Arrogance Crumbling: Pine Cove

In East Texas, where the pines are tall and their scent lingers, where the air is humid and the sun hides none of its heat, there is a city called Tyler. Outside of Tyler is a camp that I grew up going to, where kids waterski and ride horses and play basketball and football and learn about God.

Having grown up going there, and knowing some people who had worked there, I had always imagined Pine Cove as this place of severe conservatism. The guy counselors must be clean-shaven, have short hair, can't show tattoos or have earrings; tattoos can't be shown by girl counselors, either, and more than two earrings on an ear is frowned upon. In the morning, we sing songs to America, about how wonderful she is. This is Texas: we love America, and we are conservative.

The notion, however, that Pine Cove was a conservative mecca was very false; even in my first week there, I saw that these people (the vast majority of them) were sincere in their pursuit of God. The notion, though, was completely shattered on a weekend night. It is night and dark, and the road is not wide. Two senior staffers are in the front seat, myself in the back. In an instant, appearing on the dark road, is an unnaturally large raccoon—we slam on the breaks and I yell, "FUCK!"

Haha.

At Pine Cove, I met so many amazing people who pushed me to new heights in love and in grace, in showing people love and grace. There are so many I am not going to name any—but they know who they are, and they know that even the smallest interactions on the skate park or during crud war or writing letters and finding them in your box or crying in an empty cabin or singing the bumblebee song or that damned raccoon or getting ice cream at Andy's or going to Starbucks or destroying campers in ping pong or going to Six Flags months later or roadtripping to Waco listening to Regina Spektor or singing God of Heaven come down—all of this meant so, so much, and I thank you for it.

Someone once told me, "I just know that it doesn't feel good to judge." His words have never rung so clear. At Pine Cove, people showed me this; they lived it. At Pine Cove, I walked into an evangelical camp with a hostile attitude. I was a prick. I told people I didn't have time for them and already had enough friends. It stings me now. Like David says, My sin is ever before me.

Thankfully, God gave me the grace to cool off a couple weeks in, and by the grace of God I was able to learn so many things. Yes, it feels so bad to judge—and why would you? Because you are insecure, and I am insecure. Everyone is a story and everyone just wants to be loved all day long—we are all the same. Everyone is on the same path, trying to answer the same question, so why judge? Most of all, Jesus loves them, and so should I.

With love,
h

Follow Suit: Forgiving Myself

March 2009—the light dances on the river, warping and falling into itself, shining with energetic movement. It is cold. But not too cold—my breath shows like smoke in the air while I watch the ballet of light and water. No one is with me. It is almost one in the morning and no one is in sight.

I do not have my iPod, which is rare; I do not have my phone, which is rarer. I have a book only. I sit on a bench and open the book to the gospel of Matthew, chapter 11, verses 28 through 30. I read the verses over and over again—my eyes scanning the words, then looking up, then scanning again.

In high school, sporadically, I struggled with depression. A few times it got fairly bad—suicidal thoughts, wondering why I'm here at all—late night drives listening to "Round Here" or "A Long December"—smoking cigarettes in an empty parking lot underneath the moon's pale and heatless light.

Still, even now, I feel the effects of night—I usually talk less; I retreat inward, reflecting on the day and on my shortcomings. Just recently, I was in the car with a friend at night—I was almost silent as we drove the dark streets, the snow crunching beneath the wheels. Why aren't you talking? she asked. It's making me nervous, she said. I make an excuse, but fail to tell her that with the beginning of the night the memories are dark and at night I feel most alone.

Finally I saw a counselor, talked to my parent's about it and a mentor and friend. A few weeks after my trip to Nigeria, I saw this counselor. I saw Angie five times. While there, I discovered the root of my depression, the foundation—an inability to cope with my own sin. To people, I said, Yes I am forgiven by Jesus. But to myself I said, You will never be good enough.

At the river, by the moving water, with the book in my hand, I simply chose to realize that if God loves me, I should. I forgave myself.

Though some describe me as a romantic, I was never one for instant changes, for magical moments, for single points in time that alter everything after. And maybe it's a safe thing to assume that doesn't happen, but that night by the river—it did.

I prayed to God over and over, Let me do this, let me accept Your love. I prayed, I forgive myself it is all right I am okay if You say that I am. I prayed and freedom rushed over my body like a river—rushed over my whole being, my soul, my body, my heart. Freedom and a desire to love others because only now was I beginning to see that I am loved deeper than the ocean, and that other people need that love too.

A verse in 1st John says, We love because He first loved us. In my head, I always knew what that was supposed to mean, but only now is its true meaning seeping into my heart.

With love,
h

Alone in the Heartland: Iowa City

Driving west on I-80, the land is flat and gas stations with convenience stores pop up every few miles, with cheap coffee and energy drinks and that aisle with the chips on one side and candy on the other, then hats of the universities nearby—Wisconsin, Illinois, Minnesota, Michigan; you'll get all of those if it's one of the bigger stores.

And then you exit for Iowa City. A curling river divides the city in two, the landscape rising and then falling at the river's banks, not flat like the land off the interstate and not barren but trees growing and old houses with professors. In the winter, the snow everywhere, piled white but gray on the roads and sidewalks and in the alleys, but white on the grass and on the limbs of the tree, white where it is natural for snow to be.

The first month of college is spent trying, very quickly, to find friends—or, people to hang out with. You find people to be with and after another month you shed them, because you found your real friends, and they found their real friends, too. That's how it went for me, mostly, except that instead of looking my friends I watched Alias and fell in love again with Jennifer Garner. Those times weren't joyful—rather, lonely. A fog is cast over the first few months I had in Iowa City—like a hermit, I shunned everyone.

But soon, God worked, as He always does. I met Josh. I met Michael. I met the Monroes and I met people like Tiffany and Jeremy and Joshua. I met these people, or God had us meet, but still it was hard, because I was reluctant, as people are, to open my heart, reluctant to be vulnerable and let people in. But slowly, the Spirit opened me up.

God put me in a church, gave me not friends but family. He stifled the depression that had started to creep in. He gave me a community—and in that community I began to develop, as a seed in soil grows from something small into something very large. I learned so many things about me in this community—ironic, almost, how one must grow in knowledge of self in a community.

I started to let myself go.

And I learned things in Iowa City during the fall of 2008—
-On weekends, I need at least one night without a social event.
-Jennifer Garner holds a good portion of my heart.
-My life can be shit, but it's all right, because God is God.
-After a week of 2-degree weather, 20 is balmy.
-A band from Massachusetts' music is changing not only the way I feel, not only the way I think, but the way I live.
-I like smoking cigarettes with homeless people on Halloween.
-I'm not too hot with the ladies.
-I am where I belong.
-I actually do like supreme pizza.

With love,
h