Pictures As Promised

We went to a Phillies game while in Philadelphia. Sadly they lost but it was tons of fun!



We went into New York for half a day after visiting my brother's place in Ramsey, NJ.



My family playing cards.



Karisa and I went to a park together in the week between Philadelphia and Florida.



We also had a party for Karisa's birthday. Some of us got on the roof!

I don't have very many pictures of our time in Florida, sadly. But you can see some by going to familyjohns.blogspot.com. My father-in-law got some good pictures. f

Yogurt Covered Raisins

Group dynamics are interesting anywhere. Taking ten recent high school graduates and putting them into a group together is sure to lead to conflict, raised tensions, and hard feelings. When you add onto that the effects of being in the wilderness for 12 days without access to bathrooms, beds, and eating dehydrated food will only add friction to group dynamics.

The group I was placed into was made up of a future school worship leader, an amazingly funny drummer, the most incredible guitar player I have ever met, an intramural champion, and a future ministry chair just to name a few. We all loved Jesus. We all were men who should have been good friends except one thing: we didn't know it. 

In my group, division reared its ugly head fairly quickly. There was a group of guys who were athletic and cool. At least, that's how I perceived them. These guys were more stereotypically manly. On the other hand was the group of guys with little to no outdoor experience. These guys all had talents, but not ones that necessarily manifested themselves while trekking through the woods.

Sleeping arrangements were the easiest way to tell these divisions. In three tents, one was the "cool" tent and the other two were the rest of us. Whenever we mixed sleeping arrangements, that meant that some of us in the other two tents swapped with each other. The cool tent remained unaffected. 

One of the guys in the cool tent seemed to perceive this position as a position of power. That is, he seemed to feel he could get away with things and no one would stop him. The most infamous of this behavior was the yogurt covered raisins. 

While eating "brick," dehydrated vegetables, and sucking on 1950's candy, our one truly delicious food was yogurt covered raisins. Unfortunately, they were in short supply and always were the first to run out at any meal. Therefore, they had to be rationed.

This one guy, however, decided to take it upon himself to sneak a number of packets of yogurt covered raisins for himself (To be fair, he did share with his fellow tent mates). When we all found out, we were very mad. And yet, no one seemed to say or do anything.

Later, on getting back to Wheaton, we further discovered that he had appropriated a number of packets of Break Time (gatorade knock off). To be honest, BreakTime wasn't that good. But adding BreakTime to a nalgene full of smokey scum water made all the difference in the world. The whole reason we found out that he had the BreakTime was because he must have realized himself that it wasn't actually that good compared to the drink options available in "civilization." So he decided to offer them - oh so graciously! - to the rest of us.

I am ashamed to say that through all four years at Wheaton, I never could get over the anger I had about these actions. As a result, I never liked this guy. He always seemed arrogant and selfish to me. For sure, what he did on High Road was selfish, but there was more to him than that and I refused to see it for my entire college years.

Yogurt covered raisins now serve as a reminder to me of the incredible dangers of not dealing with conflict head on. It may seem like the nice thing to do at the time, but it really just creates long term side effects.

If we had addressed our issues directly, instead of trying to keep the peace, the trip would have been a genuinely deep experience in bonding and growing in relationships. Instead we settled for sub par relationships. Sadly, I only remained friends with one of the other guys on the trip and even that seemed to be God's work as He put us together again the next summer as counselors.

It would be unfair to expect myself to have handled the situations then like I would have now. I don't regret what happened (usually). Rather, I look back and see how it could have been different all the while also being incredibly thankful for how much I learned through it. High Road -- and even those unhealthy group dynamics -- taught me and changed me forever. 

After hearing this story it sounds unbelievable, but I was actually one of the few guys I knew who said they would go on another High Road if they got the chance. Next time though, I'll make sure that we deal with any Yogurt Covered Raisin issues.

God's Love at the End of a Half Marathon

Before reading this post and if you aren't familiar with High Road, you must read the post immediately before this one: "The Long Run to Joy"

The year after I completed High Road and started at Wheaton College, I returned to the Northwoods to be a camp counselor and take classes. Like High Road, my summer at HoneyRock doing Summer Leadership School could be an entire blog of lessons in and of itself. During the summer there, I learned much about my relationship with God and others and myself.

The two most significant moments at HoneyRock (though there is also a close third) came through one man: Dr. Rich Butman. I was taking a class with him during the second session of the summer called "Community Leadership and Development." The first significant moment came through an hour and a half with Dr. Butman in a two man kayak. Since I talk about that time together a couple of times a week in my information sessions in the Admissions Office, I will not be elaborating on it here.

Instead, it is the second moment that this post is about. During Dr. Butman's class he required that we complete 2500 pages of reading, but he left it up to us to decide which books off of a list we would choose to read. (To this day, I found this classes reading assignments to be the most enjoyable in my life, despite having a larger number of pages to read than almost any other class.) 

One book I had decided to read was The Return of the Prodigal Son by Henri Nouwen. I was a little skeptical because I have been over dosed on sermons about the Prodigal Son through out my life. But on the strong words of recommendation from many friends I decided to give it a go.

A third of the way through, I quit. It just wasn't doing it for me. I can't really remember why, but I remember not really knowing why then either. I just wasn't digging it. So I moved on to another book. When I had completed the next book, I decided to give the Prodigal Son a second chance. Picking up where I left off, I read what turned out to be an incredibly moving story of God's fatherly love for us, his children.

Again, I don't remember a ton of what it was that struck me from the book. What matters though is that it acted as the tilling of my heart to prepare for something more to come.

Towards the end of the class, we were sitting together discussing what God was doing through the books we had been reading. It became clear that God was teaching us all about His love. 

It must have been God's perfect timing because as we were discussing God's love, it so happened that right outside where we were sitting a group of High Roaders were completing their long run at the end of their arduous trip. Gathered just outside the not very sound proof walls was a crowd cheering and hollering for each one as they finished.

In a moment of divine wisdom, Dr. Butman told us to listen to those cheers. They were full of joy and delight. Then he said something that to this day echoes in my soul. "Those cheers are pictures of God's love for you. If you want to know how God feels about you, listen to those voices and cheers."

I'm sure the actual words he used were different, but the meaning was clear. I couldn't stand it. God feels that way about me? Delights in me with that sort of joy? Memories of my High Road group's faces and smiles burst into the foreground of my memory. The thrill and exuberance I felt was there. The sense of value and delight was there around me. 

I was crying and couldn't stop. I was embarrassed to cry in front of someone I respected so much, but I couldn't help it. God was breaking through on a new level into my soul. His love was better than I ever knew. 

More of that, Lord! More of that!

The Long Run to Joy

When I was a freshman to be at Wheaton College, I participated in a program called High Road. They have since renamed it Wheaton Passage and given students the option to take the "Wilderness Track" or the "Camp Track." Back in my day, however, there was only the one option: "Wilderness."

Growing up in a majority world country, I had to live without a number of the comforts available in the United States (For me, this mostly revolved around the loss of my one true passion in life: baseball). High Road, however, was a big wake up call.

I signed up not knowing what exactly I was getting into. In my mind I had some vague perceptions of canoeing, archery, rock climbing, etc. To be honest, though, I think the main reason I signed up was because I was afraid of being left out of something that "everyone else" was doing.

This post is not meant to be a detailed story of what I experienced those 16 days. I was shocked to discover that I would, in fact, be spending the entire time in the woods, exposed to the elements and carrying everything I brought (minus my watch) plus a number of pounds of food and camping gear with me on 10-15 mile hikes each day.

(Just a side note, I was 5'10" and weighed about 117 pounds when I went on this trip)

I was beyond "stretched" on this trip. The only thing that kept me together was a fear of what others would think. I was determined not be a total tool and whine and complain. (Though I am sure now that my overwhelmed self showed through in a number of ways.) What would people think of me if I couldn't handle my own?

There are many stories that could be told from the canoeing and hiking we did. But I made it through to the end, with only one challenge left to complete before being able to sleep in real beds and eat real food: a 13 mile run.

Before this run, I had never done more than 4 miles before. Sure, they had sent out materials that summer encouraging us to be in shape, running regularly, etc. etc. But seriously? What was the big deal? Who needs to run every day to hang out at a camp for two weeks? 

This run was so brutal yet I wanted to impress people with my running skills. I started off trying to keep up with the leaders (which included my future roommate). After a short while (indeed, a very short while) it became clear that I would not make it long with them. So I slowed down. 

Still, I wanted to make it the whole way without stopping. This would be my great achievement and I wanted to brag about it. It didn't take too long before I failed even this goal. When I was not near anyone, I would stop and walk. Then before rounding the next corner, I would start running again.

Near the end of the run (though I didn't know it was near the end at the time) I ended up running next to one of the guys from my group, Dave. Ironically, Dave had not been someone I had really liked on the trip. I perceived him as someone who didn't think I was cool enough to be a friend. 

Yet there we were, running next to each other. And more than that, Dave was encouraging me to keep running. Every time I would start to slow down or want to give up, he'd encourage me to keep going.

I made it at least a mile or two further than I would have on my own because of Dave's encouragement. But even that didn't help me get all the way. I stopped running and started walking again, this time not caring if I was seen. I was too tired. Dave ran on.

Then I began to hear something. It sounded like there was a baseball game or something up a head. There was a lot of voices. At first I couldn't tell if they were happy, upset, or what. As I got closer and as people passed me on the run, I started to realize this a crowd of people cheering for people as they finished the race.

I was that close! Energized by the closeness of the end (and not a little by a sense of shame should I be seen walking across the finish line) I started running again.

The voices got louder and louder. The sense of joy grew stronger and stronger. Finally, I rounded the final bend and I could see them.

A huge banner was posted that declared congratulations for finishing the race. A hundred or more people stood around in a semi-circle cheering and hollering. Their faces were full of smiles. There were trip leaders and staff members with looks of approval and commendation for the feat that we had just finished. And even more joyful were the group of fellow group members who waiting for me. Not all of my group had finished but half had. They were there and gave an especially loud cheer for me as I came to the end of my long and painful run. 

I was embraced, congratulated, and lead to a table full of fruit and water and other delights I had not seen for two weeks. 

I cannot describe this experience well enough. To describe joy, true joy, is perhaps the greatest challenge in writing and I am no prize winning author. But this experience is one of the strongest memories of joy that I have.

Place Holder

This is my place holder entry to let you know that I have lots of great things to post in the coming future. But having been away for a week in Philadelphia, leaving Friday for a week at the beach, then going on a business trip a few days after returning from the beach, it may be a while before I get all my good stuff posted. But I plan on posting thoughts, reflections, and pictures. (I know you really just want to see the pictures!)