Take heart, God is for you! {Even when you want to crawl in a hole and die.}

Last weekend, I posted this photo on my personal Facebook page with the caption, " Spending some special one-on-one time with my buddy Logan at KinderCamp!💛"

With both of us smiling and clad in our matching t-shirts, it's a pretty Instagram-worthy photo if I do say so myself. But let me tell you a secret: Throughout the weekend, my 5-year-old repeatedly asked me when we would be going home and, frankly, there was nothing I wanted to do more than just that. Well, actually there was. I wanted to go home and cry into my pillow.

In retrospect, I had pretty much set us up for failure. I was exhausted before we even embarked on our trip up north. (Our family had spent the previous weekend in St. Germain with my parents, and I had crammed in a trip to the Milwaukee zoo with my mom, mother-in-law, and the two Littles two days before my 5-year-old and I headed up north. Plus, I've mentioned this a couple of times before, but I just kind of live in a constant state of fatigue from my normal life. I'm praying this will get better as my kids grow older and more independent!) Anyway, I was mentally and physically drained, which, if you've ever had a 5-year-old boy, is not the way you want to begin a weekend with him! Mama needs to be rested, refreshed, and have access to a DEEP well of patience!

Besides being weary to the bone, we headed to camp alone, not knowing anyone. At one time, years ago, three of my friends and I realized that each of us had a child the right age for all of us to head to camp together! That would have been amazing. Unfortunately, one friend has since moved to another state, another decided she actually didn't want to go, and the third did go to camp this summer with her son, but we couldn't get our schedules to align. If you know me well, you'll know that I am naturally shy and introverted. I can act extroverted and friendly, but it requires something I simply didn't have that weekend: energy. Too tired from our jam-packed schedule and constantly having to correct my son's behavior (see below), I allowed my introversion to have free reign. I'm pretty sure I came off as standoffish at times, and I was lonely.

The biggest factor in the weekend's lack of success, however, was that my son simply wasn't ready for KinderCamp. This excellent program is highly structured and jam-packed with activities, but, truly, my son was the happiest just sitting by the water with me, collecting interesting stones on the beach, and making up battles with the two Skylander figures he had tucked into his red and black duffle bag. The tight schedule of activities (albeit incredibly fun activities) was just too much for him.

Consequently, he made some choices that were not typical of him. For example, we were headed toward the courtyard when I realized I had forgotten our water bottles in our room.

"Logan, we have to go back to the room for a minute. Come here," I instructed.

Eyes gleaming with mischief, he looked right at me and then turned on his heel and continued to march toward the courtyard.

I was already done by that point, so I didn't chase after him and talk to him about obedience as I would typically have done. I just headed back to our room, grabbed the water bottles, noticed that his needed refilling, added a bit more water from the bubbler, and then strode to the courtyard. I figured he would have found his counselors or would be playing with the other children. He was nowhere to be found.

I scanned the courtyard carefully, making sure I hadn't missed him. Nope, no Logan. I returned to our room. No Logan. I checked both the bathrooms. "Logan?" No answer. I headed back to the courtyard and found one of our counselors. Had she seen Logan? No. The children were now gathering around some guitar-strumming counselors who were beginning to lead worship songs. I scanned the miniature bodies. No Logan. I tried our room and the bathroom one more time. The panic really set in, and I resolved to start searching the more extended areas of the camp. I emerged from a set of double doors near the dining hall, and out stepped Logan from behind a tree, tears streaming down his face. "I couldn't find you!" he wailed.

I hugged him close. When you can't find your mother, the obvious solution is to hide behind a tree. Five-year-old logic. This was one example. There were others, let me tell you.

The two days that we were at camp were heavily peppered with acts of disobedience, lack of gratitude (he made frequent comments like, "Conner is so lucky that he gets to spend the weekend with Grandma and Grandpa. I wish I were Conner,") and silliness in the extreme. My buddy is a light-hearted soul who delights in goofiness. I adore this about Logan, but he reached a level of silliness I had never seen before, sometimes to the point of being disrespectful and unkind.

Speaking of new levels, I reached a new level of mortification myself. On our last day at camp, the entire KinderCamp was led on a hike through the various villages, where the older kids bunk. At each stop, one of the counselors led a devotion. (It was lovely, really!) At one stop, a counselor asked, "What is a word you would use to describe yourself?" Logan's hand shot up.

"Tooting boot!" he exclaimed.

No one laughed.

Embarrassment washed over me like a tidal wave. Oh my word, had I not corrected him about his "bathroom talk" at least twenty-five times that very day? What in the world would make him think it was OK to use "bathroom talk" in front of a huge group of people? Not wanting to embarrass him by correcting him in front of the group, I tried to keep my face expressionless. I would wait for a moment when we were alone to talk about why it's not OK to respond with silly answers in those situations and especially with "potty words."

"And what's a word that Jesus would use to describe you?" the counselor continued.

To my horror, Logan's hand shot up again, and he loudly blurted, "LOSER!"

This. This is the moment I wanted the ground to yawn open, so I could just crawl in and die.

I actually had to instruct myself, Do not cry, do not cry, do not cry. For a moment, I confess, I considered sneaking away at the first opportunity, so I could just head home and put an end to the weekend once and for all. But I needed to be filled up in the worst way, so how illogical would it have been for me to skip worship that morning? And what example would I be setting for my son? You can make it to the end of worship, I cheered myself on. You can even make it through lunch. You can make it the three-hour drive home. And then you can take a long hot shower and cry into your pillow as much as you want.

And, just like He does, God showed up in the most unexpected way. We gathered for outdoor worship (you guys, there is nothing like worshiping in the northwoods under a canopy of evergreens), and the pastor of the week gave both the children's message and the adult message. And the Lord spoke to me through the children's message. The pastor had two terracotta pots--one was planted with orange flowers, and the outside was painted with bright colors. The second pot was plain, no flowers, no colors. He asked the children which pot was the "better pot." Of course, the children asserted that the brightly painted pot with the flowers was better. The pastor said, "I disagree." He proceeded to place the plain pot in a large Ziploc bag (I bet you know where I'm going with this now) and smashed it on a rock. It was hilarious to see how shocked and horrified the children were to see a grown-up break something on purpose. He opened the bag and pulled out something we hadn't seen inside the plain pot, but that had been there all along--a simple wooden cross, Jesus. Obviously, the message is that paint, flowers, (outward appearances, how our children behave in front of other people, ahem) are not what makes us beautiful. Having Jesus within us makes us beautiful. Oh, what salve was that simple message to this mama who had just been humiliated to her very depths. Thank you, God.

I'd like to say that this message was enough to completely turn around our weekend, but that simply wouldn't be true. (Although it was enough to keep me from sobbing when the "Low Tire" light shone on the dashboard when I started the van. Because that happened.) As I drove home, I asked myself if there were any moments over the course of the entire weekend that I actually found enjoyable. I had to really dig deep, but I found them.

• Logan's small, warm, damp hand in mine--always--as we walked from Point A to Point B. (My big boys don't want to hold my hand as much anymore and, when they do, it's not as natural.)
• Without being asked, Logan collecting the songbooks for the counselors after evening devotionals.
• Sitting by the water in the early morning, drinking our cups of "coffee." (Mine was legit, Logan's was mostly vanilla-flavored creamer with a splash of coffee.)
• Logan's excitement whenever he found a "crystal" (that is, any rock containing a hint of quartz) and wanting to bring all the crystals home.
• Reading aloud to Logan his first chapter books--My Father's Dragon and A Bear Called Paddington. (By the way, I highly recommend both of these titles as first read-aloud chapter books.)
• Logan picking a wildflower for me and searching earnestly for two more, one for each of his counselors. (He never found them.)
• Logan falling in love with the song "My Lighthouse" and asking for it over and over on the way home.

The common factor in most of these pleasant memories is that they are simple and unstructured, which led me to the very clear conclusion that my buddy just wasn't ready for KinderCamp. (If I do go to KinderCamp with Theo, it will be when he is six-years-old, at the youngest. That is, if I go at all. I think it may very well be Daddy's turn.) And I would be wise not to push myself as hard as I do, in an attempt to "be fair" and give all of my boys the same experiences their brothers had.

If you were to ask Logan how he liked camp, he would probably tell you that it was fun and he had a great time. I love that, and I hope that's the way he'll always remember it.

Also, this is a friendly reminder that there's always more behind the Instagram-worthy pictures we see featured on social media. I have lots of cute photos that I could have posted that would have made our weekend look blissful:

Do you see what I mean? You've probably heard this before, but it's worth repeating: Do not compare your life to someone else's highlight reels. You never really know what's going on in the background.

Blessings on your weekend, friend!

XO,
Kristin