Phooey Kerflooey, Perfect Peace, and the Chaos of Camp Ministry by Kristen Joy Wilks

When my three sons were young, they asked me to write about our Newfoundland dog, Princess Leia Freyja. Now, I knew that a story for kids had to have adventure and chaos and fun. So, the method of producing chaos that I chose was a rampaging squirrel.

Our family lives and works at an off-grid Bible camp and we have had a number of rampaging squirrels over the years. We’ve had squirrels that broke into the house, the camp buildings, the pantry. We’ve had squirrels eat food, tear things up, and drag stuff all over the place. We’ve even had a squirrel that started a fire!

What started out as just fun and games became much more serious and close to home as my story grew. You see, any character must face a dark moment and grow into a new person because of it.

I didn’t just pull my theme of finding God’s peace in the middle of squirrel and puppy chaos out of a hat. My husband and I have worked in full-time camp ministry for almost twenty-five years. Camp life is a life of chaos and not just the good kind, either.

Yes, you have the delightful fun of watching the campers think up and perform crazy skits. But you also have the clean-up when they inexplicably decide to dump pudding on someone’s head or dealing with the necessary 911 call when they include a light-hearted joke and rub hot sauce on the camp director’s (my husband Scruffy’s) back and the sauce turns out to be a lot more potent than anyone imagined.

Yes, you have the charming chaos of water fights, night games, and sand castle competitions. But you also have the responsibility of protecting campers from injury, sunburn, and exhaustion after a week full of activities.

Yes, you have the joy of telling children of God’s love for the very first time. Amazing moments like when the great great grandchildren of the camp founders’ pastor ask to be baptized in the horse trough in the camp meadow. But you also have the grief of seeing people decide that they don’t need God, growing older and walking away from their faith, their friendships, and their relationship with you.

Yes, you have the victory of watching children who were campers grow to be camp counselors, camp interns, leaders in their own churches, and even the parents of campers. But there are those you can’t save. We have loved with all the strength we had within us and then found out that the one we loved so deeply still chose to take their own life in the end.

Joy and pain and chaos and grace, all smashed together into this thing we call camp ministry.

It is no wonder that I ended up writing about a boy who wants God’s perfect peace but all he seems to get is a whole lot of chaos. This is a journey I have lived and it is one that you will live too, dear reader. So, don’t wait for the world to stop spinning to reach out. God is love. Even when everything around you is not. He gives the kind of peace that can handle a little bit of chaos . . . or even a whole lot.

Isaiah 26:3

You will keep in perfect peace

all who trust in you,

all whose thoughts are fixed on you! NLT

 Kristen Joy Wilks

Author of Phooey Kerflooey

 

A puppy will fix everything.

A boring new house?
Boring house + puppy = adventure!

An attacking squirrel?
Evil squirrel + puppy = a squirrel-battle extraordinaire!

A daredevil brother who zooms into constant peril?
Rowdy sibling + puppy = calm days snuggling their furry friend!

What could possibly go wrong?

Amazon: https://a.co/d/hZDj2Ea

Kristen Joy Wilks writes from a remote mountain meadow that alternates between quiet and chaos. The mom of three sons, an orange cat, and a giant Newfoundland dog, she lives with her camp director husband at Camas Meadows Bible Camp where she is photographer and camp storyteller. Kristen once climbed a tree and snuck into a church through the balcony to return a library book (and check out another) and has been pursuing stories ever since.  Her writing highlights the humor and grace God gives amidst the detritus of life. She can be found tucked under a tattered quilt at 4:00 a.m. writing a wide variety of implausible tales or at www.kristenjoywilks.com. Try one of her stories for free with her newsletter!

A Light Will Dawn by Kristen Joy Wilks

This is our first Christmas without our sweet Newfoundland dog, Princess Leia Freyja.

This is our first Christmas as the parents of an adult child who has moved away.

This is our first Christmas welcoming a grown son home for the holidays.

This is our first Christmas with a new roof that doesn’t leak, not even a little.

This is our first Christmas celebrating with a daughter.

So many firsts. So much joy and pain, all smashed up and mixed together.

One moment I’m sharing photos of our dear Newfoundland dog with my husband, sharing tears, rejoicing at eight amazing years with the best dog ever. The next I’m looking for puppies, hoping God will send another fluffy blessing into our lives to shower us with slobber and make sure we have just enough dog hair on the couch to keep us humble.

The next I’m choosing Christmas gifts for our grown son. A set of silverware, a teapot of his own, and like every year a Lego. My husband and I stood in the driveway holding each other and crying when he drove away. But he visits, on purpose, to play board games with his dad and eat some homemade bread. He is coming home for Christmas. Let me say that again. Of his own volition, he is coming home for Christmas. He could do anything he wanted on December 25th, 
but he is choosing to spend that day with us. Now that, my friends, is a gift!

We inherited my grandparents' hand-crafted log home last year.

This year, we replaced that hand-crafted roof that leaked onto two of our sons’ beds. 

As I write, my husband is up on the roof banging around, racing a snowstorm to place the final strips of roof metal so that our winter will be warm and snug. Bee stings, yes, I would periodically hear my husband shout and thump across the roof as he outran bees. Smashed thumbs, random metal cuts, sore muscles from creeping across that steep metal roof trying not to fall. A fire crackling in the stove, a giant tree twinkling against the backdrop of log walls and massive picture windows that look out on our mountain meadow. So many blessings to go with the pain of roof repair.

No, none of the boys have gotten married and we did not adopt. I suppose that technically she is a coworker, a “camp daughter,” our maintenance director. However, this is a momentous occasion for someone in an all-boy family. This Christmas we get to welcome a wonderful young woman into our family celebrations. All our previous camp daughters have gone home for Christmas. This Christmas, we are her home, we are her family, we are the ones who get to celebrate the greatest of gifts by exchanging gifts with a young woman whom we love.

Most likely, your Christmas hasn’t lined up all perfect either. Maybe your joy isn’t complete, there is a bit (or a ton) of sorrow mixed in. While you enjoy one blessing, you grieve a loss. Maybe more than one loss. Maybe so much loss that the very audacity of a sparkly Christmas tree makes you grit your teeth and send a curt prayer Heavenward. Maybe what was supposed to be a praise and a song ended up as a muttered curse said under your breath and a wave of self-loathing to accompany it.

Oh, little lamb.

The man of sorrows is a God who is still God … even in the midst of this. In the dirt and darkness of a stable, the light of the world came. On the shadowed hill of Golgotha, love was put to death on our behalf. Sin is broken, Death is slain, our Lord knows the dark night and the storm and He still comes for us, His children, His lambs.

Lift up your face this Christmas. See, your King is coming.

“The people walking in darkness have seen a great light; on those living in the land of deep darkness a light has dawned.” –Isaiah 9:2

“As a shepherd looks after his scattered flock when he is with them, so will I look after my sheep. I will rescue them from all the places where they were scattered on a day of clouds and darkness.” –Ezekiel 34:12

“So he got up and went to his father. But while he was still in the distance, his father saw him and was filled with compassion. He ran to his son, embraced him, and kissed him.”--Luke 15:20

Kristen Joy Wilks writes from a remote mountain meadow that alternates between quiet and chaos. Her stories highlight the humor and grace God gives amidst the detritus of life. Follow Kristen on Instagram, Facebook, or try one of her chicken-themed books for free by signing up for her newsletter at kristenjoywilks.com

Kristen Joy Wilks

A Log Cabin for Christmas by Kristen Joy Wilks

This will be our first Christmas in our own home.

It will be both beautiful and sorrowful because we didn’t buy this house, I inherited it. There is something we often forget about inheritance, one must lose someone precious in order to gain what they longed to pass down.

This is my dream house.

It was my grandparents dream before it was mine. They spent years felling trees from their own land, skinning logs, talking visitors into skinning logs, and finally turning their vision into a home. This house welcomed anyone who stopped by. My grandmother was hospitality personified and despite my grandfather’s gruff exterior he loved company, especially if they were willing to do a bit of work before dinner.

Grandma Autumn started cooking for her family at the age of nine. In her 90s, when she could no longer walk without help, she would still offer to get you something to eat and drink as soon as you walked in the door. I had to quickly say, “I’ll get the tea, Grandma” or she would try to get up, even though she wasn’t able to.

It has been four years since we lost Grandma and five months since Grandpa strode into glory at the ripe old age of 104. Yes, even at 104 he had a busy social calendar. Everyone came up to see him, though he lived off-grid in the mountains.

This house is full to the brim with memories of them.

The best three years of my childhood were spent here. Making homemade parachutes for my cabbage patch dolls and tossing them off the balcony. Watching Gunsmoke and Wild Kingdom together. Grandma waiting with a cup of cocoa and a homemade cinnamon roll when my brother and I came straggling in after building snow forts in the yard.

I have always wanted to live here. But I have never wanted to lose my grandparents.

Inheritance.

Pain and beauty all rolled up together. Death and life in a single word.

My grandfather was the one who loved to decorate for Christmas. Colorful lights around the windows, garland on the banister, that manger scene music box that played “O Little Town of Bethlehem.” He made sure their log home shone with Holiday cheer.

This will be the first year we can both have a Christmas tree and also walk through the living room without a slap from the branches. This will be the first year we can have a big tree. The ceiling in the front room goes all the way to the log rafters. Such an incredible gift.

As we start our own traditions here, finally free of our cramped apartment, we will miss them so much. Hanging the lights will make me think of Grandpa. Baking the pies will remind me that Grandma was the only one who could whip up a lemon meringue pie without breaking out in a cold sweat. Christmas presents will remind me of that year both my brother and I got Flexible Flyer sleds, probably financed by them though the tag said “Dad and Mom.”

They both lived long and rich lives, but their loss is still hard.

As we step into the Christmas season, grieving their loss and rejoicing in the fact that our three teenage sons no longer have to share a room, I am determined not to miss a thing. For if I shut out the sorrow, how can I fully live the joy?

 
God Himself told us that like a kernel of wheat that dies to produce an abundant crop, we must not cling tightly to this world. My grandparents did not cling. They lived a life of service. Through both their hospitality and in founding the Bible camp where we live and work.

They passed their beautiful home on to me, but also left a legacy full of cups of creamy cocoa, slices of pie, and Christmas lights that light up the remote forest for all who wander off the beaten path.

This is more than a house, it is a lifetime of giving. That is what we receive from them this Christmas, not just rooms and a roof over our heads, but the chance to give in new and amazing ways, all because of the faithfulness they showed.

So this Christmas I’m going to get a tall tree, send my husband up a ladder with an armful of lights, and bake a pie worthy of Grandma. We all die in the end, but if we die to ourselves again and again for a lifetime, we will leave an incredible legacy behind.

John 12:24-25—" Very truly I tell you, unless a kernel of wheat falls to the ground and dies, it remains only a single seed. But if it dies, it produces many seeds. Anyone who loves their life will lose it, while anyone who hates their life in this world will keep it for eternal life.”

Visit the wilds of Siberia for Christmas in Kristen’s Gothic Christmas mystery, The Volk Advent.

Kristen Joy Wilks is an author, camp photographer, and the mom of three teenage boys. She writes about what she loves: the quiet of the forest, the ill-considered schemes of unstoppable children, and the love of loyal pets who will never leave your side … as long as you pack bacon! Follow Kristen on Instagram, Facebook, or try one of her chicken-themed books for free by signing up for her newsletter at kristenjoywilks.com.