Camp is for Everyone

       As the months and years go by, I will (sadly) forget a lot of moments from camp. Ten years from now, I won't remember who won the dodgeball tournament during rest hour at XTreme week, or the lyrics to Dino's modified Bruno Mars song, and eventually, the names of my first cabinmates will slip my mind. But there is a moment from my first year as a C.I.T. that I will always remember: it was my second day at camp and I was barely used to my new camp name, "Katnip." I turned 14 a few months before and I had a lot to learn about being a camp counselor (I still do).      
       That morning, everyone gathered in the bottom of Shinn for chapel, and I went to introduce myself to my favorite counselor's cabin. I started chatting with a young girl named *Caitlin (name has been changed). I noticed this girl during flag the night before: her hair was dark brown with blonde highlights that had grown out a good 6 inches and I remembered her big toe peeping out her tennis shoe. We talked for a few minutes about little thing: middle school, her impressions about camp so far, favorite colors, etc., and she never stopped smiling. Caitlin's chocolate-brown eyes sparkled and she had the cutest dimples ever.

       Then, all of the sudden, she started crying. As we hugged, Caitlin told me that her dad had passed away in April after fighting cancer, and her mother abandoned the family when she was little, so her grandmother moved from Mexico to take care of her and her brothers. (She came to camp on a scholarship.) I don't remember exactly what I said to her, but I kept hugging her and I think I told her how I felt when I almost lost my mom a few years back, and after that she felt a lot better. Throughout the rest of the week, Caitlin and I bonded and when Friday night came, she was crying because she didn't want to leave. She thanked me for being her friend and helping her look on the bright side. She said that camp was life changing.

       I will never forget Caitlin or her beautiful smile. I will always admire her strength and courage. That day in the bottom of Shinn, I learned that camp is about so much more than archery and canoeing and cabin lip synchs. Camp is about newfound hope, love, and renewal. I learned that a lot of campers come from broken homes, and more often than not, they are the ones who need camp the most.

{What's up with the extra book?} Book of Mormon explained.

There is a common (and understandable) misunderstanding that Mormons only believe in the Book of Mormon, and disregard the Bible as a gospel truth.

FALSE.

In fact, I spent two years solely studying the Old and New Testaments every morning before school.

In 1842, thirteen "Articles of Faith" were written to summarize our fundamental beliefs. One of them states:

"We believe the Bible to be the word of God as far as it is translated correctly; we also believe the Book of Mormon to be the word of God."

Now, what you really want to know: what's the big deal with the Book of Mormon? What is it?

To put it simple, it is another testament of Jesus Christ. It is an account of Jesus coming to the Americas after His Resurrection in 33 AD. We believe it to be Holy Scripture, similar in form and content to the Bible.

Like the Bible, it contains guidance from God as revealed to prophets and accounts God's dealings with His people in the Americas from approximately 600 BC to 400 AD.

The Book of Mormon's primary purpose is to convince us all that "Jesus it the Christ, the eternal God, manifesting himself unto all nations." It was written to solidify our knowledge of Jesus Christ and His earthly mission.

When Jesus appeared to the Nephites (people of the Americas) soon after He was resurrected, He blessed them and taught them his gospel. He told them,"Arise and come forth unto me, that ye may thrust your hands into my side, and also that ye may feel the prints of the nails in my hands and in my feet, that ye may know that I am the God of Israel, and the God of the whole earth, and have been slain for the sins of the world" -3 Nephi 11:3.

Having read both the Bible and the Book of Mormon, I have felt a strong confirmation that both books are true to the fullest degree. Both books can bring one closer to God, and coming closer to God is such a wonderful gift.

Colorless firewater and analeptic poison

I just came across this poem about the botched surgery that I wrote about a year ago. Enjoy!

Opaque grey light

casts shadows

on her lifeless but respiring

figure on the sterile table,

like a bag full of God

and loose limbs of Jesus

obliquely stitched together.

Demon’s associate staggers

and the deepest dark in the black of his eye

is dilated from colorless firewater

and analeptic poison,

trying to operate with norm.

Her white blood spills

from the deep down botched incision

and stains the lab coat

founded on negligence and delinquency.

She strikes the outward hem of heaven

and rides an aurora of matter-less nothing

before returning  to consciousness.

What does it mean to be Mormon?

A friend recently asked me what a Mormon is. Misinterpreting her question, I simply replied, "It's a religion."

She quickly cut in, "No, no, no. I know that, but what does it mean to be a Mormon?"

Despite there being thousands of ways to answer her question, I was at loss for words. I spat out a few quick things about Mormons being family-oriented, believing in Jesus Christ and God as individual beings, and our assertive feelings regarding life after death.

Since then, I have spent a considerable amount of time reflecting on what being Mormon means to me personally.

To me, it means striving to live a life worth living. By that, I mean aiming to be like Christ, by loving and serving others, walking tall with humility, keeping an eternal perspective, bearing faith through both storms and calm seas, and walking with integrity.

Being Mormon means accepting others for who they are, regardless of race, circumstances, and life decisions.

It means having a desire to learn more about God and His work here on earth, and doing what you can to live it.

Being Mormon means knowing deep down that you're never truly alone. I believe that God knows each of His children (us) individually and personally, and that has given me great comfort in my darkest hours.

Well, that's the Reader's Digest version of what being Mormon means to me. :)

It's finally over. She's home.

My mom flew into Seattle, WA a few hours ago after a long three weeks in St. Louis. She's home. It's finally over. All the worry, stress, doubt, and pain is washing away at last. I feel so at peace with her arrival.

Today, I testify to all of you that God is real. He is present in our lives...if you only look, you will find Him. Miracles exist, sent from His Heavenly hands to ours. I know He watched over and assisted Dr. Lenke throughout the surgery.

God knows each of us individually and eternally; He knows our needs and wants, our hopes and fears. In our weakest moments, He truly carries us and gives us the strength to carry on, even when we feel defeated. While it may not be easy at times, I know that if we apply our firm trust and faith in God, we will never be alone.

If you are ever in need of added strength, courage, or even the energy to live through another day, turn to the Lord and fall into His arms. He will catch and carry you if you put forward whole-hearted trust.

Here's a comforting quote that I absolutely love from Hilary Weeks:

"He knows your heart, He knows your pain, He knows the strength it took just too simply breathe today. He sees the tears that you cry, He knows your soul is aching to know why, He hears your prayers each humble word. When you said you couldn't face another day he understood. He knows the path that you will find. Though you felt alone he's never left your side. He knew there'd be moments when no earthly words could take away your sorrow and no human eyes could see what you're going through. When you've taken your last step and done all that you can do, He will lift your heavy load and carry you."

Camp family and friendship bracelets

      Friendship bracelets are a big deal at camp. They are the best form of "thank you" from campers, a cool secret buddy present from coworkers, and a symbol of camp family love. Friendship bracelets are built one knot at a time. Every once in a while the wrong string is tied or one of the 12 strands snaps, but in the end, they are (almost always) beautifully handcrafted masterpieces. I treasure each one of my friendship bracelets because someone I love put time and effort into making a bracelet, 1 knot at a time, for me.

     Camp family love is like friendship bracelets. Each relationship is built one experience at a time throughout the whole summer, and in order to make it whole, time and devotion is required. No camp friendship is perfect, but they are all special in their own ways and they last way longer than the bracelets on my wrist.

{Hatred Kills the Soul} Misconduct, Drug Abuse, Neurosurgery, and the Ongoing Battle Within

We've all heard stories of tragic mishappenings that feel a lifetime away.

     Blazing flames burn houses and entire towns to ashes.
     Unemployment strikes in the midst of student loans, credit card debts, and medical expenses.
     Life-altering car accidents cause paralysis in an aspiring athlete.
     Husbands are sent overseas to fight gory wars.
     The sting of child loss eternally pains a young mother.

Naturally, our hearts go out to victims in such cases, but it doesn't feel real until experienced first-hand.

This is my mom's story.

This tale starts in the early 80's, when my mom developed severe scoliosis after breaking her hip at age 13. Her body did not exactly heal appropriately, causing curvature of the spine. Things escalated with time, and when I was 7 months old, she had a spinal fusion surgery at Swedish Hospital in Seattle, WA. The procedure went well and she was able to move forward in life.

Despite the high pain levels from the intense curvature above the spinal fusion, everything was fine for nearly 12 years: she was incredibly active and genuinely happy. She home-schooled my siblings and me, trained for a half-marathon, taught Pilates, rock climbed, hiked, and faithfully held volunteer leadership callings in our church.

But, in July 2011, the old hardware in her spine suddenly collapsed, leaving her unable to stand without passing out due to pinched nerves. A few days later, she had an emergency spinal reconstruction surgery to repair the damage before permanent paralysis occurred.

At the time, I thought there were two possible endings to the emergency procedure: one, everything would go smoothly and she'd be up and going in a few month's time. The surgeon, Thomas, said she would be running marathons and rock climbing the summer after her recovery. Or, something tragic would happen and she wouldn't pull through. This second ending almost became reality: during the duration of the first surgery, her heart stopped and they fought to resuscitate her. We were told that she probably wouldn't make it alive, let alone not paralyzed.

To be perfectly honest with you, saying goodbye before she went into the operating room was the hardest thing I've ever done. Words can never express the terror and heart ache I felt that night, knowing life would never be the same, no matter what happened.

Back to the surgery...It did not go as planned.

Thankfully, my mother survived. However, the surgery was incredibly botched. She was confined to a wheelchair for over a year, and suffered from depression with no hope of improvement. She endured more physical pain than she ever thought possible. The rods were implanted in her spine all the way up to her shoulder blade area. Her spine was rotated (twisted), from scoliosis, and the rods were implanted without correcting that rotation. The rods now force her into a painful posture with her spine twisted to the right, while being forced to lean left, and also with a forward lean.  She is unable to stand up straight and severe nerve damage has occurred, causing her to pass out regularly with no prior warnings or signals.

Why, you might ask, did the operation take a turn for the worse? Let me tell you.

The surgeon, Dr. Michael Thomas, botched the surgery due to impairment. After a six month span of misconduct on Thomas' part (which included when my mom underwent surgery), the Yakima Herald Republic released an article titled, State Charges Yakima Surgeon with Misconduct. It states, "State medical regulators have charged a Yakima neurosurgeon with unprofessional conduct for allegedly performing surgery while he was impaired and abusing narcotic painkillers."

Records show that, over a four-month period in 2011, he filled prescriptions for more than 1,200 narcotic pills for himself. (Once again, during the time of my mom's surgery.) Then, from November 2011 to March 2012, the state alleges that he filled prescriptions for over 2,000 narcotic pills.

The Department of Health Board of Osteopathic Medicine and Surgery have also released statements of charges against Thomas. They alleged that Regional, "should have known that Thomas had become impaired yet negligently failed to cancel or restrict his privileges."

In March 2012, Thomas reported to an inpatient treatment center for medical providers with addiction problems, but continued on his downward spiral after completing the outpatient program.

He lost his rights to perform surgery at that hospital for a bit over a year, but has somehow managed to legally practice again. I don't understand how he is still in practice, both for legal and moral reasons. He has botched many surgeries in the last few years and has messed up the lives of many individuals and their families. He clearly hasn't learned his lesson. This man needs to be stopped. Now.

People make bad decisions, and those bad decisions have consequences. The repercussions of one man's string of bad decisions have forever altered my life and my family's lives. He has taken so much away from us, yet he doesn't even know I exist. How is that okay?? It's not.

The anger and hatred I feel towards him is like a large splinter, wedged under layers of skin, left to fester and become infected with time. While time may heal some wounds, it made this one even worse. Once I realized that I didn't want that splinter to become progressively worse, I committed to giving my best efforts to forgive him.

I spent over 2 years fighting: fighting to move on, fighting to move past what he'd done, to let go and have grace. A few months ago, I finally hit the point in my life where I almost felt at peace with his actions. The anger no longer controlled me.

Then, reality hit hard when my mom was scheduled for an extensive, risky reconstructive surgery in St. Louis, Missouri. Another surgery, this time to fix what Thomas screwed up.

All of that anger and hatred and pain shot back in seconds, much worse than it had been in years past. At first, I didn't want to let go of the anger. I didn't want to forgive him and let him get away free, without the punishment he deserved. I wanted to hang on to the pain he placed in my soul, because it was familiar and easier that way.

Today I'm a few baby steps closer to forgiving him than I was yesterday. I am not ready to let it go entirely, but at least my state of mind is starting to shift. I'll admit, it's a constant battle within myself, and right now, as my mom's across the country in surgery, I'm losing. But I know I won't lose forever. I'll get better every day and eventually I'll triumph over this hatred that's been growing inside of me, killing my spirit from the inside-out.

I will win. Someday.

That day may not be today, but it's coming. I know that day is just beyond the horizon because I want it to be there. I'm ready to spread the warmth and peace of forgiveness into the deepest, darkest parts of my soul.

That's my story.

My favorite place

           Picture this: A young woman, wide eyes beaming with fully-charged optimism, drives her Ivory-white, vintage Buick along a half mile dirt road. She passes the hand-painted “Welcome to Camp Dudley” sign that swings back and forth on its rusty hinges and joins the heroic staff of her childhood summer camp. Her thin smile stretches upward and her long-hidden dimples reappear, the weight and worry of her world dissipating instantly.

That young woman is me. I work at a small, 11 acre summer camp situated on the breathtaking shores of Clear Lake. Camp Dudley was my home for eight weeks this summer, and it was, without-a-doubt, the experience of a lifetime. I have never been happier in my life. Everything just felt right: the staff was incredibly welcoming, the campers blossomed, and I loved teaching children of all ages. My soul was truly at peace and I felt in harmony with nature. Rays of heavy sunlight beamed down into our little world by day, and the familiar full moon stood guard in the heart of the sky by night, illuminating its brilliant light off Clear Lake. Looking up at the Heavens, the vivid stars looked like God’s white blood, pinpricked and splattered amongst the vast unknown, dark as the deep in the black of an eye, Demon or Deity. Thick smoke from the crackling campfire floated through the fresh, Cascade air, drifting over streams and stumps.

Camp was literally life-changing. I gained the confidence needed to overcome silent-but-toxic insecurities about myself. My belief in God flourished as I spent many nights in the open forest, gazing in awe at his beautiful, infinite creations. I learned a great ordeal about thinking on my toes, managing my time and energy, and being open, accepting, and charitable to everyone.

            I came to realize that true happiness occurs while in the service of others. At camp, I got to spend countless hours working with young, innocent children who have been guarded from the evils of the world as well as kids who missed out on childhood and were forced to grow up quickly. I loved getting to talk with these campers and give each of them a flicker of hope and love. Camp Dudley has the perfect combination of fun activities, good friends, positive role models, a strong sense of belonging, budding confidence, strengthened group unity and leadership skills, which ultimately offers a true experience of a lifetime. When the campers left at the end of each week, their faces seemed to beam with a pure, joyous light as they entered the starless night beyond camp.

I believe that camp changes lives. It changed mine. Camp, to me, is a Heaven on Earth, and it is a safe zone where I can be truly happy. Camp will always be my second home and favorite place in this world.

A Wondrous Winter Night

-For Grampy

Your bright-eyed little girl perks up

At the sound of your pick-up

dying in the driveway.

She flies out to greet you, as she does daily

At 7:08 sharp.

 

Her fragile arms coil around your sturdy legs,

And you waltz towards your modest palace.

Her frozen bare feet with toenails painted pink

Are planted firmly on your water-stained work boots.

 

You dance in step to the whispers of the sodden wind

As glittery ice crystals descend onto the sparkling asphalt.

 

Together, you huddle by the glowing gas stove,

Wrapped in a chrysalis of patchwork quilts,

Sipping cocoa with a toppling tower of whipped cream

 

You return to the kitchen with empty mugs

And a little girl giddily perched on your shoulders.

You snatch a can of Cherry Pie Filling from the nearly-empty pantry

And a community wooden spoon to devour  it straight from the can.

 

To close the wondrous, at-home evening

You dance as “Twinkle Twinkle, Little Star”

Projects from the plastic Fischer Price record player.

 

When the clock strikes 8 o’clock

You carry her up to bed,

And tuck her safely under the pink covers.

 

You loll her to a peaceful slumber with fairy tale stories

of knights in shining armor, masquerade balls

and happily ever-afters.

 

Despite the winter night beyond the bedroom wall,

Her pure face melts your heart,

keeping you warm for the night.

Radiant, Match-Lit Candles

This summer evening settles down.

Orange smoke from crackling campfire

Floats through the Cascade air.

“Experience of a Lifetime” sign

Swings back and forth on it’s rusty hinges.

Ten o’clock.

 

The campers of Cabin 4 turn from fire’s warmth

And step into the shadows, to their temporary home.

Their faces beam with a pure, joyous light,

Like radiant, match-lit candles entering the starless night.

 

Ecstatic, they run about playing Pterodactyl and Kum-Cha

With best friends made in a day,

Creating memories that will survive eternity.

 

The children eventually settle down in creaky bunk beds

As Noodle lolls them to a solid slumber

With tales of Peter Pan and Cinderella.

 

At last, Camp Dudley comes to rest

In the deep-cast shadow of Kamiakin’s crest.

The familiar full moon stands guard,

Mirrored off Clear Lake.

 

The sky pinpricked God’s white blood

And scattered it amongst the vast unknown,

Dark as the deep in the black of an eye.

 

With sweet dreams of today’s adventures:

Hiking Round Mountain and daring the Leap of Faith,

Campers sleep soundly ‘til morning

When the first bird sings.

{Selfless, Strong, Spiritual, & Stubborn: My Mother}

"A Mother is someone who can take the place of all others, but whose place no one else can take." -Unknown

It's no secret that I love my mom more than anything in this world. She is truly an amazing woman. Words cannot satisfy my adoration for my mom: if I were to search through every block-letter definition in every jam-packed page in every dictionary in the entire universe, I would still be unable to fully express the loving music of my soul.

She is the most selfless, strong, and spiritual person I know. I love her so much. I mentioned this in an earlier post, but she is such a devoted mother. When I was four years-old, she decided to stop her career as a 3rd Grade teacher to home-school my siblings and me, in hopes of giving us the best education possible and help us develop a passion for learning. My mom spent countless hours reading the exciting tales of the Pevensie children in Narnia, Harry's adventures in Rowling's magical world, Nephite-verses-Lamanite battles in the Book of Mormon, and so on, and therefore passing on a great adoration for reading. For that I am incredibly grateful.

My mom's strength never ceases to amaze me. Her last three years have been extremely challenging for her. Since her initial spinal reconstructive surgery in 2011, which took a turn for the worse when the surgeon botched the surgery due to impairment, she has endured more physical pain than she ever thought possible. In the 2011 surgery, rods were implanted in her spine all the way up to her shoulder blade area. Her spine was rotated (twisted), from scoliosis, and the rods were implanted without correcting that rotation. The rods now force her into a painful posture with her spine twisted to the right, while being forced to lean left, and also with a forward lean.  She is unable to stand up straight. Because of this, she was confined to a wheelchair for over a year and has suffered from serious nerve damage that causes her to regularly faint with no prior signals or warnings.

She never gave up hope. She continues to care for our family and love us unconditionally. She still reads my little brother bedtime stories, takes time to make music videos with my sister, and helps me navigate through the craziness of senior year. No matter how much pain she is in, she always puts us first. (Of course, sometimes I wish she would put herself and her needs first, but she's so incredibly stubborn.)

Despite all that's been taken from her physically, I still wake up to her studying the Bible and I walk past her room to see her on her knees praying. I know she has a testimony of God's love and doesn't blame God for her physical challenges, which would be easy to do, given her situation.

Mommy, I want to thank you for being such an inspiration to me in all you do. Thank you for sacrificing your career, countless hours of sleep, energy, and so much more to give Sarah, James, and me the best lives possible. Thank you for planting a desire to love learning in my heart over a decade ago--I KNOW I would not be where I am today without it. Thank you for reading Red Sails to Capri, Narnia, and Ginger Pye to us. Thanks for playing round after round of Rat-a-Tat-Cat, hopscotch, and Birdopoly. Thank you for tucking me into bed every night when I was little, driving me to every soccer, baseball, and basketball practice and going to all my games. Thank you for teaching me the gospel and for being my Primary Chorister and Activity Days Leader. Thanks for letting me have all the sleepovers and for spending countless hours preparing for homeschool co-op. Thank you for being my anchor in times of chaos. Thanks for all you do--I love you so much.

And that's my story.

Bad decisions, not bad people

Over the last several months, I've spent a fair amount of time contemplating my philosophy on "Bad People" verses "Bad Decisions." Although it is not fully developed, my outlook on this topic is definitely maturing with experience and time.

To put it simple, I believe that there are no "bad people", only bad decisions.

I believe that people (yourself and myself included) make mistakes everyday (no one is perfect), and have the opportunity to learn from those mistakes.

I believe that it is not my place to judge, because no matter how much I think I know, I will never know the full story. There will always be pages and chapters and perspectives missing from what I hear or witness. Judging should be left to God, the only person who knows the full scoop on each and every situation. And I thank the Lord everyday that He is merciful, understanding, unconditionally loving, and full of grace, which means even he doesn't judge. Because of Him, there is no such thing as a point of no return.

Here's a quote that I came across and absolutely love:

"Perhaps the greatest charity comes when we are kind to each other, when we don't judge or categorize someone else, when we simply give each other the benefit of the doubt or remain quiet. Charity is accepting someone's weaknesses, differences, and shortcomings." I think this is said perfectly.
It is my job to be loving and accepting. Period. Sometimes people just need time to figure things out and simply being there through the midst of the craziness may be the best thing for them. You could be their saving grace. You never know what your love and kindness might result in down the road. The people with the worst pasts and presents may have the most beautiful futures.

In the Bible, there are many people--prophets and saints included--who make mistakes and head down undesired paths, but return to God in the end. Jacob was a cheater, David had an affair, Peter had a temper, Paul was a murderer, Jonah ran from God, Thomas was a doubter. In today's society, all of these men could be labeled as "bad people," right? I suppose so, yes. However, God's infinite love for his children is sufficient, and His power is made perfect in man's weakness.

In Leviticus 19:18, God says,"Thou shalt not hate thy brother in thine heart. Thou shalt not avenge, nor bear any grudge against the children of thy people, but thou shalt love thy neighbor as thyself."

Well, there you go. Remember that no one is perfect, mistakes are made, it's never too late, and it's your job to show unconditional love.

And that's my story.

Low ropes, blindfolds & this crazy life in general

Growing up, I was always very independent and responsible. I sort of had to be. My mom was always in and out of the hospital, and my dad seemed to be busy doing other things. I, being the oldest child, had to step in where others could not. I eventually fell into a habit of trying to do everything on my own and stressing when I didn't quite measure up to high expectations. I resisted help when it was offered in fear of appearing weak or incapable.

Then , in middle school, I went to summer camp. There, I took the first step in breaking free of my "I don't need help" mindset. For a low ropes activity one sunny afternoon, my peers and I were all blindfolded and taken to a rope that we were told went from one tree to another. She told us to find the end of the rope. After a few minutes of struggle, the ropes director reminded us that we could ask for help if we wanted it--all we needed to do was raise our hands. I, of course, didn't need help. Until several minutes later when I still couldn't find the end of the rope. As I raised my hand, I felt stupid and ashamed. Then the lady came over and took off my blindfold, revealing a large square made from the rope, with the two ends tied tightly together. She then explained that, in many situations throughout life, it is vital that we ask for help, because there are some things we just can't face alone.

While I always remembered that lesson, I didn't fully internalize it until just recently. This summer I learned that many hands make lighter work and a happier, less-stressed out me. Another thing I learned is that help doesn't need to be a physical thing: help can be a text asking for advice or a hug. In fact, sometimes those are the best forms of help a person can ask for.

Now, for the flip-side of things. As evident above, not everyone is comfortable asking for help. Often times, saying, "Let me know if there's anything I can do" is not enough. Sometimes people need you to ask, "What can I do to help?". You may need to take the initiative to be supportive, lend a helping hand where you can, send that "How are you doing?" text and follow up, and so on. Having been on both sides of this scenario, I can promise you that people appreciate the comfort of knowing that you care. Just trust me on this one :)

So here's my challenge to you today: be the friend you wish you had, whether it be during a moment of chaos, heartbreak, stress, or everyday happenings. YOU can make a difference--and help a friend learn that it's okay to not be okay and that's okay to ask for help.

And that's my story.

{Refocus} Stride jumps, spinals and CPR struggles

I've always taken pride in being a hard-worker. If I feel passionate about something or understand the importance of a job well-done, I naturally commit to excellence. If something is expected of me, it will get done, and it will be done well. I've always had the ability to see the bigger picture both in little scenarios and in life as a whole, which helps me stay focused.

One time, however, I wasn't so sure. One chilly, Thursday night last October, these thoughts ran through my head:

You can't do this. This is too hard. Just give up.

After my first Lifeguard Training class, my doubtful sub-conscious convinced my mind of just that. And I almost listened.

Luckily, I didn't listen.

Instead, I told myself, Keep going. Push yourself. You're almost there.

YOU CAN DO THIS.

After the first day of a Lifeguard Training Intensive course, I thought I was done for. I felt like a slug-on-a-rug after completing the basic prerequisites for the class, such as keeping Earl, the eight pound medicine ball (equivalent to a 200-pound man in the pool), above the surface for 60 seconds while treading water, swimming 300 yards without stopping, and swimming 25 yards without coming up for a breath.

Pretty easy, right? At the time, I certainly didn't think so. In fact, I almost gave up. But I pushed through to the end and survived. Barely. At that point I had to ask myself a vitally important question when it came to my lifeguarding potential: do I allow the Earl and freestyle defeat me, or did I choose to commit?

I chose the latter. And I'm so glad I did.

So then what?

I trained. I practiced. I sweat—a lot. I lost my breath and exhausted my muscles. I went to class early every day to swim laps and practice saves. I watched video after video on Lifeguard Techniques.

I did it.

Guess what? No regrets.

And that's my story.

Tidbit of camp magic

Yesterday my summer at Camp Dudley came to a close. It was my first summer on staff, and it was, without-a-doubt, the "experience of a lifetime." I've grown so much in the last 8 weeks as I've learned to think on my toes, manage my time and energy, improvise when things don't go as planned while keeping 100 kids entertained, live in harmony with 28 other staff members, accept and love children unconditionally, no matter how difficult it may be with some, learn to delegate and ask for help when it's needed, take initiative at times and step back as others lead the way in others, and so many other things. I became the jack of all trades as I mastered the art of quickly packing for the overnight camping trip, not spilling milk at breakfast, getting through KP fast enough to still have a rest hour, making age-appropriate lesson plans for the Arts & Crafts Program, keeping 20 little kids safe on the waterfront, and so much more. Needless to say, it was the best learning experience I've had thus far.

Camp this summer was literally life-changing. I gained the confidence needed to overcome silent-but-toxic insecurities about myself. My belief in God flourished as I spent many night in the open forest, gazing into the heavens at his vast, beautiful, infinite creations. I learned a great ordeal about being open, accepting, and charitable to everyone.

Just this last week, I was putting pony beads in a camper's hair during arts & crafts, and we started talking about our love for camp. This 12 year-old girl expressed her gratitude for the opportunity to be there (she was there on scholarship through Catholic Charity Families). She was amazed by how kind and loving and welcoming everyone was. She then explained that had been in the Foster System for four years, and was moving back with her mother a few days after camp, who she hadn't seen or talked to since she was 8 years-old. She was scared to death of facing that transition face-to-face, but she said camp gave her the courage to stand ready. The last thing she said to me was, "It's crazy that 6 days can change your life." Meeting her was definitely a "This-is-why-I'm-here" moment. She's completely right, too: Camp changes lives.

However, Camp isn't just for kids from broken homes. Many children struggle through this vast, vague time of development, and the values practiced at Camp Dudley can give them the needed traction to head the right direction in life. At such a young age, children are incredibly impressionable. Camp Dudley can plant those vital seeds of character, and camp counselors can nurture those seeds and help them blossom to their fullest potential.


I am a firm believer in the power of summer camp and the ripple effects it can have in molding a child's life. Camp Dudley has the perfect combination of fun activities, good friends, positive role models, a strong sense of belonging, budding confidence, strengthened group unity and leadership skills, which ultimately offers a true "experience of a lifetime". I'll say it again: CAMP CHANGES LIVES. It changed mine. Without it, I would not be the person I am today.

And that's my story.