to walk. And the bottom of that fine line is that He gains authority and control while I lose it. When I admit that I can’t force the Holy Spirit to do anything, I feel his pleasure and I see his hand at work more clearly.

Those protecting, nurturing eagle’s wings were evident during the week at Hope Camp. The kids seemed softer and more receptive than in years past. A channel to give and receive loved seemed to open in a new way. Also, we were protected from major injuries, though some of our team had strong forebodings before the week started.

A few of our awesome teenage campers. Love these guys!

My favorite personal story comes from one of my “clan” members. A stocky Ojibwe boy with a single lock of hair running down his back, he was distractible and distant, even obstinate all week. I frequently pulled him out of our little "clan" to give him the individual attention he seemed to need. On Friday, we were eating lunch at the table and he opened up to me. "Ya know, I have 2 grandpas and before I was seven one of them died." He stared at the table, visibly emotional. 

"Wow," I said. "That must still feel really sad when you think about that."

"Yeah, it does."

"Do you think I could pray and ask Jesus to help you when you feel sad?"

After we prayed, he looked up somberly and said, "I already feel a little bit better."

He went on to tell me about his dad who also died from a gunshot wound to the head. We talked for awhile and prayed again. Then he looked at me and said, "ya know, you're my best friend… and I'm really going to miss you all year when you're gone."