I love camp!

There's this ordinary college campus nestled in the southwest part of the Colorado Rocky Mountains. It has classes and dorms and a new union, a gym and a dining hall and a quad. It also happens to be home to the best middle school summer camp in the whole wide world. And for one week, it's anything but ordinary.

OK...I'm a little bias.

I've been to this camp a dozen times. And almost twice that if you count the various other conference locations I visited as a summer staffer, work crew and counselor. It's addicting. I started in 1991 just before my 7th grade year. The speakers were amazing, the worship was dynamic and the games were fun. The highlight of our free day was going to Wal-Mart to buy junk food, my hair felt like straw for two days after the shaving cream fight and the white water rafting trip was freezing.

Not much has changed since then. And I hope it doesn't. There's something comfortable about knowing what to expect when you visit a little tiny piece of home each summer, and it's wonderful. I see youth workers from all over the country only once or twice a year, and this is one of those places. They're friendships that understand what it's like to watch God work in the lives of teenagers and actually - just maybe - be a part of it.

This year, one of my funniest memories had to be the students' effort...ehem, and the obnoxiousness of other leaders...to set me up with another counselor.

It all started Tuesday afternoon. I was simply walking into the dorm lobby to help a student who kicked the desk so hard after he got mad at his friend that he may have broken two toes. Yes, you read that correctly. And as I veered from conversation with Tyler and Mollie, two nice counselors from Oklahoma city, it all began.

The 8th grade girls had already picked out several guys for me to date that week. It's their hobby wherever we go. So far, they had only found ones who were married or way too young. Until they saw Tyler. Having no shame or subtlety about it, they chased him down the hallway.

"How old are you?" 28.

"Are you single?" Yes.

And as they came screaming back to find me, "Heather! He's 28 and single...you're going to marry him and have 17 babies!"

You can't make up stuff like that.

"Girls...you're ridiculous."

"But Heather, c'mon, he's cute for an old guy!"

Apparently 28 is old.

Fast-forward to the counselor meeting that night. I joked with my friend Mac, who happened to know Tyler, that I needed to apologize for how my girls assaulted him in the hallway earlier that day.

"Yes," says Mac, "I saw them giving him a note that you wrote him in the cafeteria."

I wrote him a note? Yes, apparently, I wrote him a note. With my name, city and cell number.

I've already had several people ask if he's actually called.

In other news, here are a few pictures from this year...and I can't wait until 2010!

Pick me! ...Or not?

I have this little dream. It's something that I'd like to accomplish one day. It's something that I've been told that I should do. And it's something that I tell to some people...but not everyone because sometimes, I feel a little silly. It's like a little tiny present, all wrapped up nice and pretty with a bow on top, that hasn't been opened yet. It will. One day. But for now, it's my dream. Sitting there. Waiting.

But who do I think I am?

It was a Monday night: Ultimate Frisbee. My knee didn't like the jerky stops, starts and turns of the game and caused me to sit out for the last half. A little bored watching teenagers toss around a Frisbee and run up and down a field, I started to poke around on Facebook. Thank you, iPhone.

It was there that I saw it: Facebook. I clicked to the link.

What? Seriously? No, this can't be real. But it looks real. There's a read more section. I'll read more....Dang it! That won't open on my phone. What's wrong with this thing? And how could I not know about this sooner? Is it really true? It looks real...

I got out of the Web browser and called my friend. She didn't answer. I texted her. She sent back a smiley face. Jerk. Here I was freaking out and she sends a smiley face? I text her again explaining that I'm on my phone and can't even look it up later because my computer was spending the night at my office.

Not. Fair.

And that's when it hit me. It might be true. She might have accomplished this dream. This dream that was mine. This dream about which she knew. This dream that I. Had. First. I might have to watch her soar and relish in all the glory of this dream coming to fruition and watch it be her story and her success. Not mine.

So what?

So what if she reached this dream before I did. So what if she kept it quiet out of necessity? So what? Why was I feeling this rush of emotions? Why did it bother me so much?

Oh, yeah....duh...I was jealous.

I was annoyed. I was angry. I was defensive. I was embarrassed. I was curious. I was frustrated. I was confused.

She had a similar dream. Kind of. But it was different. Her life was thriving in other areas that were more important to her. The "other areas" for me that would be comparable are a flop. Why did she get both? It's. Not. Fair.

I took a deep breath. She is one of my best friends. I should be happy for her. I should be celebrating. I should be supportive. I should invest in making this endeavor even more successful.

I shouldn't be jealous.

But I was. I was really jealous. And annoyed, angry, defensive, embarrassed, curious, frustrated, confused.........

I wanted to be mad at her. How dare she steal my dream? But it wasn't mine to own. It wasn't mine to fulfill. And it wasn't mine to claim. But I did. I wanted to take my toys and go home, stealing the one that she stole from me.

But it wasn't possible. There was no way to real it in or change course. She knew about my dream, and her story was now public. Everyone would know. And they would know it wasn't me.

I took another big deep breath. And a few more. One girl from the Ultimate field came over to get water. I wonder if she noticed that the blood had drained from my face and I was completely distracted, holding onto my phone like life support and continually pressing the little "read more" link to see if it would spontaneously work. She took a sip and ran back to play. I was thankful that she didn't want to talk.

God and I had a conversation coming.

I wasn't annoyed at my friend. How could I be? I wanted to be happy for her. I was annoyed at God. How dare He give her this dream instead of me?

And that's when the real-life object lesson smacked me in the face. Hard. What right did I have to make a claim on certain blessings? Who am I to say that maybe God has different plans for me and different plans for my friends? Why should I allow this negativity to own me and drag me down? How would I be able to celebrate with her if this was the attitude that I had?

I had a choice to make. Let it own me. Destroy me. Eat me up alive and spit me out only to kick me down on the curb....Or, kick it in the shins and leave it there to shrivel up and die a slow and painful death. Alone. Without me.

Jealousy was not going to get the best of me. That would be a waste.

A few more deep breaths, and I was OK. I let go of being angry at her and felt sincerely happy for her. I started to smile. I started to let my mind wander to what this would look like over the next few days, the following weeks and the coming months. I wondered how life would change and when I could reach her to hear more about it. I was excited, happy, curious and joyful. Even my muscles that had tightened from the tension had relaxed. I laughed - just a little - out loud to myself.

I called her again. No answer. I texted her. This time, it was a long text, trying not to sound annoyed but instead just curious. I was curious.

She wrote back: It was a practical joke set up with some rather ridiculous but slightly believable humor.

It was a joke?

Seriously?!

Yes, seriously.

The entire thing was not true. There was no dream accomplished. Nothing was going to change. I was disappointed?

Yes, disappointed. I was disappointed for my friend. It would have been incredibly exciting had this been real. It would have been life-changing. But now it wouldn't be. It wasn't true.

But I'm glad that I thought it was. I'm glad that I freaked out and went a little crazy, even if it was only in my own head while sitting next to a field watching teenagers play Ultimate Frisbee. You see, it made me realize some hard truths about myself. It made me let go of a dream onto which I hold a little too tightly. It made me remember and see that the good things God has for my life might look different than I expect. It made me remember who's in charge...and it's not me.

Skiing on Lake Austin

This is how it's supposed to look.

This is how it looks your second time on skies, first time on slalom.

My job is more fun than your job.

It's true. You'll try to deny it. You'll wish that it wasn't true. You'll be jealous.

It's just a fact: My job is more fun than your job.

Until your job includes pool parties where dunking is expected, drinking coffee and talking about the Bible with curious teenagers, going to summer camp, playing Ultimate Frisbee every week and playing games with Fun Noodles...well, your job just can't compete.

Of course, those of you in youth ministry know what I'm talking about. You know that it is not all fun and games. It's also one of the most challenging and humbling jobs that you can fathom. You get paid for all kinds of things and wonder "did I really pay for graduate school to strategize in shaving cream flights and night games" or ask if they pay you enough when you're riding on a bus for 18-hours or cleaning up after a camper who got sick at 3 a.m. (They don't. Trust me. I never thought I'd be envious of how much first-year public school teachers make. Then I started working at churches.)

It's still the most amazing job in the world.

And summer is the best part! Ultimate Frisbee on Mondays, Open Gym on Tuesdays, Wild And Crazy Wednesdays and Summer Nights on Thursdays. The first week alone has included fluffing new Sack Chairs, getting schooled by high school boys on the Frisbee field and dunking middle school girls (mostly getting dunked repeatedly) at a pool party.

"Find something you love. Get somebody to pay you for it. And you'll never work another day in your life." Todd or Kurt told me that in the summer of 1996 at about 3 a.m. at Noah's Ark in Buena Vista, Colorado. I was a high school student. The words stuck, and I followed that advice.

And it's only the first week...