Preparedness

I'm not old enough to have a real job. I'm not old enough to have graduated college just months before I get married, only to start my real job two weeks after that. I'm just not old enough.

But, looking back, I realized that God sure has prepared me for this job. His blessings are immeasurable.

If you want me to be completely honest, I can trace this whole story of preparing me for this job all the way back to the beginning of my life. But that would take a long time with a lot of pointless side stories. And if you know me at all, you know I like to tell side stories, so I'll spare you all that and only take you back about 4 years ago.

College was a no-brainer option for me. I was going to go to college, earn a teaching degree, and change the world as I shaped the all-too-crazy minds of the future. It was right about my junior year of high school that I decided to become a music teacher and join the amazing ranks of music teachers I had the pleasure of working with in my past.

CHOOSING a college, however, was a completely different endeavor. I'm not one of those people who just knows a lot of random facts about different colleges. I didn't know which schools were the "best music schools to go to" or "the ones with the best sports teams" or even "what college even was." So I literally came to the table with nothing except the desire to learn and to teach. And, as in all instances of my life, I had multitudes of people suddenly full of opinions that needed to be shared with me. I listened, and kind of did my own research.

I mean, sure. I went on college visits (both to get out of school and because I was interested in them), but I didn't really care about where I would end up. I didn't care too much about the audition process. I was kind of nonchalant about the whole thing (which looking back is the definition of my entire college career... I cared A LOT about what I went to school for, not so much about the other stuff like getting nervous for juries or my recital or any of that jazz.) Somehow I ended up with my top two choices: Anderson University in Anderson, Indiana; and Otterbein University in Westerville, Ohio.  (I actually know how I ended up with these schools, but that's not the point of this blog). I was faced with a choice, and after much prayer I decided on Otterbein University. And boy, I'm so glad I did.

Choosing Otterbein meant I was closer to home, which opened up several doors of opportunity for me. Because I was a drivable distance for home, I was brought on as the Accompanist for Bellefontaine's show choir, Les Fons. This group was my family while I was a member, and continued to be my family as I mentored to the students and honed my piano accompaniment skills. Somehow, through the divine plan God had set out, I was able juggle my schedule enough to come home weekly in the Fall Semester to accompany rehearsals and their big show "Cabaret". Had I gone with Anderson University this opportunity would not have come up for me. God is faithful. God is good.

While at Otterbein, I made it a HUGE priority of mine to get into a choir and continue my vocal training. I instantly got hooked on voice lessons, even though it wasn't required of me due to my primary instrument being the saxophone. Choir was a huge part of my life-- I LOVE SINGING-- and so I made sure to continue that in my college career. It was a necessity for me. It worked out for me to be in the top choir and even serve as a section leader for two semesters. God is faithful. God is good.

I can remember my dad and I talking one night while I was home during sophomore year about what I wanted to do post graduation.  He asked me what way I was leaning for teaching (MusicEd can teach Band, Choir, Orchestra, General Music.. basically anything music). Without even questioning, I answered, "If I had to choose right now, I would teach choir at a small school. Maybe one close to home." Now I'm teaching at West Liberty- Salem Local schools-- a small school, close to home. God is faithful. God is good.

Then this West Liberty Job opens up! The whole story is totally a God thing. It wasn't even on my radar as a job position. Then my fiancee, Bethany, was talking to the current director about jobs around the area. Little did I know it would turn into a job for me at the school of my dreams. This school, the administration, the kids, the location.. it all is exactly where I feel comfortable. And it's only because God has prepared me to be exactly where I am. Exactly here.

--
God has prepared me to be where I am today. No, I still don't feel old enough to actually have a job and not be in college. But, God has prepared me to be in this position and has paved the way for me to reach this milestone according to HIS plan. It hasn't failed me yet; I think I'll keep following wherever He leads.

And so it goes..

Letter to Grandma

Dear Grandma,

            I hope that you are looking peacefully down upon our family from heaven. It has been 7 years since you passed away, and yet to me it still seems like you were here yesterday. I find myself often thinking about that night before your surgery, when you assured me that everything was going to be fine. I notice that more times than not, I recall the treacherous news of your stroke, your brain aneurysm, and the painful month you endured before passing. I miss you so much grandma.

            One of my biggest regrets in life is not telling you goodbye officially, grandma. When this was all happening, I was in the eighth grade and didn’t want to really accept what was going on. Instead, I pretended that I was oblivious. Silently hoping that if I ignored the blatant reality before me, you would miraculously get better and be able to respond again. I think that what made me so scared was that when I did come to visit you in the nursing home, you could not talk. Grandma, I watched your eyes long to reach out to touch me. I watched the strain in your face as you attempted to say, “I Love you.” And you couldn’t get it out. Your stroke had taken you over. So I pretended that if I didn’t come and visit you when news hit that you were really sick, that if I didn’t think about it, you would come out of the nursing home and head back to your house so we could make cookies and play cards and eat hardboiled eggs. I miss you so much grandma.

            So, I’m writing this letter to finally say goodbye to you grandma. Even though I know that it is really not goodbye, but more a “see you later,” it doesn’t make it any easier in my mind. Especially since I know you will never really receive this letter. But I wanted to have the chance to tell you goodbye, and that I love you so very much. Knowing that you are pain free now, resting alongside our savior in heaven is the best gift I could ever imagine.

            I’m writing this letter to thank you for all that you taught me in my short thirteen years of life. Because of your nurturing, I gained a love for music that is unexplainable to other people (even other musicians). I enjoyed coming to your house to show you the new song I learned on the piano that week. I really loved turning around and seeing your beaming face after I played my first piece at church one Sunday evening. You were a great supporter, and for that I thank you. Thank you for taking me to church and making sure I had a home in my church family. Your guidance and friendship that you had with members of the church inspired me to reach out and use my talents at church to make my own friends. Thank you for showing me patience when things in our family went awry. Grandma, I’m sure that the issues present among your three kids were part of the reason of your passing. It was a stressful time. But watching your patience and love with your kids has taught me how to deal with life when similar situations arise. You taught me more than I could ever express, and for that I am truly thankful. I miss you so much grandma.

            I hope that, as you look down on us right now, grandma, you are pleased with what you see. I of course have not lived a perfect life. Our family has fought, and there is still a lot of heartache. But, it is my hope that you see the young man I have become and are proud of who I am. I hope that I have made you happy to know that I have followed your teaching and have continued to show love as you showed me. Thanks grandma for those 13 years of love, teaching, and patience. There isn’t a day that goes by where I don’t think of you. Give grandpa a hug for me, and know that I’ll be down here thinking about you.

Love always,

Brice Henry

            

Why camp? Part 1

Many people ask me why I do camp every year. It seems more people are asking me more and more this year with graduation coming up. It has made me wonder what my answer would be.. Why do I keep going back to camp each year? Why, when I will be getting a job (hopefully) for this upcoming school year, will I be spending my summer at a small camp in the middle of nowhere? Blogging seemed like a right answer.

First and foremost, I do it because I am serving my Savior and camp is where He has called me. I am committed to going where He calls me, and right now I know that it is at a small plot of land that is full of a whole lot of Jesus.

But there are more. There are so many stories. Let me start with this one.

This is a memoir I wrote for one of my classes. I'm not sure how well it will translate onto a blog format, but here is my try. May shed a small light onto the reason why, even this summer, and for many summers to come, I will be going to camp.

This One Time At Church Camp

            On Thursday all the campers leave.

            “UGHHHH!! I want to go home!” James declared Thursday morning as he stomped back toward the tabernacle. “Nobody loves me here, anyway.” He had just been pulled out of a tussle that had broken out in the lunch line. I had separated the two who were fighting, leaving one where he was and putting James in the back of the line. This was not okay for James, who had been rowdy all week long. He’d had enough, and wanted to be anywhere but where he was.

            Extreme emotions were nothing new for James. All week he wanted to go home, finding some way to make the focus on him, negatively or positively. You see, James is this squirrely character. Standing no more than 4’6”, this ball of energy was constantly being carried back into the dorm by two of our more brawny counselors, or being chased after as he ran from the tabernacle during chapel time. James was an elementary kid taken to the extreme. But, oh how I loved (and still love) him.

            Of course I was hot on his heels the instant he took off. Of course I was prepared to sit James down and chat with him. Of course I was not quick enough to reach him in time until, of course, he was lashing out at me.

~~~

            On Monday, I was prepared for the week of camp to begin much like any other week. The soft call of the crow sitting in the distant tree provided a sonorous soundtrack to the sundrenched morning. I had awoken fairly early that Monday morning, unable to squelch the nerves and excitement I contained. The campers would be arriving today! I was so excited to spend another week at my second home; I was ready to get started spending every minute of every hour hanging out with the restless third- through fifth-graders; I was prepared to expend all of my energy only to crash for longer than I should come the weekend. After all, this wasn’t my first rodeo. By this point, I was a veteran Camp Union guy. No sweat. After ten years of a Camp Union Camper with eight as a counselor, I was prepared for all that was to come.

            On Monday, I took on a new role at Camp Union. I was even prepared to be director of this elementary week. I was a member in a team of young people, full of fresh ideas, who were respected by the rest of our staff. We got along really well together—unafraid to talk out situations; we tended to reach decisions quickly—which was a huge bonus as we faced this bound-to-be crazy week. Us directors, we had spent countless hours planning chapel services, afternoon activities, and campfire talks—the whole gamut. With team JAB (Jessie, Allison,Brice), I felt prepared for anything.

            But I was not prepared for James.

~~~

            “James,” I said as I entered the tabernacle on that Thursday afternoon. He was already on the stage. “James, please just have a seat for a moment. We can take a deep breath, wait until we’re calm and ready to join the group, and then go have some lunch.”

            “I’m not hungry.”

            “James, this is the special lunch all of the counselors worked hard to prepare for you. Don’t you want to enjoy this last meal we have together for this year of camp?” I was trying very hard to remain patient with this kid. He had been on my last nerve all week long. James never felt accepted at home. His parents let him leave the house for school in the morning, only to return later than a fifth-grader should that evening. James explained to me that there is hardly any communication, and very little interest in what he was doing in school or who he was hanging out with. Not one single adult in James’ life cared about his growing up. I knew that camp was the only place where he was able to embrace the truth of his being loved. I knew that camp was the only where adults were completely invested in his life.  

            I had to continue to love him, and show him that love.

            “Come on, let’s go sit on the benches and enjoy the nice fresh air,” I suggested.

            James wasn’t having it. He grabbed the broomstick we were using earlier for a limbo competition. He started swinging at anything that was near him: the altar, the pews, even me. Nothing too extreme, just lightly tapping everything (I dodged out of the way). But I was on his tail. He was not calming down, and I was not going to give in to his childish behaviors by letting him go without eating. “James. Put the broomstick down. We are going to eat. End of story.” I was beginning to finally lose my patience. James ignored me, and walked outside to the benches. I followed him.

~~~

            On Tuesday I reflect about the Alpha Center. The Alpha Center is one of the coolest places I’ve ever been to. It is a safe haven, giving children of abusive or disregarding homes a safe place to go after school. Showing up into the campers worlds, as opposed to the other way as it works at camp, has such power. Suddenly, the adults who were interested in them for one week of their lives are showing interest past what was expected. We “big people” are staying true to our word: we love these kids.

            And the kids are so excited to show us their world! In the summer before camp, James was playing ski ball. I walked up to him and challenged him to a game. Being the competitive animal he is, he of course accepted. James was a viewfinder in the precision-based game of ski ball. Every one of his throws carefully catapulted into the 50-point hole as if it belonged there. I on the other hand could barely get the ball to be attracted to the 10-point section.

            Fortunately, the center works closely with our camp, and brings a van full of kids to each week. For a week, kids with some of the most gruesome back-stories get to spend a week where they are truly important. Some of the homes that these kids come from are horrendous. There are 11 year olds who could leave the house at 7:30AM and not return until 11:30 PM and whose parents would not even bat an eye or wonder where they were. They have no adults that truly care about them. For one week out of their summer, 20 adults care about them. 20 adults wonder where they are. 20 adults let them know they are special (because, for real, they ARE special).

~~~

            When he arrived on Monday, I immediately knew James would be my special project. Within the first five minutes of getting off the van, a fight had broken out between James and another camper. Blame was being thrown around as to who stole the basketball and who was really out in four square. At that moment, it was my duty to break up the fight. As the director of this week of camp, I had high expectations for myself. I wanted to reach campers in a different light than I had before. James was going to be the one that I wanted to reach. Not because I had to, but because I wanted to. James and I would connect I knew we would.

            And we did. He would have his moments, and I would have to remind myself, “It’s okay, he is only in the 5^th Grade.” He would act out, run away from chapel services, and work me to my last nerve. There were times on Tuesday and Wednesday where I wanted to grab him by the arm and drag him to a place of solitude, to let him “sit there until he realized what he had done.” But I knew that wasn’t the way to handle James.

            On Wednesday, the conversation I had with the J of team JAB, Jessie, helped me understand how to handle James.. “I am at my wits end with this kid,” I said.

            “Brice. He wants you to be at your wits end. He is testing you,” Jessie offered.

            “How so?”

            “You know how he is neglected at home. You know how he is constantly told no and you know how he feels unloved by adults. You’re an adult. He doesn’t know how to react to your unceasing love, because before this the only thing he knew from adults was neglect.” I let the truth of those words sink in. He was really a great kid, and I truthfully did love him. I needed to continue to show him love. I could not give in. “Just remain patient with him. Show him the love you know he deserves,” Jessie finished.

~ ~ ~

            “James,”
            “I’m. Not. HUNGRYYYYYY!!!” He shouted with the most rage I could ever imagine an eleven year old to have. On this Thursday, James was a volcano in the middle of its first big eruption. Suddenly the new scenery became targets for his swinging practice; he brought down several branches full of vibrant leaves in one fell swoop. I decided to keep my distance. But I had finally reached my limit, and could no longer accept this behavior. It was time to show him tough love.

            “James, you will put that broomstick down right now. You will get in line for lunch. And you will sit in the cafeteria until lunch is over. I know you are much better behaved than this, I’ve seen it happen in years before. This is not how a 5^th grader acts, and I expect to see a change in your behavior immediately.” He tried to mention that nobody loved him here. “I LOVE YOU, JAMES!” I cried, my voice echoing among the trees and camp buildings. He mumbled that he didn’t care, and then I couldn’t hold back any longer. “Well you know what, James?” I retorted, “I DO NOT CARE IF YOU DO NOT CARE OR NOT. BECAUSE I STILL LOVE YOU, AND WILL CONTINUE TO LOVE YOU EVEN IF YOU DON’T LOVE ME AND DON’T THINK THAT I DO.” At this point, everyone had gone down into the cafeteria. Except my boss, who had just pulled into our camp to see me pacing around the benches with James, keeping the bench between his swing and me. Her presence didn’t stop me from continuing to love. “EVEN IF YOU SIT UP HERE AND NEVER GO EAT ANOTHER MEAL FROM THE CAFETERIA, I WILL STILL LOVE YOU. EVEN IF YOU HATE ME, I WILL STILL LOVE YOU. BECAUSE THAT’S WHAT I DO, JAMES. I CAN’T HELP BUT LOVE YOU.” The swings of his broomstick were becoming harder and harder. The leaves were the raindrops that always tend to pour in the emotional parts of movies and television sitcoms. “I HAVE SEEN WHAT AN AMAZING KID YOU ARE AND I BELIEVE IN WHO YOU ARE. I WON’T STOP LOVING YOU, BECAUSE I KNOW THAT LOVE IS WHAT YOU NEED. AND LOVE IS WHAT YOU WANT. SO, DON’T CARE. THAT’S FINE. I’M STILL GOING TO LOVE YOU.” His rage had died down, and suddenly his bat became a poker, investigating every hole in the dirt. Calmly. Quietly. Thoughtfully.

~ ~ ~

            On Thursday all of the campers leave. On Thursday they get into their cars to excitedly explain to their families how their best friend poured water on them during “Drip, Drip, Pour” and it was the BEST. THING. EVER.

            On Thursday, James didn’t want to go home.

            You would think he would. After all, it was on Thursday that I laid into him about how much I loved him. It was on Friday that he got into his fight with a camper that sent him into a batting frenzy with a broomstick. But, nope. On Thursday, James wanted to stay at camp.

            “For real nobody loves me at home,” James spoke softly into the open air.

“James. I love you regardless of where you are. Everyone here loves you and will ALWAYS be praying for you. You know that.” I knew I would really be praying for him daily, but I also knew that to an 11-year-old that promise had no weight to it. All he could see was his parents ignoring his excited talk of what happened at camp. His Thursday would look very different than all the other campers.

~~~

            On Thursday all of the campers leave. On Thursday they get into their cars to explain to their families all of the crazy memories they made this week. But not James. On Thursday, James will climb into the van with the rest of the campers from the Alpha Center to plunge headfirst back into the world that they so secretly and internally despised. On Thursday, all of the camp staff will slowly rip their hearts out as they watch the hours of love drive away into a world nobody can wish on a young child.

            James knew I loved him. James knew that he was accepted. James knew that I was proud of the young man he was becoming. It was a tough love, but I am reminded that sometimes kids like James need tough love because it is caring for them at an individual and personal level. I had done my job—survive the week, and love on my campers. It’s campers like James who help me get through each day. I watch him transform from a camper who was so deadest on going home I had to talk him out of walking to his town  (which was a 2-hour CAR DRIVE) while he sat, bags packed, at the entrance to the camp, to a loved Child of God who dreaded traveling into the world he had momentarily escaped.

            James was the first to get on my nerves. James was the first to break my patience. James was the first camper I screamed at. James was the first real tear in my eye as I watched him drive away. Until next summer, James. Until next Summer.

And so it goes..