Yesterday turned out to be quite the day full of surprises. The family got up early and readied ourselves to drive up to Camp Yamhill and crash the camp that happens every labor day weekend called Faith Quest. It’s a gathering of 500 teens and chaperons up in the beautiful forest centered around the simple message of Jesus. It’s not one of those freaky camps they make documentaries about but a genuine and valuable expression of community gathered around a common hope. But to be honest our family was headed up there for the day ’cause there were about thirty or forty people I wanted to hug and we knew we could pawn off my kids on grandma and grandpa who were up there already.

Driving up to the camp was surreal because it was one year ago at this exact moment that I was a keynote speaker engaging in dialog with these kids about Jesus–but what was surreal was to realize how much has changed between now and then–to realize how little was known at this exact moment one year prior. It was a strange feeling.

Within moments of arrival we were overwhelmed with hugs, with love from a community that we only seem to see on Facebook, and it was overwhelmingly glorious. Thank you!

Within the first forty-five minutes I was asked if I would share with the camp some of my story from the last four months. It caught me off guard a bit, but at the same time I realized that it would be the first time in this whole process (at least post surgery) that I’d actually spoken publicly in any format. It felt right and there was no doubt in my mind that I needed to share.

Sitting on stage with my wife three hours later it was cathartic to be able to tell the teens that life sucks sometimes (or rather to claim with the teens the reality that life is effed up. Teenagers know this already don’t they? What person in their right mind wants to go back to being in high school or jr. high?) Like I’ve blogged about I went ahead and asked the question “where’s the hope?” Is there only hope in healing? Can there be hope in death? And we talked candidly for twenty minutes about my God’s promise to transform ashes into beauty, sorrow into joy, crap into something beautiful. The hope is in the story that God is able to tell if we let him in the midst of the good, the bad, and the ugly of life.

I don’t know if any kids heard me or if there was anything to hear, but it was good for me…and I think that’s enough.

Then those stupid kids passed around stupid buckets collected up a couple of thousand of dollars in about ten minutes time to help cover our medical costs. Seriously? What kind of teens have that cash? And why do people keep giving so generously to us? And why do I still hate it? (this is me trying to say thank you…I’m still learning)

Our kids had so much fun and played so well that eventually we just put ’em to be and Jess and I stuck around ’till midnight (long 1.5 hour drive home though!). While the kiddos slept we sang lyrics that made me cry like a baby ’cause I was still thinking a lot about death.

“Blessed be your name when the road is marked with suffering, when there’s pain in the offering blessed be your name.”

“There’s a stirring deep within me, could it be my time has come? When I’ll see my gracious savior face to face when all is done.”

“Wake up O sleeper, rise up from the dead and the light of Christ will shine.”

What an unexpected day filled with surprises. Thank you.