I’ve been visiting Camp Cross for over 10 years. We attended a Labor Day Family Camp with our St. James’ (Pullman, WA) parishioners and I enjoyed the glorious natural beauty, but also the fellowship among the participants. Christian community in a non-parish setting is one feature of Camp Cross that has me reminding others to “keep comin’ back! “

While wading at Crescent Beach, my wife Alison relayed her metaphor for her relationship to God.  In the cool water, she floats effortlessly.  As she returns to the rocky shore, her body becomes heavy as she leaves the (holy) water and works to carry herself. It’s harder and harder to gain ones footing.  Yet, a loving arm reaches out to help her gain stability. This arm is God’s love in the form of your loving friend. Together, you can walk the journey on hot, dry land, until you once again return to refreshing water for relief.

Additionally, Camp Cross is a holy place where I have seen miracles happen.  Of course, miracles are in the eyes of the beholder and subject to perspective. This week I have seen the miracle of change. Mid-high campers arrived on Sunday, with anxiety, fears and few friends. In just a few days, I have seen them transformed. They’ve bonded with each other, shared intense experiences, been challenged in their views of faith and even improved their table manners (yes, a great miracle indeed!).  In all seriousness, the joy shared in a small group or gathered around a summer campfire is a holy miracle repeated again and again here.  I’ve noticed another transforming miracle recently.  As I look at this year’s staff members, several have spent many years coming to Camp Cross. They’ve loved being a camper with all the newness that experience brings. Camp Cross can be an intense emotional experience of faith on a young person’s own terms, far from their parish home.  It’s their mountaintop where they gain spiritual insight. Some grow into being a counselor, learning leadership skills shepherding a small group.  This is a critical stage in the faith formation of young people. Of that group, some continue serving as permanent staff members, gaining more leadership skills at the next level, long after coming to Camp Cross for the first time.  This chain of transformative experiences shapes the lifelong faith of many.

Wednesday night, we used a meditation from Taize to focus in the darkness of the cool evening, sitting on a floating dock.  Many relaxed on their backs, pondering the universe, gazing up into the vast expanse of stars. Some reported seeing up to five shooting stars and several orbiting satellites were visible.  Amid the cool breeze, surrounded by both intimate friends and endless cosmos, God is good; Very good; Always.

Caitlin Gordon buries nailheads after stripping the floor of 3 layers of flooring.

After Kurt, our United Methodist Council on Relief (UMCOR) project manager, stopped by it was clear. If we wanted to apply bleach on Thursday, we needed to get down to the original floors.  I hadn’t realized the floors were layers of previous remodeling projects. We had been working for almost three solid days on Ron’s I-Street house in Cedar Rapids, Iowa.  On Monday, we arrived to find a home where some things had been partially cleared, but the daunting task of gutting the house remained. Ron had come around Monday to greet us. He had a hard time seeing his life sorted into piles and left a few hours later.  Our mission team of twelve students pressed hard on the first day, each suited up with protective clothing, gloves, goggles and masks. One team started pulling frozen, wet junk from the basement. Another group ferried relatively dry things from the second story. A larger group began to tackle the main floor, where the damp structure needed to be stripped down to the stud wood skeleton.  Thankfully, March 2009 in Cedar Rapids was blessed with wonderful warm sunny weather. Mounds of materials were sorted at the curb and quickly it became difficult to see passing cars over the top.  Hammers pounded at unyielding boards until they popped and dropped. Crowbars convinced plaster to crumble. Insulation, some dry and some damp, fell out of holes in the plaster.  We went home, showered and returned Tuesday for more of the same. A city truck with a “clam arm” removed the mounds of debris from day one as we arrived.  The basement crew plunged deeper into the crawlspace, now lit by generator power and aided by the melting ice. The second story crew removed plaster from the staircase walls. We sang “Happy Birthday” to Alissa, the Methodist Campus Minister and some opted to watch the downtown St. Patrick’s parade. The main floor team went for ceilings with a vengeance, creating a cloud of fibrous gray dust.

Ron's main floor bathroom BEFORE demolition.

Soon, another mound of materials blocked the sidewalk. With many tasks complete, we headed for home and the showers.  Wednesday morning brought new vigor amid the frosty-cold morning. The crew worked to drop the mud room structure from the rear of the house, converting it to another pile of debris. Weary students made more wheelbarrow trips to the street. The dry mid-day wind warmed the crew. A long break in the afternoon showed fatigue. Then Kurt came by for his daily look.

Caitlin and Kate: Hard work and all smiles (under their dusty masks)

What happened next was truly amazing. After some attempts to get to the lower levels of original flooring, the kitchen crew began using a system to pry and push, ripping off slats rapidly. They were supported by many students who ran liberated boards out to the street.  Soon the focus of the entire crew was the entirety of the main floor, where slats were covered with nailed plywood further covered with a layer of glued parquet.  New tools aided the strip, but the entire group pumped in a communal burst of adrenaline and ripped off sheet after sheet, section by section. Some pulled debris away, while another group followed to pound down exposed nails.  In 90 minutes, the floor was clean and piles of debris were high. Sweat poured down our foreheads. Dust masks flexed as workers panted behind them. Shoulders ached, but the task was done. No one was injured. Like a plow busting through sod at high throttle, the surge had pressed against the need and broken through. We returned to the showers and our home weary, sweat-soaked and completely spent, grinning all the way.

At the beginning of the first day, our (clean) group poses with homeowner Ron Palmer (center, dark glasses).