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.

Coming Home

This past week, I had the incredible opportunity to return home. I spent the week at La Foret Camp and Conference Center in the Central Rocky Mountain Region. I spent the week at the camp I grew up at. It was such a blessing to be home.

I could tell the moment I drove onto those camp grounds that it was going to be a good week, a different week, a life changing week. And boy was I correct. When I first saw the camp director Rachel, who was also my youth group leader and camp director when I was in CYF, one of the first words out of her mouth were “Welcome Home.” It’s rare to exist in a moment and know all the way in your bones that you are exactly where you are meant to be, where you need to be. Driving onto La Foret’s grounds I had that kind of moment. I knew God was walking hand and hand with me, leading me to the place where I was called. God was with me and in me during my return home.

Throughout the week it was proven time and time again why I was exactly where I needed to be. I was able to have incredibly vulnerable and life changing small group conversations with the family group I facilitated, giving them space to share what was on their heart, and creating the trusted space to share my perspective as well. Creating this beautiful community with my family group was even more a blessing for me than it may have been for them. I was given a space where I felt seen and heard. My own confidence and ability to lead and mentor in a small group context was reinvigorated. I was once again personally connected to my call and to the community of future change-makers in a way I didn’t know I needed. My family group showed so clearly why I was meant to be at camp this week. I had extremely difficult conversations that took me out of my comfort zone, took me out of my realm of feeling safe and comfortable, that once again instilled in me the knowledge that I was exactly where I needed to be. I have always had a difficult time with confrontation, with conflict, with existing in places of contention and disagreement. But it is in these spaces where growth, where change, where peace and justice truly happen. It was in those conversations where I could feel the justice work Jesus so clearly modeled for me happening. It was in those hard conversations at La Foret that the change my identity as a Christian calls me to create was happening. I was challenged to be brave, to get comfortable in the uncomfortable, and through that work I was given the conviction and confidence to not only create inclusion, peace, and justice in that community, but in the world outside camp as well. It was such a blessing to be home.

It was a great week, a hard week, and a week where I felt the Spirit of God undoubtedly moving all around me. Something about camp worship just hits different. I don’t think there will ever be a physical worship or church space outside of camp where I feel God’s presence as directly. We worshipped as a community at the labyrinth at sunset; walking as one trail of footsteps, singing as once voice, praying as one spirit in that labyrinth, it was almost impossible not to see, feel, and hear God in the campers around me. We worshipped in Inglis Hall when it was storming outside; seeing our communion table draped in rainbow scarves, having our Jesus figure one night draped in a pride flag, hearing Crowded Table sung as a bold welcome to all to God’s table showed how God’s inclusive and loving heart was on display so clearly in the ways we worshipped together. We worshipped together at the campfire; my small group came together and modeled community and reparation during our worship on the last night and brought the spirit of the Table to life for me. God was moving in so many different ways through so many different voices and people this week at camp, and it was so remarkable to see and feel that all around me. It was such a blessing to be home. 

I laughed harder than I had in a while this week. I saw genuine joy on the faces of so many youth. I saw the campers creating spaces of love and acceptance for each other, wanting to bring the spirit of the table into camp, into their space, into their lives. It was such a beautiful week that embodied what it means to be the different parts of the whole body of Christ. We were and are one community, united in our identity as beloved children of God. It was such a blessing to be home.

One idea that keeps coming to me over and over again this summer is that God truly knows me by name. God’s spirit of inclusion and belonging has always called to me, has always been a dimension of God that I relate to, live through, most. The realization time and time again while at La Foret that God sees me, God knows me, God loves me intimately and vulnerably, enough so to know me individually by name, was such a special moment of the week. The campers made me feel like a missing puzzle piece to their community, like someone who was meant to be there and truly belonged. From the moment I stepped out of the car I knew I was unapologetically welcomed into that community, and there was rarely a moment where that welcome, where that inclusion, where that belonging was questioned. It felt so good, so cup filling, to be welcomed exactly as I was. It was such a blessing to be home.

It was a week I wouldn’t trade for any other. Thank you La Foret. It was such a blessing to be home.

The Retreat at Silver Springs

Hello again DPF party people! Week one of camp is in the books and oh my goodness let me tell you all it was an unbelievably incredible first week. I truly don’t think I could have asked for a more welcoming, fun, and spirit-filled camp for my first week than the CYF crew at the Retreat at Silver Springs in the Florida region. 

From the moment I stepped on the camp grounds, I knew I was entering sacred space. Walking around the camp, trying to get myself oriented and moved in, I could immediately sense God’s presence. It had been 5 years since I had been at a weeklong camp, and even after all that time away, the power of God's presence caught right back up with me. Every night, I wrote down one way I experienced God’s presence during that day: my daily God moment. It became a way to anchor my bursting connection with God throughout the week, and to remind me of all the ways God not only works in and through me, but those around me as well. I could feel the Holy Spirit wash over me as I was pounded by rain in my canoe, hear God’s voice through the laughter of the youth playing 500 in the pool, hear Jesus’s voice through the youth wanting to continue conversations about Christian queer inclusion, and realize that God really does know me by name while singing during worship. Getting to help the youth in my small group craft thoughtful prayers for our worship, or create skits to help make the daily scripture more accessible and relatable showed me the power I have to be a faith mentor. Hearing the undeniable wisdom these youth have about their faith, about the open nature of the table, about the ways they connect with God showed me how they can be my faith mentors too. God was moving, breathing, and living through that holy ground!

Not being at camp for so long, I think I forgot about what makes camp such an important, life giving, and sacred space. My week at the Retreat was the reminder I needed of exactly why camp defined my younger years and guided my early relationship with God. I could see the kids literally coming more alive and more into themselves as the week progressed. Camp was always the place where I felt most comfortable, most safe, most welcomed to be my true self and to show a more vulnerable side of myself. Seeing the youth at the Retreat open up over the course of the week reminded me of the importance of having my own space in my young life to truly explore who I was and show sides of myself I usually kept hidden. This week was a necessary reminder for me of the quintessential magic of camp. I think I needed camp just as much as camp needed me this week, and thank God for that!

The week was also filled with so much fun! I had so much fun becoming a part of their camp community, and oh boy did the Retreat welcome me with unapologetic and open arms. I cannot even count the amount of times I almost collapsed from laughing so hard with my campers and fellow counselors. I got to participate in the last night talent show, play some pickup basketball and get humbled by high school boys, cotton-eye-joe my little heart out at the all camp dance, canoe down the silver spring river in the pouring rain, remix the daily scripture to the tune of Baby by Justin Bieber, embrace my inner mermaid with the girls in the pool, and get absolutely SOAKED during the all camp water balloon fight. It was rare over my time at the Retreat for anyone to see me without a radiant and genuine smile stretched all across my face. My week at camp was an embodiment of endless joy!

While all of these other incredible elements of camp made my week so amazing, having the chance to lead my workshops with the youth was the undeniable highlight. The youth were so open and excited to participate in my workshops. I had the pleasure of sharing 3 workshops with this camp; one centered around Queer justice and Christianity, one centered around Christian Nationalism, and one centered around finding our safe places. They were all amazing experiences for me to try out the justice work the Peace Internship challenges me to engage in, but my queer justice and Christianity workshop was where I felt the most impact and change working through my time with the campers. I got to do that particular workshop with each and every camper at the Retreat at Silver Springs. Having conversations about what it means to be queer and what LGBTQIA+ identity means opened up the minds of some campers to new perspectives. Hearing how Christian motivated anti-LGBTQIA+ legislation had impacted the lives of campers in Florida made the topic of my workshop all the more real. Getting to go through the first Genesis creation story and explore a new interpretation that lends to a Christian call to radical inclusion of our genderqueer siblings was so incredible to witness. Campers wanted to talk more about it with me after our workshop time finished. They wanted to tell me how they were going to share this inclusive scriptural lens with their queer friends and family members because they were simply so excited to have a new way of looking at the Bible that was affirming and radically inclusive. They wanted to share this different interpretation with their family and have conversations about queer identity through a Christian lens outside of camp. I could see them getting excited about the realization that their call to queer inclusion could be something God was calling them to as well. It was such a beautiful and wonderful experience to walk that path of justice and inclusion with these campers and to show them how we as Christians are called to include and love our queer siblings through my workshop.

I feel like before this week, I only knew the tip of the iceberg regarding the transformative nature of the Peace Intern program, but the experiences and conversations I had with the youth through my workshop truly showed me how critical this program is to empower youth to be change makers. 

While I can’t share my entire workshop with you over a blog post, I invite you all to listen to the song I use to close my groups in prayer each session so you too can feel a fraction of the way the spirit is moving in and through the youth at the Retreat. The song is called Plowshare Prayer, and it is by a non-binary artist named Spencer LaJoye. 


Thank you all for your continued prayers, and for being willing to come on this journey with me and read about the ways I am being called to bring God’s Kindom of justice, peace, and inclusion to the holy grounds of camp.

Blessings and see you next week,
Ella Johnson

How is faith like boxing?

“How is faith like boxing?”

It’s not a trick question, there is an answer.

When I started leading this workshop with the youth at my first camp of the summer they said, "Because of the fighting. Because you have to fight for the Lord."

I asked if that was the only way.

They paused before shrugging.

So I wondered what another name for God was. Someone said "breath" and then I asked again "How is faith like boxing?"

They stared and I chuckled. Then I placed them them in the proper stances for boxing (Did I mention that I study kickboxing?). The proper stance is the opposite leg of your dominant hand in front, with that same arm raised to your face for protection. The other hand is by your chin with the fingers balled slowly and sealed with your thumb over the fist. (Always put your thumb on the outside) The back leg pivots on the balls of your feet. That's where the power comes from, the technique.

Once they were all set I took my place in front of them. Asking "When you throw a punch what do you do?" There are pauses as they worked through a few air punches. I answer "You breathe.” And then I ask the originial question again, so how is faith like boxing?"

"Breathing?" They question.

“Yes!” I respond. Your faith is like boxing in the way that it relies on you. Expanding and decompressing as you will it. Faith is like boxing in the way that it can be carried with you and wielded by you to harm, protect, heal, and empower. With every throw you release an intention. Faith is like boxing in that way — what you put out is the intention. It's where the power comes from the technique. 

I promised my group of youth that I would shout them out for helping me work out this mini worksop. So thank you to the small groups at Camp Walter Scott. If the revolution is not communal we did or are doing something wrong.

The Family Business: Spreading Jesus' Love and Welcome

2025 DPF Peace Interns Ruthie, Chrys, and Ella in front of “the Chalice Wall” at the Guest House at Allisonville Christian Church during Peace Intern Training Week.

My name is Ruthie Weeks, I’m a 50th anniversary Disciples Peace Fellowship Peace Intern, and camp sort of runs in my family.

Both of my grandfathers are Disciples ministers, and both of them have a legacy of working and serving at camp. Bob Raiford, my Pa, has served and had adventures at countless camps, from being a lifeguard after college at Camp Caroline, to getting a tick out of a little boy’s ear at Camp Kum-Ba-Ya, to directing Camp Balaam at Camp Christian. Gary Weeks, my Grandpa, spent many years serving as the Camp

Administrator at Central Christian Camp in Guthrie, Oklahoma, making camp accessible to all through Make Promises Happen. The church camp trend continued when my dad, Michael Weeks, also became a Disciples minister. My mom, Michelle Weeks, met and got to know my dad when he became the Executive Director at Camp Christian and by a twist of fate, they directed a camp together. They got married and had me, and I was lucky enough to live at Camp Christian until I was seven! Living at camp allowed me to experience the most beautiful early childhood, through mornings relaxing underneath the leaves of my favorite tree, afternoons enjoying the paddle boats on the lake, and evenings in the pool. I absolutely loved everything about camp and could not wait until I was old enough to actually attend.

My family moved to Virginia, but that did not stop my love for camp. The summer we moved, I attended Craig Springs, and grew to love it there, spending at least one week each summer up on the mountain. Camp is an integral part of my connection to God. At camp, Christian community is in its most perfect form, where everyone feels comfortable to be authentically themselves, making friends with people from all walks of life. We spend time in nature, we sing silly songs, we play, and we worship. Time spent at camp is always the best of the year, and something I am constantly missing and looking forward to.

This past fall, my Grandpa passed away. My family and those who loved him gathered to celebrate his life, and I heard many stories of the impact he had at Central Christian Camp. We looked at old pictures, and I even found a newspaper article that featured Make Promises Happen and my Grandpa. While I had always been aware of the Disciples Peace Fellowship, I began to truly consider serving as a Peace Intern for the first time. Camp is so important to me, as it was to the people before me, and the people before them. I felt a strong call to spend my summer living out Jesus’ vision through advocating for peace and justice, sharing this vision with the next generation.

My time as a Peace Intern began with a fabulous training week, where I had the privilege of getting to meet so many people doing incredible work for the Christian Church (Disciples of Christ). I loved growing closer with Ella Johnson and Chrys Beckley, the two other Peace Interns for this summer, Rev. Brian Frederick-Gray, the DPF Mission Director, and Rev. Sarah Zuniga, our Peace Intern Chaplain. I am now at Camp Christian in Gordon, Georgia, where my personal camp journey started, and this full circle moment means the world to me. I will then travel all over the country, visiting camps, attending mission trips, and meeting at General Assembly.

Everywhere I go, I will seek justice, love kindness, and walk humbly with God.

What's going on

2025 Peace Intern Chrys, Ella, and Ruthie having lunch with DHM President Chris Dorsey and Children’s Worship, Wonder, and Welcome Director (and former Peace Intern!) Laura Phillips

~Picket lines and picket signs,
Don't punish me with brutality
Talk to me~

Hi. My name is Chrys. I’m a Peace and justice intern for 2025, and I have written and rewritten that line for several days. I’m a writer at heart, a poet originally, so you would think catchy open lines were natural to me, but they aren’t. I tend to write the body of poems first, the punches, as one of my poetry slam friends calls them, “I’m not the descendant of the witches you couldn't burn, I'm the answered prayers of the ones you did.” or “what is black in America if not the constant fight to be seen, to laugh, to dance”. To write for me is to explain the beautiful tension of being black in America. And that often needs more words to encompass the epic that is tragic, beautiful, sorrowful, hopeful, joyous, and so on and so on. But during training week we learned spiritual practices to take with us as we embark on this long journey. One of them was writing haikus. It was introduced to us as, “The beautiful thing about haikus is that you have to strip back everything to just the core of what you have to say. And sometimes that means people won’t get it all” So that was a long introduction to say this. 

Hi, my name is Chrys. I’m a peace and justice intern for 2025. My workshop is about reconciliation. It's called “How to plan a block party.”  Reconciliation ministry to me is just a double score word for inviting the people we have excluded back to the table. Here are some Haiku prayers I wrote for and from the block.

Peace be still go far 
Through night,restless storm 
Peace be still go far 

~~~

I’m sorry your first swim 
Was with death,and freedom floats 
Swim in still waters 

~~~

Divine lives outside 
Where breathe is green, bodies morph 
Divinity Shines 

~~~~

Live gently on the earth
With loving mother,father
Love their earth gently 

~~~~

From fallen bodies 
Grounds be sanctified for peace 
Walk humbly through 

~~~~

More than human world 
Mother tree breathe on us for
those more  than human

Introductions and Training Week Reflections from Ella Johnson

2025 DPF Peace Interns (Ella, Chrys, and Ruthie) with Peace Intern Chaplain Rev. Sarah Zuniga and DPF Mission Director Rev. Brian Frederick-Gray

Hello beloved Disciples Peace Fellowship community! What an amazing and incredible week it has been doing all things Peace Intern training in Indianapolis. Throughout all of my waiting, dreaming, and preparing to be a Peace Intern, I still was not fully ready for the truly transformative nature of this program.

I cannot begin to tell you all what a blessing and honor it is to participate in this program, and how thankful I am to be entrusted to carry out the 50 year legacy of DPF. I was so excited when I got the phone call from Brian congratulating me on being accepted as one of the 2025 Peace Interns. I knew that this was a ministry God was waiting and ready for me to be a part of. Before I get into the amazing-ness that was training week, I want to tell you all about my journey to becoming a Peace Intern.

I went to camp every summer I could growing up. My family joined Heart of the Rockies Christian Church in Fort Collins and the larger Christian Church (Disciples of Christ) denomination when I was in elementary school, and I built up the courage to start attending camp in 7th grade. From that first summer camp onwards, I would count down the days until I could be at camp again. Camp was the place in my life where I felt most deeply connected to my faith. It was the place where I felt safest to be myself and show my full self to the world. It was the space where I was challenged to dig deeper in my faith and truly explore my relationship with God. It was my favorite week of the summer. It was sacred community; holy ground.

When I was in high school, Daniel Lyvers, a former Peace Intern and overall AMAZING human being, was my youth minister. Before meeting Daniel, I had no idea what the Peace Intern program was. I had an irreplaceable relationship with camp, but didn’t know about the ways DPF was creating opportunities to explore and create peace and justice in camps through the Peace Interns. Daniel introduced me to the Peace Intern program by sharing his own story and experiences, and from that moment forward, I quite literally counted down the summers until I was old enough to apply and participate in the program. This is an opportunity I have been called to for a long time, and one I knew God had in store for me.

My junior year of high school, my summer camp had our first Peace Intern, Courtney Sells. Interacting and building relationships with Courtney over the course of the week once again reminded me of the beautiful ways we work to bring God’s Kindom to the here and now through lives of peace and justice. I remember so vividly the workshop Courtney led with my camp that summer. She was educating us about the LGBTQIA+ community by leading an LGBTQ 101 workshop. That workshop was the first concrete time I had heard queerness and queer identity discussed in such an open and positive way in a church setting, and was foundational and life-giving for me as a young queer Christian trying to figure out the relationship between my faith and queerness. Seeing Courtney so fearlessly talk about inclusion and love of the LGBTQIA+ community, and how we are called to frame this inclusion and love through our Christian faith and following of Christ exemplified for the first time that my Christian and queer identities could not only co-exist, but also grow in and through each other. I have been a passionate advocate for LGBTQIA+ inclusion  for a long time and I frame this advocacy through my faith, and Courtney’s workshop was a much needed personal introduction into the peace and justice work of queer inclusion.

My experiences at camp growing up, with Courtney, with Daniel, and with so many other mentors and faith, peace, and justice in my young adult life led me to this summer, this moment, being able to do THE work as a Peace Intern!

I found the spirit working in and around me in so many ways this past week through our training. During training week, I built foundations for deep, vulnerable, goofy, loving relationships with my fellow Peace Interns Chrys and Ruthie. We shared sacred time laughing until there was literally no more breath left in our lungs, challenging each other to ask hard questions of ourselves and our presenters, sitting around the kitchen table sharing meals, singing together while cleaning up our dinners, and every other moment in between. I know that the camps, groups, and churches Ruthie and Chrys serve are incredibly lucky to have the 2 of them, and I am blessed to have 2 more partners in ministry with whom I can be my full self, ask my hard questions, and grow in my faith.

I did not realize how disconnected I felt from the national church before training week, and am so grateful for the chance to be reconnected with the larger bodies of my denomination through this work.  All of the partners we had the privilege of sharing time with gave me so much hope and excitement for the future of our denomination and gave me a sense of connection to the larger church I didn’t fully realize I was missing. So thank you to each and every one of our presenters and partners for making this summer so incredible after only 1 week in!

Training reminded me of my need to be immersed so deeply again in the deep rooted justice work my faith and following of Jesus calls me to. Hearing from all our presenters, engaging in deep conversations with Brian and my fellow Peace Interns, and just being challenged to explore my own faith identity and convictions on a deeper level help me once again see that the social justice work Jesus fought for in his ministry and the Kindom of peace and justice God seeks to bring to this world is an integral part of my work on this earth. I cannot be a Christian in the way God calls me to be without engaging in this life giving work, and I am so thankful to the training week experience for reminding me of the pertinence of that conviction.

I cannot WAIT to check in with you all again as I begin my summer ministry of sharing this good news with camps, groups, and congregations! My first stop is the Retreat at Silver Springs, a DOC camp in the Florida Region, where I will be doing my Peace Intern thing at their CYF camp and conference.

Blessings,
Ella Johnson