She climbs a little further and carefully scans the area, listening intently to make sure she’s frightened away any snakes and field mice, but not the birds and butterflies. Angie’s a city girl, a little tense out in untamed natural spots, and skittish about seeing wild animals, even little ones like chipmunks.
She doesn’t really recognize which little animals are dangerous and is more in danger of hurting herself trying to get away when startled by one. That’s how she felt her first year at youth camp. Their counselor, Sister Barkely, had brought them somewhere near here the last evening for a special time together before saying goodbye the next afternoon.
“NOW GIRLS,” Sister Barkley begins when they finally reach the flatter area at the top of the hill. “Let’s look for a spot where we can sit in a circle.” They’ve brought folded tarps to sit on and their flashlights to scatter the darkness. That’s about it. Something to sit on and something to see by.
Once they’re all seated, Sister Barkley tells them to shut off the flashlights. Angie, a little nervous, shrinks from the shadows that lurk in the night, but she’s with friends, so she complies, trying to remain calm.
“All right, girls. Now just relax. Get yourself as comfortable as you can, sitting on the ground with little stones poking your behinds.”
They giggle, of course. They’re twelve and thirteen years old. That’s what tweeny girls do in peer groups like this. They’re in awe of their leader and want to impress her, but don’t want to lose the respect of their friends. Each wants to appear cool, but all are just a little uncomfortable out here in the open. In the dark.
Up to now, their evening activities have been held just a few feet from other groups. Tonight, they’re all alone. It’s a little creepy. Angie’s just a little uneasy. Yes, and also a little scared.
Sister Barkley shushes and chides them. “You can do this, ladies. You can sit without squirming and talking for three or four minutes, can’t you? I know you can handle a little bit of quiet. Come on now. Sit in a circle, back to back so you won’t be distracted by one another.” They settle, backs touching.
“It’s like we’re in a museum or a library where you gotta be quiet,” Angie hears from behind her. A couple nervous sniggles. Soon, though, they all are mum; they mentally turn and listen. Just before they become unsettled in the silence, Sister Barkley continues in a hushed voice.
“Now, my dears. Look up.”
They do.
“Just absorb the silence of the night and glory in the splendor of the sky.”
They tilt back their heads and look up. They revel in the clear, cool night and gaze at the dark sky sparkling like a diamond-encrusted evening shawl draped over the transparent walls of the world.
A black silk shawl like the one Angie used when she and her sisters made tents to play in the dining room. Their mother had a hissy when she came home from shopping to see her heirloom stole flung so carelessly over her Duncan Phyfe chairs. The sky tonight looks like that scarf. Real dark, and shimmering with stars.
The night sky. So fragile looking. So breathtaking, enticing. Light years away these nebula of contracting gasses look so tiny from way down here on earth. What an awesome thought that the shimmering stars don’t fall right out of the sky.
After a couple minutes Sister Barkley begins reciting Psalms 19,
The heavens declare the glory of God;
and the firmament sheweth his handiwork.
Day unto day uttereth speech, and night
unto night sheweth knowledge.
There is no speech nor language, where their voice is not heard.
The girls shiver, considering the God of the Universe and the work of His hands.
Sister Barkley is silent for a couple more minutes. The girls tilt again, leaning their heads to the side to keep from bumping into their back to back partner. They watch. Sister Barkley’s deep voice begins, “O Lord, our Lord, how excellent is thy name in all the earth! Who hast set thy glory above the heavens..,” from Psalms 8. They contemplate the answer.
Angie tries to imagine what it looks like above the heavens. It’s so gorgeous right here. How much more glorious would things look, from God’s perspective, observing them from above the heavens?
She remembers sermons about the time when Jesus is to come back to take the saints to heaven. The pearly gates and the streets of gold. At home, in church, it’s hard to imagine such a place. Out here, up on this hill in the dark, hearing Sister Barkley quote from Psalms, Angie can believe that such a splendiferous heavenly home could be a real place.
When I consider thy heavens, the work of thy fingers,
the moon and the stars, which thou hast ordained;
What is man, that thou art mindful of him?
and the son of man, that thou visitest him?
Sister Barkley’s contralto voice makes the verses sound like a song. A song to the Creator. She begins to hum, “He’s got the whole world in His hands, He’s got the whole world in His hands.” The girls join in softly, singing the chorus several times, a little louder each time, reverently, but not as boisterously as they sing other camp songs. It just doesn’t seem right to be too noisy out here. They stop singing, but don’t begin chattering. They wait. Patiently. No talking; no wiggling.
“Ladies, tomorrow is our last day of camp. We’ve had a wonderful time these two weeks getting to know one another and getting to know the God of the Bible a little bit better. Tomorrow we head back home, and I know from past experience that once you get back home, lots of the excitement and enthusiasm of camp will simply evaporate. You’ll be back in situations where you’ll be challenged to live out the faith some of you have just recognized you have.”
The girls nod, faintly.
“Your parents will make demands of you that you feel are unfair. Your brothers and sisters will be their regular obnoxious selves, pushing your buttons and making you wish you were back here, away from it all. Well, it’ll be another year before we’ll be having camp here again, but in the meantime, you’ll not be alone.”
Eyebrows rise, but the girls say nothing.
“This God we’ve been studying about, this God we’ve been talking and singing about. This God we’ve been experiencing together here on Zion’s Hill, He’ll be with you in the form of His Holy Spirit. You just have to remember that and allow Him to bolster you with the strength and the courage to do what is right.”
The girls sit up and look at her with uncertain expressions.
“Yes, my dears, it’s going to take courage to live the Christian life. Some of you already have seen that here at camp. Back home, you’ll be teased. You’ll be ostracized. You’ll think you’ve made a bad decision to accept Christ as your Savior. You’ll wonder if it’s worth being left off invitation lists for some of the popular parties. You’ll question yourself, doubting you can hold up being talked about when you champion the weak, when you volunteer your weekends working on some service projects when you could be hanging out with your friends at the park or playground.”
Shaking heads suggest the youngsters believe they will remain faithful once they leave camp.
“I know, I know. I really do know. Once you leave, all that we’ve experienced here will seem like a dream. You’ll wonder if you’ve had an out of this world experience. You haven’t. This is real. And, I assure you, you can withstand the fiery darts of the Devil that’ll come at you when you return home.
“Fiery darts,” someone repeats.
“Yes, fiery darts. Remember that lesson about the whole armor of God? You’re going to need it. One thing about that armor, young ladies, is that it has to be maintained. In order for the Breastplate of Righteousness to resist rust and the Shield of Faith to stay shiny, they’ll have to be oiled. That’s where prayer and Bible study come in. Keep the helmet of salvation firmly on your heads and carry the sword of the Spirit with you at all times.”
Angie raises her hand ever so timidly and asks, “Sister Barkely, what kind of sword are we suppo
sed to be carrying? This ain’t a real sword, right?”
“No sweetie. We’re talking about the Word of God, the Bible. Girls, this Armor of God is figurative language. That means the writer uses familiar language to talk about something unfamiliar. In his letters to early Christians, the writer, Apostle Paul, uses the imagery of a soldier when writing about the hostility these early saints would face.”
The girls nod, but really don’t understand. Sister Barkley senses this and breaks it down a little more.
“This apostle looks at the Christian life as a battle against the Devil who doesn’t want you to live your lives as Christians. In this case, the Sword is the Word of God. That’s why we encourage you to memorize Scripture verses so they’ll be with you all the time. You know the story of Jesus being tempted by Satan?”
The girls nod soberly.
“As a young man, Jesus studied Scripture, and knowing what the Word of God says helped Jesus to resist the temptation of the Devil, Satan. If Jesus needed that kind of sword, you can be sure as shooting that you will need it, too. He thwarted the darts of the Devil with Scripture. You, too, can survive the darts of the Devil with Scripture.”
Another girl raises her hand, a little more boldly now that she sees Sister Barkely is open to questions of clarification.
“Um. Sister Barkely. What do you mean by ‘darts of the Devil’? Will we be able to see him shootin’ at us?”
“No, Honey. You’re not likely to be faced with a fork-tailed little guy in a red suit with horns growing out of his forehead.” The girls look at one another and giggle, thinking, That’s what I was thinkin’, too.
“That’s a cartoon Devil. No, my young darlings, the Devil you will encounter may have the face of your best friend tempting you to betray your calling to follow Christ. The Devil you sense may be within you, tempting you to skip your Bible reading, tempting you to cut short your prayer time, taunting you to say something mean to hurt someone who hurt your feelings.
“You will be enticed to do all manner of ungodly things. Actions or inactions that will cause you to doubt your faith, doubt the strength you have to withstand and to stand firm. To stand for right regardless of the situation…in a group or all alone.
The girls groan. This is getting close to home.
“Knowing God’s Word is the best way to protect yourself and to prepare yourself for what you’ll be facing every day until Jesus comes back again. Until that time, trust in the Lord. That’s what the Scripture means about having a sword. That’s God’s Word that you wield during temptation and you can win.
“Trust in the Lord with all thine heart; and lean not unto thine own understanding.” Sister Barkley has moved now to the book of Proverbs. How impressive that she can quote all the verses without looking them up in her Bible. This is one of the verses their counselor has had the girls memorize, and now she invites them to quote it with her.
Softly and tentatively, one voice after another joins the spoken chorus when she begins the verse again. Sister Barkely always makes them cite where to find the verses in the Bible or what she calls the “address of the verse”, so they begin with the name of the book, the chapter and the verses.
Proverbs three, five and six.
Trust in the Lord with all thine heart;
and lean not unto thine own understanding.
In all thy ways acknowledge him,
and he shall direct thy paths.
NOW, SEVEN YEARS LATER, near the same location, Angie sits with her legs dangling from the ledge on a promontory overlooking Zion’s Hill and the more distant Shenango Valley, reciting those same words, words that have stayed with her all this time. Words she needs to apply to this current emotional situation. “Trust in the Lord ... submit to Him…O.K. Lord. I know what the verses say. How do they fit today? Ken, men, or the lady in navy?
“Back home, most of my high school classmates either are engaged or married already. They keep asking me if I’m going out with anyone yet. Who I’m attracted to and wanting to date? That’s not for me I don’t have time for that now. I don’t feel like that’s what You want for me either. I’m supposed to be finishing my college education. I know that. And anyway, I’ve only known Ken for a few days. Why should I feel jealousy?
“I don’t know why I feel like I’m tempted to abandon my dreams and consider a future with Ken. He lives here in Pennsylvania; I live three hundred miles away in Michigan. I don’t see a future in such a long distance romance. It’s impossible. So, why do I care that he brought another woman with him last night? He’s a free agent. He’s made no promises to me.
“Anyway. We talked about that the other day, and we agree. Keep our eyes on the prize. A college degree in education for me and in engineering for him.
“Yeah. Well, he did seem mighty comfortable with that woman. His hands were all over her. Well, not all, all over. But he and she were sharing a lot of personal space. That usually is a sign that a pair is a couple. And she was dressed so nice, too. Even if I catch everything on sale, I could never afford an outfit like that.” Angie’s enjoying her pity party.
“And even if I could, I probably wouldn’t look that put together in it. I don’t have that kind of fashion sense. I wonder if that’s what Ken’s looking for in the woman he’ll marry. Marriage. What am I doing thinking about Ken and marriage? This is ridiculous!
“Lord, OK. So, I guess I am a little jealous. I don’t know if it’s simple jealousy of the situation or envy of a woman who is so good-looking and well-dressed. Maybe it’s not jealousy. I’ve never been all that interested in clothes.
“This is different. I really don’t like to think of Ken being with someone so unlike me. She’s slimmer, lighter complexioned, has longer hair, lovely legs, and she wears a hat on a Thursday night! If that’s what he likes, I don’t have a chance! This stinks, Lord.” She’s about had enough.
Angie gazes out over the treetops. “I’m not getting anywhere with this one way conversation. Just going around in circles.” Angie flips open her Bible to distract herself from these swirling thoughts and accompanying emotions.
What should she read? Nothing comes to mind. She shuts the Bible and holds it shut with her right hand caressing the leather cover with her left. “I’m too frustrated now to even make out the words on the pages anyway. I’ll just sit and absorb the ambiance.”
It’s still early and relatively quiet. Few people are out and about down on the main section of the campground. The Faithful are still at the communion service, and just a couple groundskeepers are setting out extra trash receptacles for the weekend influx.
Angie sits still and stiff, hard-backed and square-shouldered, willing peace to enfold her. Of course, that doesn’t work. She decides to do a deep breathing exercise. Maybe it will help her relax and allow the Spirit of God to infuse her heart, help her refocus onto Christ-like thoughts and Christ-like behavior.
Breathe in eight counts. Breathe out seven counts. In for eight. Out in seven. In. Out. Soon her shoulders loosen; her shadow’s a softer silhouette.
Senses now open. Sweet floral tones. No spicy, or maybe minty notes. Crushed weeds beneath the shoe leather. Dew dampened socks. Itches from saw-toothed grasses brushing her calves. Wiggles. Oomph, pokey bumps in the rock seat. Dimples in the leather covered Bible sensed in her stroking fingertips.
In for eight. Out in seven. Cool morning air. A little sneezy. Gently breezy. Ah, birds. There on the tip of the tree branch. Bobbing in the air, but not falling off. What’s that Emily Dickinson poem, ‘Faith is a thing with feathers…’? No, I think it’s
Hope is the thing with feathers
That perches in the soul,
And sings the tune–without the words,
And never stops at all…
“Well, I’m going to substitute “faith”. That’s what my faith is. Like that bird sitting, just wobbling on the limb and warbling its heart out. God, You know my heart. I trust You with my life, but I’m wobbling now. Not sure whether I sho
uld be waiting or working on this relationship.”
Angie looks out over the vista in the valley spread before her--a panoramic view she’s nearly missed--so inward-looking she’s been.
Here on Zion’s Hill, high up above the expanse of the Shenango Valley. From here, full-leafed treetops look like the tips of broad-spreading bushes. So many shades of the same color, side by side they look distinctly different. Kelly greens. Jades with a hint of grey. Lime green. Chartreuse with nuances of yellow. Deep shadows of British racing green. Dusky army green.
“Wow. There’s bluish grey green. Hey, those frothy celadon colored ferns over there look like green foam in the sunlight. Yeah, I’ve seen that on Korean pottery. Pines. Of course, Christmas tree green. But shamrock, and moss and camouflage green over there where the sun’s peeking through. God, You’re some kind of artist! So many greens on Your palette when You painted this valley.”
The wind shifts and Angie hears strains of the organ in the tabernacle. She closes her eyes and imagines music, cartoon notes riding the breezes, floating on undulating music staffs.
“What’s the song?” She cocks her head downhill. “Can’t tell yet…” She listens and sways to the rhythm, trying to tune in enough to figure out which hymn she hears. Angie senses the words before she recognizes the tune and begins to hum along. It’s the third verse that she hears in her head,
Just as I am, though tossed about
with many a conflict, many a doubt,
fightings within and fears within, without,…
“What am I really fighting, Lord? What is it that I fear? That You won’t keep your promises to me if I do put my trust in You? I say with my mouth that I believe You want to me finish college and that You’ll work out my relationships in the order that is right for me. But Ken feels right. Well, he did. Until last night. Last night when he showed up with the Lady in Navy!”
The strains of the song flow around her; the words nudge her to delve more deeply. The fifth verse insinuates itself,
Just as I am, Thou wilt receive,
wilt welcome, pardon, cleanse, relieve;
On Zion's Hill Page 18