Kristen’s Mount Hermon Writing Contest Entry

Scraped Off The Bone

Courage, huh?

You only see courage in the darkness. On those empty nights when even the stars look angry and cold. Courage rises up when you’ve taken a beating. It walks along shadowed paths, not through sunlit meadows. Do you really want to see courage? There is a cost to it, a terrible pain. Courage is never easy and plump. Courage gets scraped off the bone, after the flesh has worn away.

Yeah, I have seen courage.

In that little girl who kept house at the age of ten. Her Southern belle momma had died and while her daddy was fast with a gun, he didn’t care much for cooking. She was the finest hostess I ever met and always set the table with china. Her specialty: lemon meringue pies and calling children out of the cold with a cup of cocoa and a piece of gooey, bubbling cinnamon toast.

I have seen courage.

In that man in his fifties, standing to follow God. His kids kept a “swear jar” but he didn’t need it anymore. He retired, gave twenty acres of empty land to God, then worked every day for the rest of his life. He poured himself out in service until he died in his chair, at one hundred and four, in the log cabin he built next to the camp he founded.

I have seen courage.

In that young pastor who left safety behind. His church. His home. His paycheck. He moved his family into a single bedroom with the promise that his folks wouldn’t let them starve. Then he started the summer ministry at that tiny scrap of a camp where his parents had planted their hearts so many years before. He died there, working on the off-grid power system that gave light to their home.

I have seen courage.

In the woman who buried two husbands. One died suddenly, in medias res, caught in the daily grind of a dream. One died slowly, melted away, slipped from broad shoulders and strength to bedpans and bones. She was the one who was strong, so very strong. She carried us along until the day that dawn came once again. 

I have seen courage.

In the boy raised with anger. The hush of death, the hiss of words, the silence and chill of hatred. He walked out, broken but not crushed, scarred but still able to feel. And after all that, he dared the impossible. He loved. He loved me. Loved our sons. Loved every single angry hurting child the Lord sent our way. Loved until it stripped him bare and left him sobbing. Then he had the audacity to love some more.

I have seen courage.

In the girl doing CPR on her father, in her red slippers, out in the snow. Chest compressions until her arms trembled. In the woman making homemade soup. Another death. Another dad. Final breaths, again. In the woman afraid to serve, afraid because she saw the cost. But she did and she does and she writes every holy and terrible thing down. Stories and pictures, salvation and pain, inheritance and the hope of a future. She writes and walks forward and dares a broken heart, just one more day, just one more time, until it is broken for good.

Used up. Scraped from the bone. Till nothing is left but courage.

Kristen Joy Wilks

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Come and join me over at The Campfire Blog as I record the ups and downs of this crazy thing called camp ministry. This week: Junior High Winter Blast!

Here’s a sneak peek … .

Junior High Winter Blast is one of our favorites here at Camas Meadows.

This is such a fun age-group to host.

Junior high campers have the incredible energy and capacity for adventure of children.

But their thought processes are maturing and they are able to hold deep conversations about life, the Bible, God, and of course snow ducks!

Or rubber duckies, depending what kind of duck is available.

This camper brought ducks with her this year because … ducks! Later, her cabin was delighted when Boo Boo found a snow duck maker and gifted it to them. More about that later.

But as was mentioned earlier, ducks are only one of the topics that junior high campers can wax eloquent about! Here, the campers worship God together with song. It was so delightful to have a quick visit from Choco and Partake as well as the joy of listening to Choco lead us in worship again. These kids know how to sing and they rattled the lodge with their voices. So lovely!

OK, folks. End of Boo Boo’s official camp blog teaser! Please zip on over to The Campfire Blog to enjoy the rest of our adventures!!!

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What is the difference between these two photos of Scruffy and I?

Twenty-one years of marriage, twenty-two of camp ministry, three fabulously grumpy teenage sons, two Newfoundland dogs, perhaps a pound … or several, and 10,000 hours of writing.

Yep, I finally got my 10,000 hours of writing practice in.

Why is this a thrilling milestone? That is a good question. One that may well be end up being answered with adroit sentences like: “Duh? It means I practiced tons and tons!”

In his book Outliers, Malcolm Gladwell gives 10,000 hours as the number of fabulous greatness. I’ve seen writing pros mention this magical 10,000 hours again and again. At writer’s conferences, editors and agents said they were looking for authors who had gotten in their 10,000 hours. Blogs urged writers to shoot for this huge and daunting goal. Therefore, in 2003, when I was pregnant with my oldest son, I started keeping track of my writing hours in an amazing burst of meticulous activity that perhaps I should have devoted toward dusting.

Looking back, maybe these editors and agents were simply tired of chatting with the dewy-eyed newb I used to be and wanted conversations with what I have become, a grizzled and jaded writer veteran so used to rejection that I simply cut and paste the dismissing missives into my huge file labeled “rejection” and move on with nary a tear. Perhaps they were hungry for writers who resembled beef jerky more than peaches and cream.

So, that son who was just a bump in my belly back when I started tracking writing hours is now eighteen years old. I have achieved my goal. What does this mean?

Well, when I looked up the 10,000 hours practice rule to provide a link, all of the articles were about how this has been debunked.

But that is alright.

While I may not have gained writerly brilliance, pursuing those 10,000 hours has given me several things.

1. I gained the joy of setting goals and watching myself accomplish them.
2. I learned the value of keeping track of my work. It showed me the weeks that I’d gotten distracted and the ones where I’d pressed forward and accomplished more than expected.
3. I’ve written 29 book manuscripts in that time for a total of 30. Practice makes better!
4. I’ve learned to pour my heart into a wide variety of projects. From blog posts, articles, and short stories to book manuscripts that range from 1,000 words to 118,000 words.
5. I have learned so much about the craft of writing as I’ve toiled along.
6. I’ve learned how to fast draft instead of take five years per story.
7. There is a value in creating. Even without “brilliance,” creating is something God does and made us to do and just stepping out and trying is brilliant in and of itself.
8. I have worked up the skill and speed so that now I can participate in NaNoWriMo, which is very fun and satisfying.
9. I have met so many amazing writers over the years at conferences.
10. I’ve learned how to write a top-notch proposal.
11. I’ve learned how to pitch my work in a professional setting.
12. I’ve had articles and stories published. Watched five books published with a small press and self-published two.
13. I’ve learned how to submit my work to contests. I’ve learned how to both lose and win.
14. My three sons have grown up watching me strive for excellence in a craft that I love. Yes, my focus was on raising them, but they also know that one must struggle to achieve your goals and sometimes that struggle takes 20+ years, ha!
15. So, perhaps 10,000 hours of practice is no longer considered the number of brilliance. But that’s all right. I have achieved so much during those 10,000 hours of struggle that I don’t regret a single one.

What about you? What are you striving for that brings you joy, whether or not you achieve your ultimate goals in that area?

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Grandma Judy and two of our camp nurses were chased by a wild animal today. While wild animals are always an honor to get a glimpse of, this group of ladies did not feel at all safe. They even brandished a stick in this creature’s direction. The animal lowered her head, gave them the evil stare, and charged at them. Grandma Judy feared for the life of her little dog Evie and was looking for a better weapon when the creature checked on her fawn and decided to leave.

Yes, the ferocious animal was a doe. She has a fawn in the area and has also been seen chasing our downstairs neighbor’s cat! I know, I know, I keep using that photo of the little bear to trick you. I can’t help myself. It’s so fun! Neither I nor Grandma Judy have ever been chased by a bear. But tread the forest floor with caution folks, there are angry momma deer creeping about, waiting to attack!

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Thanks to Grandma Judy coming over to wrangle our three teenage sons, Scruffy and I were able to get away for a couple of days.

Our favorite get away is a little hotel in Centralia, WA. Its last major renovation was in 1924 and what it lacks in amenities (no tv, pool, or gym) it makes up for in awesomeness. It was a gentleman’s club and a brothel, home to bootleggers and small-time criminals. The massive mahogany bar, chandeliers, and gigantic porcelain urinals in the men’s bathroom speak of past elegance while stories of card sharks and bank robbers remind guests of a checkered past.

Since I love old things and history of all kinds, it is a perfect escape. Scruff and I hiked through the winter woods, which was a treat since our forest is still under three feet of snow.

We got to watch a movie in their small, basement theater. Antique couches provide seating and guests can order a whole pizza to eat during the show. This was our first movie in a year due to the pandemic so it was a treat.

Scruff brought along one of his board games. Parks is a charming little game based on National Parks around the U.S.. It has lovely art, some of which is based on beauties that we saw this summer when we camped in Mt. Rainier National Park.

I have photos of the boys walking through this very meadow. Although the bear that we saw, was grazing in a different spot. It was a delight to get away together and even more wonderful to come home to our happy doggy and adorably grumpy teenage sons who assured us that, “We didn’t miss you at all.”

The post A Real Date! appeared first on KristenJoyWilks.com.

12-4-2018

Hmmm … I jumped onto the website intent on writing a lovely blog post about how busy my sons have been spouting out hilarious statements, teaching their mother to play Halo, shooting her with Nerf guns, and hiding behind trees with snowballs in wait while she/I walked innocently out to the car all ready for church (an event I had hoped to attend without snow in my hair or down my neck, unreasonable woman that I am). But look! I failed to document an historic event, a two day date, with that pesky man and love of my life. The very one who gifted our three sons with a deep and abiding love of annoying their mother.

Being in the summer camp ministry, getting away for a date in the summer isn’t really an option. So when the first free time finally rolls around … in October, we are always so thrilled to get out on a date! This is the lovely parking lot near our hotel in Centralia, WA. That is a fine parking lot folks! And it only gets better, yay!

We stayed in the Olympic Club, a hotel which is virtually unchanged from its opulent remodel in 1913 when it was perhaps a bit rowdier than it is now. The stories from its historic (ie seedy, but very exciting) past are told in writing along the walls of the rooms, bathrooms, and hallways. No TVs in the rooms, but we had an original porcelain sink which was super cute as well as the story of Ernie, written on our wall. He was apparently a fast talker who managed to convince local authorities that there was nothing illegal whatsoever going on behind that massive mahogany bar which according to him did not see a drop of alcohol mar its glorious finish.

We watched a movie in the hotel’s theater with our very own pizza, that we didn’t have to share with any children, chickens, or dogs.

And even found a small series of hiking trails to get lost in. Of course, we had to hike to get to the hiking trails and took a moment to balance on the train tracks … right before I tripped and got a bunch of bruises, but that is another story.

It took a bit of wandering, but we did eventually find this lovely sanctuary.

Oh, look! I was there, too. It’s hard not to just take pictures of the scenery, especially when what we were walking through was so very lovely.

This type of country reminds me of the forest that I used to play in before our family moved to the Bible Camp. My dad was a pastor in Wishkah, WA until I turned eight and I spent many happy hours climbing “Dr. Seuss Trees” in the woods around our house.

Scruffy and I actually did not climb any trees, but we still had a lovely hike.

Our last night there we enjoyed dinner and a moment of quiet beside the outdoor fire pit. A beautiful ending to an amazing date with my guy, and yes, of course we ate chocolate. I’m sorry for not including a photo, but it was delicious. Oh, wait. I think I do have a picture.

Yum! Now, back to the real world for us! It is so strange that while we loved a peaceful moment together, we missed the boys and Leia terribly and were ready to rush back into all that craziness when the time came. Thank you Grandma Judy for taking care of our herd of boys, dog, and pet chickens while we were away!

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The camp counselors, High School and College students, put together a beautiful card, with a crusty couple riding a motorbike on the front, that was full of cash! Yes indeedy, kids never have money, but they still managed to find some and give it to us so that we could have a fabulous anniversary date.

They also wrote some super sweet things inside the card that made me burst into tears. But without further ado, here is our fabulous date and our family’s trip to Slide Waters provided by the awesome owners who left tickets for “Scruffy” at the gate and forever embarrassed the girl working there who had to ask people, “Are you Scruffy?”

Thank you so much, everyone. It was so good to spend the day together.

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Come and join me over at the camp blog.

Let It Snow

It is snowing outside as I write.

The powdered sugar flakes sifting down at an angle bring a smile and a sigh of relief. Snow is one of those things we pray for here at camp. Will the snow come early enough in the season or late enough to cover those last few camps? Will we have enough snow to run the tube hill before that first rental group? Will we get a sufficient amount of snow to insulate the ground before we get a long cold stretch or will the pipes freeze again? One more thing we must give to God…Read More

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This week though, I sang him Amazing Grace at bedtime. “What’s Grace Momma?” I tried to explain and in doing so mentioned God rescuing us when we didn’t deserve it. He seemed interested and so I asked him, “Do you want to pray to become God’s boy?” Yes he did!

So how does a fierce little four-year-old soul approach the throne of Heaven?

Me: “Have you ever done bad things sweetheart?”

Sweet Boy#3: “Yeah, I punched my brothers in the stomach.”

Me: “Do you think that God send Jesus to rescue you, to take the consequence God had for you and let you come into Heaven and be His boy.”

Sweet Boy#3–“Yep.”

And he prayed my wonderful little boy, He confessed his punching ways and asked Jesus to take on Himself the consequences from God so that he could become God’s boy. So crazy and beautiful and there on his bunk the journey of faith is begun. Lord grow him. Grow him up into a boy who chooses you and a man who chooses you, all the days of his life.

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