Vanilla Trees and the Spirit Glees

The first thing I learned about camp La Foret in Colorado is that I must smell a tree. Is it vanilla or butterscotch or even root beer, that’s up to the nose of the beholder. To me, it was like a sweet cream soda. The ponderosa pines have rich terpenes in their sap that produce those yummy aromas. I believe these sweet smelling pines are symbolic of the other tall powerful trees that breathe life into camp - the counselors and staff. Every staff member embodied what it means to love kindness, do justice, and walk humbly with God this week at camp. 

The directors, Katie Jo, Rachel, and Laura were strong and inclusive leaders. They communicated with us the specific needs of the campers, and we had conversations of how to ensure everyone feels welcomed and a part of the team. They earnestly cared about our well being, everyday at staff meetings they would check in on us using metaphors “what's your emotional weather forecast today, what movie represents how you’re doing, what meal would your feelings be, how is your mind body and soul doing?” At one point during the week I had personal conversations with each of them, and I always left feeling joyful about our connections. 

The chaplains, Munsty and Kaitlyn, provided wonderful spiritual guidance. Munsty gave a keynote every morning that engaged the campers with the scripture and a sense of social equity & justice. Kaitlyn, having grown up at La Foret, was able to pass down sacred traditions. Both of them connected with campers who had mental health challenges, and those who were inquisitive about God or theology. Additionally, they both offered me words of wisdom as I continue to discern a call to ministry, I’m so grateful for their support. 

The counselors, Brandon, Val, Ella, Jeremy, and Todd were instrumental to the day-to-day operations of camp. All of us brought something unique to the table that added to the rainbow of our staff strengths. Brandon is amazing at offering a communion meditation, he’s radically inclusive and can spark a conversation with anyone. Val is a ball of energy, she brings joy and awesome dance moves to the frolic. Ella, a past Peace Intern, brings wisdom of the spirit and justice, she handled challenging theological conversations with grace and love. Jeremy is so flexible, he brought his sense of humour and a 3D printer which made us all keychains. Todd is reliable, the campers know and love him, and he is always down to jump in the pool. As for me, I think I brought a passion for peacebuilding and cool makeup looks. 

Every single camper, from Junior, Chi-Rho, and CYF all displayed a spirit of amity during my workshops. This being my first camp, I was nervous for how the response would be. But every group exceeded my expectations with their engagement and enthusiasm. From 8 years old to 18 years old, the campers gave incredible insights to how they view peace. In Junior camp they identified peace as stopping fighting and wars, and understanding people past their differences. Chi-Rho campers named traits that humans should embody in order to create and sustain peace, like: kindness, curiosity, empathy, and patience. High schoolers recognized how systems and structures can improve our quality of life and bring peace to society, like: free education, accessible healthcare, and rehabilitation services. 

Overall what I learned at my first camp, La Foret, is something that I think will be a universal truth at every camp - it's about the people. I thank God for surrounding me with people who are as sweet as those ponderosa pines. 

Second week summary: Living as a Christian in this world of uncertainty

Hello, hello!

I hope you are all doing well. Whoever has read this post and supports the Peace Intern program, thank you for your prayers and support; I have come this far because of all your kind support and prayers. I am having a great time.

YoungJae with Rev. Ali Miguel, (she/her). We had paint on our faces! That was a part of the fun storytelling that Zack, one of the Chi Rho counselors, performs. He is a great storyteller and a talented, passionate counsellor.


Now, I am almost through my second week at Camp Christian, located near Magnetic Springs in Columbus. As a Peace Intern, I had the opportunity to be there and spend a week with campers, sharing a three-session series of activities that invited them to raise questions about their faith, their relationships with their neighbors, and what they could raise their voices about those who were erased. I was deeply grateful to be there and to see people voluntarily participate in the workshops, often giving up their free time. Even though they could have chosen to go fishing, take a nap, or enjoy other activities, they decided to join the workshops instead. That is no small thing! I am very thankful to all the campers who attended, participated, shared their thoughts, and had fun together. I am also grateful to the thoughtful counselors and leadership team who helped make the workshops possible.

Camp is a very special place. Some people arrive already knowing one another, while some do not. During the week, they sleep, eat, learn, laugh, and sometimes even get into trouble together. Through this, they build their own sense of community and solidarity. They discover that they are all children of God and that they are loved as they are. By the end of the week, when everyone gathers for the final circle and prepares to leave, many already find themselves longing for the place they are about to leave behind. Friends they have known for only seven days can feel like people they have known for years.

Another reason camp is so special is that it teaches us that everyone belongs. In a world filled with uncertainty. And sometimes with too much certainty, where the idea of the other disappears. Discrimination and exclusion could be easily found and shape their lives. Sometimes classmates are not friends, and people are constantly pushed into comparison and competition in this world of self-exploitation. I am glad to see that there are still camps for them and to let them know they are not alone. Who arrives at the camp with fear and uncertainty about graduating high school soon, and does not know what to do with closed doors, the camp helps them to remind them. A world that pursues narrow norms and reduces people to numbers, making them feel as though they only matter to live up to social standards, far from there, they learned again, actually, they are capable of loving others, and they are enough to be themselves. Yes, camp is a special place.

What is the meaning of living as a Christian in this world that it sometimes seems like all our efforts are meaningless, and that makes us feel that there isn’t anything that can change, and we can’t do anything? That must be very disappointing and frustrating. However, perhaps that is exactly what the world wants to force us to believe. We know, people are more than numbers, and we are still seeking hope; we still care for each other, sharing one communion, one cup, one bread, one body of Christ. It might look the same, but when the campers arrive at their place after the camp, the place will be quite the same. They will find the same cups on the same cupboards, and all they remember may look the same. However, the feeling that they are loved, and that they met new people who might look different, but who would be friends in their hearts. Belief is irreversible, and love is active. Just as the movement of a butterfly's wings can change the course of events, so can human beings. That is where the kingdom is coming; it is already happening. There is something happening, like a mustard seed breaking through hard soil and sending their sprout. There is something that can never go back to the way it was before. That is making us still as Christians, in these days. Tonight, I am praying for all Christians who are serving in their own places, carrying out their callings, making peace, and advocating for peace in their own ways. As we are many, our missions and vocations vary, reflecting the beautiful diversity of the Body of Christ. Rooting for you all, may God strengthen and guide you and in your workplace, until the kingdom comes.



Meet 2026 Peace Intern, YoungJae Lee, with a summary of their first week at Camp Walter Scott!

Hello, there!

I am YoungJae Lee, one of the Peace Interns this summer of 2026. My country of origin is South Korea, and I am currently staying and studying in my second year of the M.Div. program at Montreal Diocesan College and McGill University in Montreal, Canada. This is my very first time visiting the Midwest of the United States! And it is even more special because now I am working as a Peace Intern. 

This is me - I took it at Allisonville Christian Church. 

During our first week, we met many amazing and thoughtful people. The guest house in Allisonville was a place to be our home for a week, to get to know each other better, to learn deeply about DoC's mission, and to meet people working in their fields with their very special and different ministry talents. And now, I am at Camp Walter Scott, writing this introduction and first-week summary.

The Camp Walter Scott is an iconic place where God’s kingdom comes to life and welcomes campers as they are. This friendly camp, located in Effingham, Illinois, invites campers to the experience of beautiful nature. With campers, counsellors, and my good friend Deveraux (he is another Peace Intern!), we are having time sharing our thoughts, having workshops, organizing our own worship vesper service, sharing sermons, kayaking, and seeing... goats!

Yes. They have goats and goats trading cards. Camp Walter Scott is known for pursuing sustainable practices in running a camp. And these goats are living in this forest. Not only are they cute and provide emotional support to campers, but they also help with eco-friendly weed removal. Also, they still aim to reduce fossil fuel use for a more sustainable camp; they have changed all their facilities to be electric-centred, except for the kitchen, and have had solar panels since 2023 for geothermal heating and cooling.

Eco-friendliness is not only their strength, but also their food! They always offer many green choices, along with a variety of options of sauces or dressings, which makes some campers not want to have vegetables but also want to try them. I think this shows just how good camp food can be when it's done right. To me, it was 9 to 10! I always enjoyed and was grateful for all who generously participated and put effort into making food with healthy ingredients and good options.

Of course, camp life is also fun and offers campers a great opportunity to learn. I am very glad to be a witness to how their minds are slowly opening, learning to rely on their friend, learning leadership, and also talking to people they never knew before. I like that Camp Walter Scott gives campers choices and lets them decide what they want to do in a healthy environment. The moment I felt moved was definitely last night's vesper service, when one of the campers' groups led its own. They prepare a Minecraft song for people and offer strawberries and let people dip them in the Nutella. Another group on another night offered nachos and salsas. The first group that prepared the worship service also prepared Oreos and milk, and the milk was inside a gold chalice. I can’t believe the idea looks like unserious however, it was actually effective.

This fluctuating world of uncertainty, I believe, all people who came have all their own worries and anxiety. As we share very normal things in our lives, in our own ways, we find we unite. I heard from several campers that, even while they are here at camp, they often can't help thinking about the things that worry them. Through this powerful moment of communion and services, I hope they feel a sense of hope and relief that they are okay being themselves. And during the talk and the workshops with them, every time during this camp, I think I can slowly feel hope coming from them.

Thank you for reading this! My Peace Intern summer is just getting started. And if I have something fun to update, I would like to let you know again.

With Blessings, YoungJae

Meet 2026 Peace Intern Hannah Wells!

Hi, my name is Hannah Wells (she/her) and I'm so excited to be a DPF Peace intern this summer!

I was born and raised in Long Beach CA and my home church is First Christian Church of Fullerton. I graduated from Chapman University in the spring of 2025 with a B.A. in Peace Studies, so naturally this type of work aligns with my goals and values.

I was not raised in Disciples, I come from a non-denominational background (think mega churches and lots of Christian rock music). I found this denomination through campus ministries at Chapman. Before college I had a distant relationship with God because I was under a conservative perspective. I struggled with the idea that Christians have caused a lot of harm in this world particularly in American history with the treatment towards Native Americans and people who were enslaved.

When I was accepted to Chapman my aunt, Rev. MaryJo Bradshaw, told me and my mom that I might have access to scholarship since I was related to clergy; this financial aid was a big reason I was able to attend Chapman. My mom encouraged me to attend DOC events and worship services, but I was hesitant to say the least. I decided to go to the welcome back dinner at First Christian Church of Orange to extend my gratitude for their generous monetary support. What happened over the next few weeks changed the course of my life. I walked into this welcome back dinner and was greeted by someone wearing a shirt that said "Jesus was an Immigrant.” This shocked me and I couldn't believe everyone at this event was seemingly fine with this messaging. Then the local pastors handed out rainbow stickers and I knew something was different about this Christian group. I decided to go to their biannual retreat at Loch Leven, I was greeted with hospitality, community, and radical love. I had a critical conversation with Rev. Nancy Brink about my grievances with the Church, and instead of being defensive like most Pastors I had met, she held my concern and acknowledged the pain in our history. This is when I started deconstructing my faith and spirituality.

Soon enough I was going to every worship service, I still remember the first time I took communion and how powerful it was to be at the table. Rev. Cisa Payuyo asked me to serve on the Disciples Leadership Board, and before I knew it I was the one leading retreats at Loch Leven. By my junior year I had become Worship Coordinator, I discovered my gift for cultivating sacred space and creating artistic communion tablescapes. My senior year Rev. Jack Veatch picked up where Nancy and Cisa left off, he held me in love, and guided me to discern a career in ministry.

After college I was blessed to have the opportunity to serve as a Green Chalice Justice and Creation Fellow, I got to plant my roots at my home church in Fullerton. Rev. Mandye Yates guided me in pastoral mentorship, a favorite conversation of mine was talking about the learned practice of praying over other people. For my justice ministry I supported a community garden, hot meals ministry, and led a queer theology small group to serve as an educational source for our open and affirming ministry.

Currently, I'm discerning a call to ministry, and plan to apply to M.Div programs in the fall. I am so grateful to be a part of Disciples of Christ, and to be a Peace Intern this summer.

My intentions and prayer for this journey ahead are: be present, actively listen, share wisdom, have fun, let the spirit guide me, follow the path of Jesus, and love God. Amen. 

My Workshop: How to Throw a Block Party

 I met a former peace intern who said that I would be unpacking and digesting my summer for years to come. Now that I have spent two months back in the real world, and have started talking, preaching, and writing about my experience.

That has become extremely clear and accurate.

The experience has changed me, my theology, my activism, my preaching, and my expectations of the church in the times we are heading towards so abruptly, which has led to this call in to the Disciples of Christ. Not a call out because, as my grandmother says, a call in means I love you enough to not let you walk around looking a mess. And disciples, we need to stop walking around looking a mess.

Claiming to be an anti racist church with little more than one poster of reconciliation ministry in our newsletters. Claiming to be a movement of wholeness in a fragmented world that is scared to name those fragmentations. Systematic racism, homophobia, transphobia, and more. This is a call-in to say, let's be intentional. Let's be the church we claim to be.

Let's diversify our outreach, the books we read, the conversation partners we listen to, let's remind people that the table is not ours to board off, not ours to exclude from invitation to. But ours to pull chairs at.

This workshop is a step into that. I don't claim to be the voice of a race or the solver of all problems; I don't even claim to be an expert on this topic. My grandmother has already told me things I could have said and added to this work. But I claim to be trying to throw my hat in the ring and saying this is my attempt to add to this takeaway what we think it needs.. I offer this as a framework, a starting step, a loving call in on what we as disciples can be, are called to be. So for everyone reading this, whether I met you this summer or I will meet you in the future. Welcome to the block party, you peacemakers.

To deep for the intro

~I had a dream so I made a move 

Believe it or not I didn’t plan for my summer workshops to be about reconciliation. I originally didn’t want to be part of that work for the church in general. Black Americans shouldn’t be burdened alone with the task of uprooting systems, designed to keep us oppressed. Nor should any oppressed group that America has stepped on. Under the guidance of  making  this  “great” nation.  I actually wanted my workshops  to be about my grandmothers yellow table. As Disciples as it sounds. 

My grandmother has a yellow table in her dinning room. It’s been there my whole life. 4 chairs slightly different shades from holding the weight of kitchen conversations. Generations of divorce talks, graduation plans, pregnancy reveals, hopes for the future, and so forth. It is where I landed after 6 weeks of travel this summer exhausted but smiling, for a debrief of my summer so far, as my grandmother busied her self preparing my favorite meal.  Later she would be baking a pound cake for me using her grandmother’s recipe. Humming as she  informed me she’s been watching my travels. 

I was reminded of the dignity in serving food. The intentional act of saying you are worthy of having a hot meal. Of remembering your favorite meals or allergies. I wanted to teach about the importance of that. 

So you might be wondering how instead I ended up spending the summer teaching youth how to plan a block party. And the answer would be 5 words: All power to the people. In a time where we increasingly see the isolation of people, the dehumanization of people, the genociding of people, the most powerful thing we can do is still gather. The most important thing we can still do is gather. The most revolutionary thing we can do is.still.gather. 

Jesus did his best work at block parties; people, food, music, justice. He also showed us how scared that combination makes the oppressors.  That’s why he had to die after the last supper. That’s why the FBI had to systematically deconstruct the black panther party, and the civil rights movement. Or any other people focused growing movement. When the people gather there is power. 

So no I didn’t spend the summer teaching about my grandmothers yellow table. But Its okay because now that you all have the recipe — people, food, music, justice work — I can formally invite all those I have not met and re-invite all those I have met to the block party. Where my grandmothers yellow table will be the where spades are played and marches planned. The pound cake will be served with wisdom of the past, and the only requirement is that you deposit watermelon seeds at the door. In both honor of the ancestors who learned how to grow watermelon in soil of a foreign land. And in solidarity with our Palestine siblings who did the same. 

This invite is signed from “the Eternally, gratefully and blessed from this experience” peace intern #180. 

My Psalm 46

One of the scriptures highlighted by this year’s camp curriculum is Psalm 46. During my time at camp Kum Ba Ya, I decided to rewrite this Psalm through my own lens, my own understanding of the context I inhabit, my own relationship with God.

My Psalm 46

God is an accepting place, a set of eyes who sees a vision of justice for this world, using our hands to bring that kindom slowly but surely.

God is my joy, my love, my sadness, my righteous anger, my grief, my vulnerability, my wonder, my bravery, my support.

There is so much injustice and inequity challenging your vision, your kindom come oh Lord. 

Immigrants and refugees like your only beloved son are being denied welcome, denied dignity, denied their humanity. 

Black bodies being denied life, denied equality, by the shackles of racism and privilege that plague our systems, our structures, our very way of life.

Queer people are being denied joy, denied life, denied care, denied love, all in a twisted rendition of your most holy name.

Our climate, our environment, your creation struggles to breath, to survive, in the name our greed, our quest for more.

It feels all to often that division triumphs while empathy is seemingly defeated, oh Lord.

Your beloved children are oppressed and oppressor, failing to see each other as beloved parts of your body, your family.

God, show me once again that you are here. That you are still here.

Here in the chaos, here in the division, here in the injustice, calling me to be a voice for belonging, for justice, for love.

Give me the courage to have hard conversations; to call out wickedness committed in your name; to use my privilege for change, for unity, for equity, for justice.

Use my hands to co-create your kindom, oh Lord. Selah.

Camp KBY

I spent the last week at Camp Kum Ba Ya in Benton, Kentucky. This was my last week of the summer at a church camp, and as I left that place, drove off of those grounds, I couldn’t help but think about closure. It was such an incredible blessing to open up my peace intern summer with four weeks of summer camp back to back to back to back. Getting to see how God moves and works in each space differently, in each camper differently, was a blessed reminder about God’s diverse presence in our lives. Getting to hear different perspectives on the scripture, different truths and stories spoken through each keynoter, each youth, each community reminded me of the way scripture meets us each where we are at, and it is okay for that meeting to be different for different people, and for different times in our lives. Getting to experience how fun and joy work differently in each camp through various games, nighttime activities, and sacred traditions reminded me that we are all tied together through our quest for joy, for happiness, for love despite being in different places, different contexts, with different stories. It was such a blessing to witness the ways God’s presence unites so many beautiful souls across the country, across our denomination, and how camp has served as a communal experience to show and guide God’s presence in our lives. That being said, leaving camp after those holy four weeks was difficult. But that time of closure allowed me a new experience, a new blessing: the transition to a new framework of peace and justice beyond the holy ground of camp.

This week reminded me of the personal power, the relational power, of justice work, a reminder which helped contextualize the taking of my work this summer beyond the context of camp. One camp tradition at Kum Ba Ya is writing warm fuzzies – small written affirmations – for those in the camp community. It is such a wonderful way to let those around me feel seen, feel known, feel loved, through the practice of affirmation. I decided to read my warm fuzzies once I arrived at my next destination, so as I was sitting in Harvard Avenue Christian Church in Tulsa, Oklahoma awaiting the start of my Be The Neighbor week, I opened up the bag. I started reading them one by one and felt seen and known in an intricate way as I continued to get through the bag. There was one warm fuzzy however, that hit me in a different way, one warm fuzzy that stuck out to me in a particular, deep, soul moving way. As I read it, I felt the air in the room become different, my own energy become different. I truly felt the power of the work I have been doing this summer, of the relationships I have been building, of the vulnerable conversation I have been having, come to life. When I read it, it unlocked a deeper knowledge within myself of the power I have to bring about real change in the world, to bring the crowded table that God calls for closer and closer to the here and now.

The warm fuzzy read: “thank you for showing me that it is okay to be gay; it was the primary thing holding me back from religion.” Having such undeniable proof right before my eyes that my workshop, my words, my story had a life changing impact on someone brought me to tears. It has been truly difficult for me this summer to have the conversation of LGBTQIA+ inclusion each and every week with a new community, a new set of youth and adults, not knowing if they want to hear my story. Not knowing if they would look at me differently once they knew about my queerness. Not knowing if the narrative I brought to the table would lead to conflict and chaos aimed at me for bringing up a ‘difficult topic.’ Not knowing if the acceptance and love I had received at these camps before doing my workshop was actually conditional and could be lessened once the vulnerability of my true self was revealed.

Time and time again this summer those worries, those anxieties that I experienced before starting my workshop were proven so incredibly wrong. Time and time again I felt myself being welcomed on a deeper level once I told my story, my narrative of inclusion, love, and justice to these camps. And KBY was no different. But something about reading that warm fuzzy and knowing that my story of my own queerness and my journey to understanding that God’s love was undeniably for me made someone else feel seen, feel known, feel fully loved by God hit in a different way. Gaining the knowledge that my vulnerability about my identity and my struggle to find my place as a queer Christian gave light and truth to another young queer Christian’s struggle made me feel understood. Knowing that the narrative of inclusion and love that I wove through my workshop, the lens of the Genesis creation story I shared that shows that queer people are undeniably part of God’s good and beautiful image and undeniably a part of God’s community gave someone else a way to truly begin to see that their queerness was another reason why God loves them, not an element of their identity that separates them from God, made me feel like my story and my good news are necessary to share.

You never really know how your truth will impact someone else. You never can foresee the ways your vulnerability can make someone else feel seen. You never expect your good news to resonate deeply with those around you. And yet…

And yet your truth has power. Your story has the ability to build relationship, to make people feel seen, to be a catalyst of peace and justice. So, take up that space. Uplift voices that share good news of inclusion and justice. Create space in your own communities to foster vulnerability. Find ways in your own life that your story and the stories of those around you can become vehicles of change. Because if there is one thing I learned this week at Camp Kum Ba Ya, it was that God’s kindom, God’s ever-inclusive vision for a crowded table, cannot come to light if we aren’t willing to share our stories, share pieces of ourselves, to create connection, community, and change. 

As I drove away from the holy ground that is Camp Kum Ba Ya, I felt re-invigorated, refreshed, and prepared to take God’s justice, God’s kindom, to the beautiful world that exists beyond camp. The stories, the connections, the relationships that I gained at each of my four camps gave me confidence to share my message of justice and inclusion with a greater community, empowered me to believe that my story of inclusion, that God’s story of a radically open table, deserves to be heard. God’s reminder through that warm fuzzy that my story is necessary, that my truth has power, and that sharing that narrative can create foundations of relational justice was the push I needed to start bringing my peace and justice work out of the walls of camp.

Godspeed

~Let go of a prayer for you, Just a sweet word
The table is prepared for you ~

A benediction for future peace interns:

Pack more socks, pack fewer shirts. Bring an extra pair of closed-toe shoes. Be flexible with your workshop; it can flow with what each week's needs are. Listen to the youth. Ask them and listen. Laugh a lot and often. You are doing hard work, but never forget the joy in good news. That is vital for survival. Sleep is not your enemy, but don’t let it be your vice. Sometimes, fighting that yawn one more time will lead to the best conversation of the summer. 

Breathe. 

Long and often. 

Know that it is a prayer for when you are too tired to go on. Your breath is holy; the spirit is in it. Remember that for times when your voice won’t work, your words won't form when you are asked to pray. And you will be asked to pray, more than you think.  Don’t be scared to ask questions to everyone, even the youth. You don’t know these grounds as the version you are now. A peace intern, and that is okay. 

You are learning as much as you are teaching this summer, because blessed are those who see the scars and go tell others. You see the youth with all their scars, and they see you with yours, so Peace be with you both.

16 Carriages

~To the summer sunset on a holy night, On a long black road, all the tears I fight. ~

I spent the Fourth of July thinking of death. Not of the death of the millions of slaves during just the transportation of the Trans Atlantic slave trade, not of the blood soaked into the ground from our indigenous siblings, but of a more personal death. the death of a friend.

When I visit my grandmother, there’s always a list of people I have to show my face to, whom I have to sit with before I can have peace in her house. As the years have grown, that list has shrunk. Death came before I could ring the doorbell, before the phone rings for happy birthdays, Merry Christmases. While I have been on this life-changing experience, that list grew shorter by another name. 

So I spent my Fourth of July in Texas surrounded by white people in American flag clothing variations, blasting country music that never even darkened the door of Cowboy Carter or any artist of color. However, every song sung American pride, the struggles of trucks, beers, and exes. After teaching workshops on reconciliation. And I anticipated that fact, making me feel angrier, making my tongue sharper in response to the national anthem being played before meals, with shirts that read “home of the free, because of the brave.” But I wasn’t angry, at least not fully. 

After one of my sessions, a youth came to me to say, "Thank you, because reconciliation to them was knowing the history we all bring to the table, how we are connected, good and bad." So, no, I wasn’t angry. Even being on a mostly white campground in Texas, hearing Cotton Eye Joe for the 5th time, as fireworks went off over a lake to celebrate America’s “freedom”. Because I closed my eyes to take a breath. For those who built America, who died for America unwillingly, and for those who were forcibly removed for America to be made. Then I remembered  Juneteenth and how it took that and a million good and bad interactions  Of those before me that led to a young queer black woman from Alabama to spend 8 weeks traveling the US talking about black history, liberation, joy taught to us by Jesus with all the good and bad. Then I opened my eyes and watched the fireworks. 

I used to hate getting that list from my grandmother. Grumbling as I sat down to make my calls or laced up my shoes to walk down the street. Greeting everyone, I was instructed to greet. It took 26 years and watching a few names be removed from that list to realize she was teaching me the practice of reconciliation. With every knock, every call, every visit, we listened to those who came before us. Remembering what they said, what they did, showing them your face was not just saying “I know where we came from and what we bring,” But living into it. I shed a tear on the fourth of July, but not because of America, but because of the history that being American brings to the table, good and bad. 

For those who have been removed from that list, and for those who are still on the list. May the lord bless you and keep you, may peace be with you. And thank you.

Reminders of God

I was constantly reminded of God at Camp Wakon'Da-Ho.

I was reminded of God’s inclusion at Camp Wakon'Da-Ho. Inclusion and acceptance are always floating in the air, in the voices, in the practices at Wakon'Da-Ho. A beautiful practice I was introduced to there was Secret Prayer Partners. The whole week, I had a secret person whom I wrote prayers for, kept in my thoughts, and overall watched for God’s presence in. My person was not someone who I really would have interacted with much at camp if she was not my secret prayer partner. We weren’t on the same volleyball team, didn’t do the same interest groups, didn’t sit near each other at meals often. I wouldn’t have felt like a part of this person’s week if she wasn’t my secret prayer partner. But since I was always praying for her, watching the ways God worked in and through her, Cora became an integral part of my week. I listened for her voice singing at vespers, saw the ways she engaged with the keynote, watched her hype up her teammates on her volleyball team. And through praying for Cora, seeing God in Cora, I in turn felt like a bigger and more integral part of the Wakon'Da-Ho community. By praying for someone else, making them feel seen and known, I too felt seen and known. I too felt included into the camp community in a much deeper way. And in reading the ways my own secret prayer partner was praying for me, seeing me, knowing me, I felt connected to God and each camper in a way I never would have otherwise. Knowing that someone was keeping my struggles, my joys, my experience in their prayers and their heart made me feel deeply included, an inseparable part of the Wakon'Da-Ho chain. That spirit of communal prayer, of communal care, was alive and well the entire week I was at camp. On the final night, during the closing vespers, we each got to name our secret prayer partner and serve them communion. It is the only time during the week that we get to take communion together as a camp. In that moment, at communion, it truly felt like I was a part of the body of Christ in a way I hadn’t felt in a long time. Coming together to the table – a deep symbol of inclusion for our tradition – being served by Lauren, the one who had prayed for me all week, then serving Cora, the one who I had prayed for all week, brought to life for me the fact that we all are one bread, one body. I was a necessary part of that camp at that moment, an integral element in the flow of God’s spirit between and amongst the camp community. I was reminded of God’s inclusion at that table.

I was reminded of God’s joy at camp WaKonDo’Ho. There is a light, a laughter there that is always moving, always heard. It’s hard to describe. God’s light shone through the voices singing “Light The Fire” at the end of the campfire each night. The spirit moved in the dance moves of the campers and fellow counselors who I had an impromptu dance party with the night of the all-camp cookout. I could hear God’s voice in the shouts of encouragement and excitement during the camp-wide volleyball tournament (which my team placed second in thank you very much!). God’s joy arose in me as I laughed harder than I had all week during the variety show, watching interpretive dances and poetic imitations. God’s humorous, joyful, bright presence was undeniable during my week at camp. I was reminded of God’s joy at Camp Wakon'Da-Ho.

I was reminded of God’s vision for justice at Camp Wakon'Da-Ho. I had the esteemed privilege of sharing my LGBTQIA+ inclusion workshop with each small group at camp that week. The ways every youth and adult engaged with the content, showed such clear desires to learn and broaden their perspectives, showed me how our earth, our communities, our lives, are bending closer to the justice that God’s kindom envisions.  People came up to me letting me know that my words, my story, the narrative of inclusion that is woven through creation, the Bible, and our faith that I shared about, gave them a new perspective. The workshop made people feel seen, known, and loved exactly as they are. The workshop challenged people to see ways their faith can be a vehicle for inclusion and a voice of acceptance. The workshop made youth feel like they are created in God’s image because of their queerness, not in spite of it, for perhaps the first time. Youth asked brave questions about what it means to be gender queer, showing a deep desire to understand and love their neighbors better. Youth shared vulnerable stories about ways they have felt excluded from God’s loving arms, after which I went on to show them how they are unquestionably a part of God’s beautiful and inclusive family. Youth showed their excitement to share this story, this message of inclusion, with their family and friends back home. Youth shared their hope to have hard conversations with family members or community members who need to hear about a Christian lens towards inclusion, having a Bible story as an access point to meet people where they are. Youth shared their gratitude for being affirmed so clearly in the context of camp, where they feel safe to be their whole selves. These conversations, stories, and reactions showed me so much about the justice God works for. Giving people a new perspective, the right point of entry to have hard conversations, a new look at a Bible story that makes them feel seen and known, can create a sense of empowerment and confidence that spurs change, uplifts justice, that extends past the walls of camp. I was reminded of God’s vision of justice at Camp Wakon'Da-Ho.

I was reminded of God’s call at Camp Wakon'Da-Ho. During the closing vespers, there was a moment when campers who felt a call to ministry, no matter what shape or form, no matter how big or small, were invited to come forward. I could feel the air in the vespers space change at that moment. It was as if everything around me was heightened, as if somehow everything that week was leading up to this moment. I felt my own focus shift, becoming more aware. I could really and honestly feel God in that moment, undoubtedly. Slowly but surely, campers started standing up and coming to the front. I saw campers walk by me who had made me feel so holistically welcomed and seen that week. I saw campers walk by me who had been voices of inclusion and love time after time during the week. I saw campers walk by me who embodied the spirit of the table through their friendships and camp connections. I saw campers walk by me who I had seen a call in but didn’t realize had seen a call in themselves. I saw campers accept a call to ministry that I had seen in and through them the whole week. I was brought to tears at the beauty and vulnerability of that moment. I was brought to tears by the way God showed up in those campers, the way God showed up in that space. It’s not often that you get to witness people you have seen God moving in then see and realize that same God in themselves. It’s not often that you get to see and affirm the ways God is calling on those around you. Camp Wakon'Da-Ho fostered the loving and transformative spirit of God’s call during that final vespers service. I also was able to better hear, to better understand, to better acknowledge the ways God calls me while at Camp Wakon'Da-Ho. I have been wrestling and deconstructing my own call to ministry for a long time. In the moments where I felt included and created spaces of inclusion, where I felt loved and created experiences of love for those around me, where I created justice and was inspired by the ways those around me yearned and fought for that same vision of justice, where I felt joy and allowed others to express their joy freely and unapologetically, I felt God’s call to me become louder, clearer. I felt more at home and confident in my call to ministry while living on the holy ground at Camp Wakon'Da-Ho. I was reminded of God’s call at Camp Wakon'Da-Ho.

I was reminded of God’s love at Camp Wakon'Da-Ho. Words of affirmation flow down like a river in that sacred place. The last night, the camp does something called a hug zipper. Every camper and counselor go down the line and gives everyone else a hug and word of affirmation. I felt so seen, so loved, being a link in the hug zipper. Having campers I hadn’t seen much of that week tell me how I impacted their week, how they saw God in me was so beautiful. A moment with a camper in that hug zipper made me feel so deeply known. Her group was leading our final night vespers service, so she had to exit the hug zipper early. Despite that, she made sure she came down to the end of the hug zipper, where I was standing, so that she could have a moment with me. She shared how my workshop and my presence at camp made her feel accepted exactly as she was. She told me that I showed her that she is fully deserving of God’s love, that she is undoubtedly a quintessential part of God’s beautiful and wonderful creation because of who she is. She shared that my presence, my words, my spirit made her belong. I was able to share with her that she had made me feel so welcomed that week, that her presence and attention towards me truly made me feel a part of the camp community. There were moments during my week at camp Wakon'Da-Ho where I felt like an outsider, where I was unsure of my place. But time and time again, this camper would come up to me and invite me into conversations, share words of affirmation with me, let me know that I wasn’t alone. She made intentional efforts to make me feel like an essential part of the camp community, and I expressed my gratitude for her presence in that moment. I felt so deeply loved in that moment in the hug zipper and was reminded of God’s endless and relentless love through her presence. Moments like that define Camp Wakon'Da-Ho. God’s love is brought to life in that space, in that community, in those people, in such a unique and beautiful way. Love is originated, curated, and intentionally spread so that every member of the camp community, no matter how new they are, how alone they feel, how different they perceive themselves to be, is encircled in a hug zipper of God’s love. I was reminded of God’s love at Camp Wakon'Da-Ho. 

There was rarely a moment when I was not in God’s presence, walking in the light of God, at Camp Wakon'Da-Ho.

Thank you God for that camp, those people.