Summer 2008
Note: this is more of a short story than a blog entry. Take your time with it.
This summer has been one of re-integration; of community, laughter, challenge and great joy. Before I left for Canada I spent three days on the coast reading back through my many journals and speaking with God; going deep into prayer and preparing my mind for the transition back into my own culture. I found that expectations were a central thing; what was I anticipating? What would surprise me and what would not? Because it's twice as shocking and painful when something completely unforeseen comes you're way.

I have seen a contrast in the way I re-entered this year as opposed to 2006. The first time I crashed back into the atmosphere unprepared and plummeting at top speed. I burned up. The second time I came in armed with something unshakable; I had Yahweh as my fortress. I feel like, after six weeks, I came pumped up and "on fire" for God. My faith was an emotion, founded almost entirely on others' reactions and my personal passion and happiness. I struggled to maintain that wavering worldview amid a clamor of other ideas, insults and disappointments. It sort of toppled and left me wondering what it meant to be a disciple. Was this it?

After having lived in the slums for a year, being involved so deeply in real life experience with countless families and friends; after having felt their pain and shared in their victories and danced to their joyous music; after having listened to their stories, witnessed their circumstances and perhaps even come to comprehend the paradoxical contrast of bliss and suffering in which they lived; after all of this I think I was ready to let go of many of my preconceptions and begin to re-construct- with God's help- a concept of what life is all about.

And so I returned, wiser and more reliant on God. My faith was based not others or even myself; at the heart it was rooted deep in the love of God. I had found something so solid that it would outlast the mountains; something so invincible and inexorable that not I or anything else in all creation could even touch it. It was unalterable and indestructible: a faith that had prevailed through the furnaces and the depths, through depression and pride, a trust in God's faithfulness. 'He has seen me through so much,' I reflected on the plane, 'how will he not use this homecoming to let his grace and purpose shine once more?'

A surreal week of forgotten amenities, new old faces, art, media and music was all I had before diving in to work at Camp Chestermere. I felt strangely comfortable about it though, despite the abruptness. What I found cannot be fully described; it was like this land of walking, wise, strong, prayerful, hilarious, loving giants. I rediscovered acceptance and belonging among these Christian brothers. They supported me and I them. In this interdependent environment, we brought out the best creativity and humor and humility and satisfaction that each had to offer. With God as our Captain, we flourished and superceded our individual potentials. As each leader found their element and began surrending to God, things started to shine.

My first few days at camp were overwhelming; I felt in over my head. I was overjoyed to find that someone was willing to step in while I backed into a more laid-back position; until I was told that it would involve dressing up like the Fairy Godmother- tutu, tiara and all- and prancing around as part of a drama. I guess that was kind of like initiation; after that nothing was too daunting. I did go through some anxiety, though- a lot of fear and self doubt- and it struck me how I (Fabio) and a young camper named Justin Fabi seemed to go through very parallel experiences. He suffered from seperation anxiety. Every night he would get this horrible "botomless pit feeling" as he described it quite consciously.

As everyone else was falling asleep, Mike (Tiny) and I would walk him over to get his Rescue Herbs and encourage him to make it through the night. We would pray and tell jokes and analyze what it was that made Justin feel the way he did. "One more night,' Mike would say, 'we're going to make it through this- together." I got the sense that he was speaking to both of us. As the week progressed it was fascinating to see how we each overcame our struggles and found that, in this place, all worries seemed to melt away.
By the time Thursday rolled around we had almost forgotten what Monday was like. I was brought to tears later as I considered how proud Justin's father was when he came to pick him up on Friday; embracing him and congratulating him on his strength and perseverence. It was a beautiful story of restoration; he had made it through- and in style at that (one evening as I was serving supper he whispered in my ear: "Hey, uh, F-Fabio, like, every girl in the camp knows my name." He had the greatest little stutter and ended the statement off, fists clenched, with a giant YESSSSS). I was forced to remember, as well, how proud God was of what I had conquered that week.
One thing I really gained from the Dominican was a more relational and social nature. I engaged people on new levels, becoming involved in issues, strife, questions, traditions and journeys; beginnings and ends. I had found fresh contentness and significance from it as I continually saw how key it was to deeply love God's people; to put them first; to weep when they weep and rejoice when they rejoice. At camp, I felt God continually pushing me to put people first; to take what I had so treasured over that year and apply it here in Canada. I am so grateful for that initial trial and for the decision I made to stick with it; to continue to hope in him.

As the weeks progressed, I found myself in many ways. I was put with the youngest group- five to seven-year-old kids- and loved it. I fed off their energy, rejoiced in their simplicity and rediscovered the childlike joys of younger days. It was incomparably beautiful. We would color and play with toys, jump over volatile volcano sprinklers and share mini-lunches, operating as a unit, often using a rope to walk from place to place. They taught me and impacted me in ways that I am still trying to work out.

In the silence and solitude of my break times, I encountered a new richness in my relationship with God. On an island at the end of the dock- beneath a tree- I would sit down at a picnic table with my journal, the Message Remix and a coffee. 'Show me your glory,' I would often say. 'I want to see you more fully as you really are.' I was blown away by the answer I received; God showed up. I was saturated in his love; he fulfilled and completed me, like just being there in his presence was perfect and enough. I could feel his light shining upon me; his Spirit invading and spreading his life within as I tore down flags of rebellion and allowed him to be King. I would sometimes begin by speaking to God when suddenly his reality would hit like a tidal wave: "Be still and know that I am God."

In the inescapable glory of God I found that I was, first and foremost, loved. God's vitality bloomed inside. I began to see myself, exctiningly, in a larger story- an enwrapping adventure. I saw that I was becoming; that I was being healed and set free and that I must enjoy the process, like an artist throwing paint on a canvas or a gardener delighting in a tree's growth. Yet it was even deeper and more personal than that. It felt at times like reorganizing a huge cluttered mess or untying some complicated knot. God was wildly rearranging, sorting and making sense of my heart; things were being pulled and moved and my task was to trust.

I collided with unspeakable ecstacy bound up at the center of things; Jesus, in whom I find affirmation. I felt like a wanderer who had found the path; a prisoner rescued, a rebel enlightened, a slave unchained. I dwelled in the pervasive peace of Yahweh; a relevance that covers all things. I was sitting across from the Lord of all love, friendship and miracles; I felt a sense of anticipation each time I retreated to pray, like I was embarking on a new adventure. In meeting with him I completed my supreme purpose. This was the most meaninful aspect of camp.
Another highlight was my final week. I felt ready for the responsibility of leading an overnight cabin and was moved in with a group of thirteen-year-old campers. Turns out I wasn't ready, but God was. Oftentimes the most testing weeks are the most rewarding. I felt like as I continued to submit and refused to rely on my own strength- if only out of a total feeling of exhaustion and incapability- God moved me from strength to strength.

I had a really affeminate guy in my cabin named Nathan. He had been through some pretty intense stuff, which I didn't realize at first. I found his random, strange comments and flambuoyant personality to be so irrational; I fought to understand this boy. Much of what he said left me scratching my head or staring off into the distance, confused. I was reading his bluff: he wore this insane mask that people seemed to love in order to cover and avoid deep pain and loss. I got really frustrated and wanted to just be real with him. Christ wanted me to see him through his vision, though, and as my eyes were opened to his situation I simply had compassion on him and loved him without an agenda. I didn't expect things to change in a week- not with what he'd been through. From Sunday right through to Wednesday he would just shut down during devotionals and didn't want to have anything to do with God, but towards the end he expressed God as someone he could trust; someone who saw his innermost thoughts and hurts and loved him no matter what; someone he could talk to about anything. I was overjoyed to see how he had opened up so much.

The next wall I ran into was a guy named Jamie. Somehow he just got on my nerves. His comments should have been easy to shrug off or disregard and perhaps I was just short on patience, but I found him extremely hard to love. He would say little things like: "This sucks" or "You're boring, Fabio" or "When are we going to get off this stupid beach?" or "I could own you at tetherball" or "I could beat you in a race" or "You don't look so tough; imma wrestle you." I got so fed up with it all that I began to avoid him. I left him alone to hang out with his groupies while we chilled to some music and played Risk in the cabin. At one point, though, God stepped in and said: "This isn't good enough." He wanted me to actively love him. I reflected on God's glory; on how he is slow to anger and rich in love. I considered Christ on the cross, forgiving his enemies and removing our punishment. I decided how, coupled with my limited perspective and wisdom, this affects my right to judge or mete out punishment. After all that I was able to take a breath of fresh air and offer my friendship to him.
The third obstacle that came my way made the others look like child's play. I was even forced to wonder at how they had even been difficult at the time. We had this broken fourteen-year-old guy at camp named Aaron. He looked about eighteen and had a hardcore attitude. He had obviously not been raised in any kind of positive environment and it showed. He was full of hurt and contempt. He hated authority. That week Aaron did everything he could to push all the staff members past their breaking points. He mistreated and intimidated the campers; he drastically changed the entire camp dynamic. If we were just focusing on the rules Aaron would have been sent home about ten times. But Sonya (Yoda), our program director, had God's initiatives in mind. She wanted to show Aaron that at camp we did care about him and we were going to put up with his garbage. It was evident that he really didn't have anyone else in his life who gave a rip about him, and we decided to relentlessly love the guy.

Aaron reminded me of the type who tossed me around and tore me up in highschool. He opened old wounds and revealed insecurities I had never really dealt with. One morning at breakfast Aaron sat at my table. It was horrible. He shut down everything that came out of my mouth with a "That's retarded" or "That's gay." He would divert my attention to something happening across the dining hall and then smack me in the back of the head. He poured coffee on my seat when I got up to go to the bathroom and I stained my shorts (I didn't realize until later that day). He just about poured a pitcher full of dirty water and cutlery all over me. I basically just sat there and took it, but inside I was furious. If he made me react, though, he won. I didn't want to give him that. As we cleaned up from breakfast, I was done. I just sat on my bunk and brooded.

During my break I just submitted completely to God. There was nothing I needed more. Something I wrote in my journal caught my eye: "Our God is not an Olympian god. He is Agape. He is sacrifice. He is not detached or disinterested. He does not await the worthy hero who scales his mountain. He marched down- descneded from his lofty temple- with his face like fint, his will firm and unmoving. He poured out his heart; our Champion, our Master, to whom we bow. Our God pursued us, treaded our paths and encountered our trails; sought us like a hunter. Like a lover. He strode valiantly through the valley of death- for us, his joy- and now, in the most intoxicating mystery, we deserve to be in his presence. He holds out his arms in radical invitation; the Adventurer, the Hero, our Paraclete." With God's amazing love at my side, before me and inside me- surrounding me and clothing me- I was able to go way beyond my own potential. I didn't just endure Aaron, I cared about him.

On Thursday afternoon we began to see the most inexplicable, transformation. Aaron actually began being polite. It was the craziest thing. He would run ahead of female staff and open the door for them. He denounced some guys for objectifying girls. He rebuked some complacent campers and told them to show more respect. Everyone had been following him around all week, the cool, hard gangster that he was, and he had been dragging them down. Aaron, once an agent of destruction, actually began turning campers back towards their leaders. Some little five year old approached him later in a squeaky voice and asked: "Could you sign my t-shirt?" Aaron sort of looked at him funny and walked off. Meanwhile, some other kid threw him a football and smiled with eagerness. Aaron threw it back gently, looking more than a little uncomfortable. Just then, the t-shirt kid begged him to sign a second time. Aaron did; he grabbed the marker and scribbled his name on the boy's back. As my brother Eldon (Scrum) later concluded: "The world that week didn't make sense to Aaron. We pumped him so full of love that he actually started being kind to others." I think Aaron himself said something to the effect of: "I'm not used to this whole Not-Being-Mean thing." We hope he keeps coming back.

One last story: that same week I was blessed to have a Colombian refugee in my cabin named Roy. On Sunday I saw his family and just began speaking in Spanish. It was so refreshing; it all just started coming back and I realized how much I missed this awesome language. It's so fun and logical and straightforward. Anyway, his family felt really good about leaving him with someone who could communicate in his heart language. He was very apprehensive the first day; I got the impression he really hadn't been treated well at school and hadn't received a very warm welcome into Canadian culture.

I understood where he was coming from; culturally, emotionally and religiously. On Monday he pulled out this little child Jesus figure, depicting him divinely dressed in golden robes with a crown and scepter, his hands raised in saintly symbols and a glowing halo around his head. "This," he said, "is what protects me. It protected us and rescued us from Colombia; in fact, it's the only reason my ancestors made it through the Black Plague. Jesus of Prada."

Whenever Roy felt afraid or homesick or sad or angry we would speak in Spanish. It was really good for him because he felt unashamed. He could ask questions and express how he truly felt without feeling unashamed at all. In fact, for the first few days, I was the only one he spoke to. It was heart-rending to see, though, how he came out of his shell and opened up, making new friends and finding a place to belong. He encountered acceptance, brotherhood, love and almost unbearable amounts of fun. He got excited about God and began to understand the gospel in its purity and simplicity.On Wednesday night he expressed wanting to start studying the Bible- the way we did in the cabin- with his family. On Thursday he remarked: "I've never had a week like this before in my life." For Roy, it was unforgettable. He had a t-shirt covered in signatures from staff and boys and girls alike, a new Spanish-English Bible the camp gave him, and a mind alight with great memories. This confused, nervous young man had found clarity and restoration; he broke free and was loving it. On Friday morning, his father came to pick him up early around nine-o-clock. "Today is a very special day for us," he said. "Why is that?" I asked. "Today we become Canadian citizens," he replied. This was like icing on the cake. What perfect timing; what a fitting finish. Roy had just finished being ushured in to Canada in an unprecendented way and here it was: congratulations. Welcome to a life of peace. Camp has become for Roy like a second home within a newfound second nation.

It was definitely a "God" summer. We laid down everything at his feet, depended on him, and he did amazing things in and through us. All I can do is give thanks. Now, as I enter into Biblical Studies and Art at Trinity Western University I will have some majestic inspiration to draw on. May I never forsake the divine and interpersonal intimacy that so brightened my summer. All I can do at this point is sit back and thank God.