The Greatest Stories

“You read and write and sing and experience, thinking that one day these things will build the character you admire to live as. You love and lose and bleed best you can, to the extreme, hoping that one day the world will read you like the poem you want to be.” Charlotte Eriksson

I think I value stories more than other people. I do have a blog called "Stories," after all. Nobody else I know of has a list of there favorite stories saved, on the off chance someone might want to pick one, sit back, and listen.

With that in mind, I'd like to ask for some input. I tried to narrow my ever-growing list of stories into the very best of them. But more than just my personal favorite stories or the ones I most enjoy telling, I want to know which my friends and family like most.

With that said, here's your task, should you so choose it. Below is a list of most of my stories, organized by broad categories. (A few have been strategically omitted for various reasons. Some tales need to be told only at the right time.) I would love for you let me know which of them you like best. If you haven't heard/read any of these stories, or if there are a few unknowns that pique your interest, feel free to mention them as well. My desire is to hone my story-telling, both oral and written, and I want to practice by telling the most compelling and memorable. (For those of you who were forced to listen to my stories during Wednesday night devos the last two years at Camp of the Hills, those are italicized! You're welcome!)

Personal Injury:

Rock to the Head, Snake in the Canoe, The Rope-Swing Incident, The Bike Ramp, The Shopping Cart, Spinal Meningitis, Chain-Link Fence, Downhill Cliff Paddle-Boating, The 4-Wheeler, Christian Zone Roof, Street Luge, B.B. Gun Rambo, Why I Shouldn't Dance, Peanut Butter Skit, NFL Defensive End and the Burnet Emergency Room, Shovel to the Face, Week 3, 2009, Joey New, Kirby Punch Hug,

Girl Stories:

The Proposal, Wedding First Dance, Thai Food Dance, The Hand-Hold, The Cardboard Cut-Out, I Wanna Be, Homecoming 2003, Prom 2002, Prom 2003, Prom-blems (Prom 2004)

the Summer 2006 Camper Letters, the 10 Hour Drive, Painting the House, "Allergies Be Darned!" Crushed Up Crystals, The Accidental Note, Summer 2009 Narrative, Snaturday, First Time Ros and I met Shannon

Faith:

Cambodia 2009, How We Became a Part of St. Ann's, Killagarden, Blake Box,

Gerald’s Mustang,

Miscellaneous Stories:

The Rattle Snake, "I'm Afraid of Bugs!", Drew's First Day at Camp of the Hills, The Ninja Escapades, Week 7 2004, Week 7 2005 Wednesday, Turtle Watch 2004, The Liaison Days, Chiang Mai Night Market, 648, The Pillow Fights of 07, Cave Writings in the Tomb, the Flood of 2007, The Freshman Year Debauchal, Final Day of Camp 2005, The Quandre Experience, Dead Man in a Culligan Truck, The Princess (Skit) Diaries, Halloween Costumes (Aggie Dad, Braveheart, and Leonidas) Waterfall Losses, The Wolf Den Prank War, The Epic Bonfire, Last Day at JM, Wipin' Butt and Gettin' Beaten, Summer 2007 Crucifixions, Why I Hate Hay, The Story of the Vince Dive, Lesser Known Camp Fire, Nalgene Bottle and Explosives, Harlem Shake-Off, Giant Hamster/Pancake Narrative, The Beast, B1/B2 Celtic Games, Cherokee Indian Basketball, Astros Rally Underwear, Bungee Jumping, Obstacle Course, Pocket of Sushi,  I'm a Seoul Man, GATA Formal '09, Journey Air Band, Natural Disasters and Ambulances (Week 1, 2009), Memorial Day Kayaking (The Best Day Ever), CotHiosis Epidemic, Dining Hall Fire, Mono, Kayaking with Rosten and the Kirbys, “Chris fell in the poo,” Tug of War 2012, Winter Wonderland Prank, Toad in the Sidewalk Crack, Pneumonia! You’re my Kryptonite!, Office Depot: Delivering Disaster,

NFL Defensive End and the Burnet Emergency Room

My final night as a counselor at Camp of the Hills was a doozy. I had been working at camp all summer, every summer from 2002 through 2008, and I knew that I didn't have it in me to be in the cabins for another year. I didn't know what the future would hold, though I imagined I'd be doing some sort of behind-the-scenes work at CotH the next summer. In my mind, I needed to go out with a bang.

Each week on our final night of camp, we held a massive camper appreciation banquet, followed by the award ceremony. Each camper earns two awards, and are called forward to receive them and hug all their counselors. They are split into cabins, so the announcers read off the cabin number before going into the awards, giving each cabins' group of counselors the chance to celebrate before their campers' names are called.

First half we were a little short on counselors, so often it was just me and my friend Daniel Tomkins holding down the fort in Cabin B1. Our weekly celebratory move was a flying chest-bump whenever the emcee called out B1. Daniel was smaller than me, so we never really went all out on the chest-bump, for fear of him getting knocked into oblivion. Four weeks of celebrations, and no injuries for either of us.

Second half saw camp gain several new counselors, including Brandon Green. How can I describe him? How about by pointing you to his wikipedia page? Yeah, he definitely used to be an NFL Defensive End. He's a big dude. And he was in B1 with me and another new guy named Travis.

I informed Brandon of how our B1 celebrations went down each week, and he hesitantly agreed to try the chest-bump out with me. When B1 (also known as B-uno) was called on Friday night of Week 5, we ran towards each other, and collided. Much to my surprise and to the enjoyment of the kids watching, I bounced off of his barrel chest like a rag doll. I hit the ground, rolled a little, then jumped up and continued cheering for our cabin.

Week 6 was the same story, only a new chapter. In a kind attempt to repair my broken pride, Brandon offered to chest-bump me again, but this time he would ensure that he was the one who ended up on the ground. He pulled it off with the acting prowess of a champ, and for a brief moment, I stood over a man who had once sacked the quarterback on Monday Night Football.

The chest-bump was put in storage for Week 7, because it was the first and only time I had ever been asked to be the emcee for the awards ceremony. But in the back of my mind, I knew I had one more week to go all out.

I started convincing Brandon early, since I knew it would be a hard sell. "Dude, we should run full speed for our final chest-bump! It'd be awesome!" He was certainly hesitant, most likely because he didn't want to seriously injure me. But by the end of the week, he had reluctantly agreed to the proposition.

The emcees were finishing reading off the girls of G1 when I locked eyes with Brandon, and walked to the other side of the line. One foot on the ground, one on the wall, both hands behind me and ready to push off for maximum velocity. The emcee started to announce our cabin, but looked at Brandon and me ready to sprint, and took a few exaggerated steps out of the way. He spoke into the mic. "Give it up for B1!"

I shoved off the wall and dug in as best I could, scrambling for any extra momentum I could gain in the 25 or so feet before we would collide. Brandon had exploded off the wall, and the terror I felt made me thankful that I never played quarterback. In a matter of seconds, we were both airborne.

It's imperative that for chest-bumps, both parties arch their backs, thus presenting their chests forward for said bumping. As chest-bump experts, both Brandon and I were well aware of this need. We executed this maneuver perfectly, with one slight miscalculation.

When my 180 pound frame came into contact with him, my entire body whiplashed forward. My legs went flailing, the rest of my body flew forward, and my head snapped towards him. The head snapping forward was the bad part. Thankfully, neither of us were concussed when my chin collided with his right cheek, but something definitely gave way.

We were both knocked backward and onto the floor from the collision. We rolled around, a bit then rejoined the hug line, where we were greeted with wide-eyed counselors. Andrew Carman, a former camper of mine and good friend, was standing next to me. I was holding my chin, since it hurt so bad, but he told me to move my hands. He looked at it for a moment and said, "Drew, I can see your chin bone." By this time, I had started to bleed, so I ran to the bathroom to grab some paper towels. There I met Brandon again, who was nursing a large cut on his cheek. I hurriedly apologized, applied damp paper towels to my chin, then ran back to hug our kids.

It was apparent that the wound was not going to close on its own. After my kids had gone through the hug line, I booked it to the nurse's station, where Brandon was already being patched up. By my boss, Derick. And his boss, Mel. And one of Mel's bosses, a board member. Oops.

They chose kindness in that moment, and didn't lecture me on stupidity, though I felt like that would have been well within their rights. Instead they told me, in no uncertain terms, that I was going to the E.R. I protested, because I wanted to enjoy the last night with the kids, but they won out. Brandon and I hopped in his truck, and rolled out to the Burnet County Emergency Room.

It was a surprisingly fun trip. Brandon is a very chill person, and didn't seem that upset with me. Several times we would just look at each other and bust out laughing. Over the next five hours, I would be admitted and receive three stitches, and Brandon would be fixed up with that new-fangled cut-healing glue. We got back to camp long after movie night was over.

That chest-bump was not one of the smarter decisions I've ever been a part of, but to this day I still brag about putting an NFL player in the hospital with one hit.

A Rocker, Cornrows, and a Change of Perspective

Teen Week was always hit or miss for me. I seem to get the best of the best or the worst of the worst. More often I got the problematic kids in the past, but that changed for me Week 6. Five campers came through my cabin that week, and forever changed me.

When they began calling out who was in my cabin, I was nervous. I’d been given the oldest kids. They looked pretty hardened. Tattoos and corn rows. My five were very different. Three from inner city Houston, one who called Oklahoma City home, and one hailing from Waco.

I’m always wary when there’s one kid who doesn’t seem to fit in, and this week that appeared to be J.B. He was the only white kid, and had some pretty severe mental handicaps. He wasn’t able to speak much at all. He was the one from Waco, brought by the Church Under the Bridge, which works heavily with homeless people and the down-and-out.

Then again, James didn’t seem to fit the mold of the prototypical camper either. He was a self-proclaimed “Rocker,” wearing skull and crossbones belt and suspenders, tight jeans, and a black sleeve on his left arm. I could tell this week was going to be interesting, to say the least.

But lo and behold, within the first day or two, James tells us either during or right after a Bible study that while he believes in God and Jesus, he doesn’t really know much about them. That’s why he came to camp, apparently, for the sole purpose of learning more about God.

This is the kind of camper counselors have dreamed about. I felt like I had waited for seven summers to finally be ready for this one week, this one camper. During our chilling in the cabin time, I lent him my Bible, and started him out in Matthew. This kid reads twelve chapters in one sitting, pausing only when he got confused by some of Jesus’ deeper teaching to ask me what it meant.

Interestingly enough, everything he was asking about boiled down to one major point, a point I’m sure Jesus wanted to make clear back then, but also wanted me to share this summer. Questions about getting angry and calling someone bad names, looking at a woman lustfully being as bad as adultery, and most of his other queries boiled down to Jesus wanting more than obedient actions. He wants our hearts to be in the right place. If we have that, obedience and love in action will surely follow.

With J.B., things were more difficult. It took a lot to understand what he was trying to communicate, and he was frustrating at times. But my co-counselors and I were able to work with him, and he had a great heart. What I was most impressed with was how respectful and understanding the four other campers were. Even though he could be embarrassing and immature, they always treated him not only well, but as a friend. It was amazing to watch.

I talked to the two guys who really seemed to look out for him the most (Who happened to be the toughest looking ones in the entire Camp.), Darieon and Ray Ray. I let them know how much we appreciated them looking out for J.B., and both just sorta shrugged their shoulders at me. To them, it wasn’t a big deal to treat someone different kindly. Ray Ray even mentioned that there were similar problems in his family, and went on to talk about how that shaped the way he looked at people.

I was touched.

By the end of the week, I knew something special had happened. I don’t know where those guys are right now, or what they’re doing. But each of them left knowing more about God’s love than they did at the beginning of the summer. And so did I.

Media Monday - Take Me As I Am

Each Monday, this blog will feature a song, video, piece of art, or other type of media that tells part of a story. Sometimes the message will be light and funny, other times it will be deeper and more somber. I may not even fully agree with what is posted. My aim is to present narratives that are worth experiencing, knowing, and discussing.

For today, our media is a song written and performed by musical artist named Lecrae. He brings a Christian message wrapped in a Hip-Hop sound. Check it out below, then I'll explain why I chose it. 

Take Me As I Am - Lecrae

My great love for Christian Hip Hop began years ago at Camp of the Hills. Someone brought Lecrae's debut album, "Real Talk," to camp, and it was an immediate hit with our campers. Maybe that's partially because the summer before, we listened almost exclusively to "The Collection" by Acappella. Nothing against the album, but it wasn't exactly the style of music most of our campers enjoyed best. So when the beat dropped at Camp of the hills, the kids were thrilled.

I didn't take much notice of it for the first few weeks. I had never cultivated the listening skills required to understand rap lyrics that were hurtling toward me at a hundred miles per hour, so I trusted my friends who said they were Christian, was excited for the kids who liked the music, and went on with my life. Until a fateful drive with Craig Maddux (of Turtle Watch 2004 fame) changed everything.

I don't remember the reason he and I were riding together or where we were going. I don't remember most of the topics of conversation. But I do remember that he slipped some Lecrae into his CD player, and I complained about hearing this music all the time at camp.

"You hear it all the time, but do you really listen to it?" he asked.

I admitted that I hadn't listened very well yet, and that the only part of the album I knew was the chorus of "Represent," in which Lecrae yells to represent and get krunk quite a few times. Having heard that story from multiple other people in the past, Craig knew just what to do. He switched tracks to the song linked to above, and took me through it line by line.

As a person who regularly works with people that the church deems "the least of these," songs like this hit home. I greatly appreciate songs that come from the perspective of someone who is struggling with faith God. This is the kind of song that I love to share with the kids at Camp of the Hills, so much so that I incorporated "Take Me As I Am" into my final devotional talk of the week during my first year as Camp Director.

My heart drifts back to this song today because I have the words written in a letter by a friend ringing in my ears today. He is an aspiring poet/song-writer from the Youth Group in Buffalo Gap. (I serve as Youth Intern there.) This young man was sent to jail over the summer for some bad stuff, and recently sent a letter to the Youth Minister, Josh Kirby. He read it to me last night, and I was moved by how much he had grown and matured in just a few short months. He wrote of studying the Bible with other inmates, teaching them a prayer we learned together, and looking forward to seing us again when he gets out in the future. He included a new poem that he found and has been helping him, which I've transcribed below:

More than a Night

Some people see the light and expect a change to happen overnight.
But the real truth is that it doesn't happen that fast, 'cause we first have to deal with our dark, hidden past.
The light only exposes our God-awful sins, and it shows us just how dirty we've been.
It shows all the cheating and hurting we've done, and dealing with our past just isn't fun.
There are so many habits that need to be changed, but God's got a plan that has been prearranged.
So he's sent us a light that shines through his words, and has given us ears so the truth can be heard.
With patience and love he works on us all, by slowing tearing down that sin-built wall.
For some of us it's a week and for others a life, but with God, there's a peace that's gonna end all strife.
So let us all pray that we see the true light, and realize that change will take more than a night.

Since my friend loves Hip Hop, and obviously has a soft spot for lyrics about redemption, I immediately thought of the song I linked to earlier. My hope is that I can find a way to send it to him, so that he can be encouraged by the message of the Kingdom of God being open to anybody, no matter their past. But beyond that, he seems to be connecting with other inmates in ways I could never dream to. Maybe I can get this music into his hands, and more like it, even more people believe that, "even if the world don't see us, we still mean the world to Jesus."

Turtle Watch 2004

This story is one of numerous swimming hole stories that we’ve amassed over the years, but it’s probably my favorite of them all.

First of all, we need to begin with Will Moore’s discovery. Whilst swimming around, my friend Will saw a tiny turtle coming up for air. Soon he had caught it and taken it ashore. No bigger than a fifty-cent piece, it was pretty darn cute. The pool was abuzz with the news of the turtle, and by the time we had our first Cabin Check, everybody was aware that there had been a turtle in the water.

Some speculation followed, and rumors of another turtle were whispered. Most of the counselors were convinced that this was naught but excitement over Willo’s turtle. But the rumors spread nonetheless, and soon even we were scouring the waters for the alleged turtle.

Soon thereafter, we heard a bunch of yelling on the far side of the pool. A counselor had seen a large, black turtle head pop out of the water, and upon being seen, had submerged back into the murky abyss. Now that we had a credible witness to the turtle’s existance, we were on full alert. All eyes scanned the water’s surface in hopes of finding the terrapin.

Every five to ten minutes, a shout would be heard, and a mad rush towards the spot the turtle was last seen would ensue, but each attempt was unsuccessful. Several times the turtle would swim into the foot or leg of a hapless swimmer, causing much flailing, screaming, and splashing, as well as causing the bolder of the counselors, such as Craig Maddux and myself, to dive beneath the brown waters and grope blindly for the turtle, but to no avail. Some of the unscrupulous counselors discovered that pinching a girl counselor’s feet while unseen underwater, would cause just as much panic as the actual reptilian they were mimicking.

Our tactics were not providing the results we wanted. We needed to step up our search. I believe it was Chris Field’s idea to lock our arms and comb the water from one side to the other with a huge, impenetrable line of people. Unfortunately, when the line formed and moved forward, the turtle chose to try to break through in the weakest place, much like a smart Red Rover player. It went straight into a group of linked girls, and the screaming and thrashing that ensued was a sight to behold.

Nobody that I’ve talked to remembers who told the kids to “Do the Turtle Call,” but it became one of the most amazing moments in Camp history. Almost as if they had all been taught that the Turtle Call just like a Cow Call would be “Moo,” or a Sheep Call would be “Baaaa,” all of the kids began to quietly say “Wooooooooooo,” as if imitating a timid and high-toned ghost. It baffled us to no end why they all thought that a Turtle would respond to that specific noise, but soon the counselors were joining in.

Swimtime was coming to an end. Clint Askins was life-guarding, and we were begging him for five more minutes to search out the turtle. Being the classy guy he is, Clint accepted, and granted us the time we so desperately wanted.

That’s when it happened. We saw Craig run and dive into the water. As he stood up, muddy water was running down his body, his arms were raised above his head, and a gleam of triumph was in his smile, for a large turtle was clutched in his hands. The kids rallied to and around him, as did the counselors. We circled the pool in a parade behind Craig and his catch, chanting in an Animal House way, “Turtle! Turtle! Turtle!”

We posed for pictures with it before heading back to the Cabins for showers, each of us knowing in our heart that the day would live on in Camp of the Hills lore, long after that summer had passed. To this day, I consider that to be the most fun swimming time we’ve ever had.

Linking for Thinking - 8/12/12

Every Sunday, I'll be whittling my reading list down to a few links that I found particularly interesting from the past week. Some may be profound/deep thinking articles or news stories, others may be things that fascinate me or made me laugh. Some will be on issues I already agree with, others will be those that have challenged me to think in new ways. If there's anything you think I'd be interested in, or something you think might be worth sharing in this space, feel free to leave it in the comments section, email me at coth.guy@gmail.com, or hit me up on facebook.

For starters, here's some of what I've been reading this week. It's a little sparse, since I've been doing a lot of work with Amanda and my good friends Josh and Deb Kirby preparing for the Buffalo Gap Church's Vacation Bible School. We built a castle. 

Americans want a more equal country (Shared by Davin Haley)
"We asked thousands of people to describe their ideal distribution of wealth, from top to bottom. The vast majority -- rich, poor, GOP and Democrat -- imagined a far more equal nation. Here's why it matters."

Outside Your Comfort Zone (Shared on David Smith's blog)
"Reality is that we move toward what we esteem. The first step is simply to confess that getting out of your comfort zone is a good thing."

Lifehack of the Week
"It may look a little dorky, but placing a cupcake liner over your drink with a hole for a straw will help keep your beverage insect-free."

Camp Counselor Experience (A recent post from Jessica Ragan, an amazing counselor who worked at Camp of the Hills this summer)
"My worries consumed me and consequently, I came in convinced I'd have a less than average time at camp. God proved me so wrong."

The End and the Beginning

I just quit my dream job.

Well, maybe it's not quite that simple.

August 4th, 2012 was my final day as Camp Director of Camp of the Hills. To be fair, I let my boss know that I was going to be ready to move on by the end of the 2012 summer sometime in the spring of 2011, so to characterize yesterday as "quitting" might be a tad dramatic. I had been planning how to transition from my time as Camp Director to my successor ever since I first got the job, since that change-over was less than ideal. When I felt like the end of my time was coming, I started preparing the next person's place.

What I didn't realize was that I was not as prepared for my next steps as I believed myself to be. I had believed that with my extensive experience working in ministry and non-profit settings, that I would have a position waiting lined up for after my last summer at camp. I thought that I would have an apartment set up in Abilene, or maybe even a house and a mortgage to which my wife and I would return.

Yet plans have a funny way of falling through sometimes. The non-profits and churches I talked to are not hiring. Amanda and I let our old apartment go at the end of the spring, since we had lodging for the summer at Camp of the Hills and desired to move into a low-income neighborhood in Abilene. After  some disappointments in trying to buy a house and touring a few undesirable apartments, she and I are still without a permanent place to live. We've planned ahead enough to have some financial cushion while I continue the job hunt and our dear friends the Kirbys have offered us room in their house until we find somewhere more permanent, but my life is certainly not what I expected it to be a few short months ago.

And so, here I sit. Typing on the floor, back to a couch in the Kirby's living room. The thirteen years spent at Camp of the Hills are now in the rear view mirror, as are the thirteen before camp. I can clearly see so much that lies behind me, sprawled out over more than a quarter century. Yet the future is unclear. Where will I go? What will I do? What challenges await? How will the ways I've been shaped by my experiences dictate how I meet the future?

More than anything, I look forward to new stories. I live for stories. Stories of what God has done, is doing, or will do. Stories of friends, family, and people I wish I knew. Stories that spark conversation. Stories that matter. My life has been marked with a plethora of great stories; stories that I need to and want to tell. I should get started.