Word to the wise

Ermias gravely reminds us, "Hey, hey, everybody listen! You should really love your plate."

Laugh all you want, but seventeen sounds dreadfully old to me.

Seven, the number of perfection

I sit in the back of the car surrounded by quiet, peaceful sleepers. The sun's golden light quickly fades behind the gray Tennessee mountains. And I can't help but think how very blessed I am. For one thing, we all needed that vacation. And what better way to spend it in the mountains surrounded by those you love and those who love you? For another thing, God has blessed us with not eight, but a big ol' family of NINE. We kids have grown from six to seven - seven, the number of perfection. 
Ermias is the newest addition to the Crampton Crew and has many endearing traits and talents, such as making crazy silly faces, breaking out the dance moves (especially when anything by Michael Jackson comes on the radio), singing, cuddling, and laughing. And, boy, can that kid laugh. With his laughter, he could make a hyena smile, Puddle Glum giggle, and Eeyore would surely bust a gut. Oh, how I love him.

On growing up

I'm a senior.

I'll be 17 before I know it.

I'm looking at colleges.

When did this happen?! Last time I checked I was 9 and thinking of my college days and imagining that Future Courtney, who would know what to do, where to go, and when to do it, would come and save the day.

 Isn't it funny how, as a child, you always imagine your future self to be -- someone else? As in, not you. But now I wake up to find, I'm still me. (deep, right?) I didn't magically morph into Future Courtney. Although I have been changed since 9 (only by the grace of God), I'm still the same 9-year-old girl (plus a few years) dreaming of those seemingly far-off days when I would grow up, become a woman, and move away from home.

But now that it comes down to it, I don't want to move away from this dear old home-of-mine. Truth be told, I don't want to grow up. Truth be told, I'm scared. Truth be told...I just want to find Peter Pan and Neverland.

Sometimes I forget. I forget that I have no strength in myself. I forget that if left to myself I would never want to grow up and wouldn't be able to bear the responsibilities if I did. Praise be to God I haven't been left to myself. My strength is in Christ and Christ alone. He alone can help me to bear things I don't neccesarily want to bear and the things that I can't. He alone can guide me in the way I should go. I want to be ready to receive HIS will - whatever that may be.

"I am trusting Thee to guide me:

Thou alone shalt lead,

Every day and hour supplying

All my need." 

Frances Ridley Havergal, (Hymn 541).

The Neshoba county fair

Since 1889, ladies and gentleman, young and old, have gathered together for the attractions of the Neshoba county fair in South Mississippi. Festivities last over one week. Brightly-painted and incredibly decorated wooden cabins that have been passed down through the years from one old Southern family to another line every nook and corner of the fairgrounds. In its early beginnings, attendees would hear political candidates speak while they sat on wooden benches under the pavilion or under the nearest shady oak. They fought the penetrating heat with forceful strokes of their paper fans. Others would sit under the comfort of their cabin porches while gingerly sipping on an ice cold glass of sweet tea. When lunch time came 'round, they would take turns providing a meal of southern staples - barbecue sandwiches, potato salad, baked beans, watermelons, and fresh banana pudding for dessert. The men talked business and politics. The women spoke in quick, excited whispers about one another's hair and dress or laughed over the matches they prophesied between the young men and little ladies. The children giggled and played as all young children do. The horse and buggy races would begin in the late afternoon and all would gather to see the excitement for themselves.

The fair hasn't changed much, even after over 120 years. It still looks and feels almost the same way as it did in 1889. Men and women still come from all over to hear politicians, sit on their cabin porch, eat quintessential southern foods, fan away the July heat, watch the horse races, and visit with friends, old an new. The Neshoba county fair is like taking a glimpse at the Old South and having a small taste of simpler times.

a man's best friend.

I always laughed at those people who seemed a trite overly-dramatic at the death of a beloved pet.
But now I know. I understand now the devastation of losing an animal dear to my heart. After more than ten years, Duke, our big, sweet, harmless, and faithful Great Dane passed away. Duke proved the old saying that a dog is a man's best friend to be more than myth or legend.

Duke was always waiting at the door with a warm, delightful, tail-wagging welcome for me. And for the first time, he wasn't there when I came home.
Duke took with him both a part of me and a part of my childhood. For as long as I can remember, my big black and white playtoy was always there to be ridden like the miniature horse he was (or rather, what I thought he was), to be hugged and pet, or he was waiting at the family dinner table hopeful of the scraps that would "accidentally" fall from my plate into his mouth. He didn't like to be forgotten and would remind us, lest we forget him, during the day with a conscious bark, groan, or whine, and even at night with unconscious snoring. And, boy, could that dog snore.
He could bite a tennis ball in half or swallow a sock (yes, that fact is one of many that made Duke Duke) faster than you or I could say Jack Robinson. But this was just one of his many talents. He could also patiently watch a game of wiffle-ball in the front yard - and only snag a few balls for himself every now and then.
He always let me lug him around as my cow when we played prairie in the backyard. He was protective of we kids and never took his eyes off of us. He was a great listener. He let little Sam (his best friend) sleep on his pillow sometimes and endured Macy's rowdy playfulness with quiet patience.
I was about 6 when Duke first came to live with us. Some friends of ours had told us about an ad in the paper for a free Great Dane. When Dad and Jamie went to pick him up, they found him tied to a truck and as skinny as a rail. When we took Duke home, he refused to walk inside. He was terrified and trembling all over and had obviously never set foot indoors anywhere. When we finally got him inside, he wouldn't go back out. Eventually, he was comfortable going inside and out. And soon enough, he had learned to open the backdoor and would let himself out whenever his little heart desired. Unfortunately, he never learned to shut the door.

As I grew older, so did he. I grew taller, he grew fatter. My hair got longer, his got more gray. He even conquered heart worms and various other health issues veterinarians had warned us of. But while I was away at camp, he showed his age more and more. He lost weight, became weaker, and found it hard even to perform menial tasks such as eating, drinking, and walking.
My Dad was forced to make the executive decision to put Poor Duke out of his misery. On Tuesday morning, we said our goodbyes; one of the hardest goodbyes I've had to say, though I'm sure I'll face harder.
Duke lived to the ripe, old age of 77 in dog years (11 in human) and lived what I believe was a full and happy life filled with a warm bed, good food, and a family who loved him - still does and always will - dearly.

The fruit of the spirit's not a coconut.

I pulled into the driveway after 10:00 last night. The feeling of coming home, home to stay, home for good - this turned out (rather unsurprisingly) to be a delightful one indeed.  And for a girl who over the course of 9 weeks, spent a few weekends at home for less than 24 hours, this is an incredible joy. For the first time, I'm not in a rush to sort through laundry, pack up, and go right back down to Jackson again. For the first time, I can slow down, rest, and enjoy everything around me at my own pace. After a whole summer of rushing exhaustion and excitement, I have a deep, new-found appreciation for this happy home, dear family, God-glorifying church, and slow pace of  the remaining summer in Woodside Circle.
I am blessed. How could it have taken even a whole summer to realize the richness of His abundant mercy, grace, and loving kindness on me, even me, a wretched sinner; a sinner wholly undeserving of the goodness of God? Yet He continues to pour out His love. He is good, He is faithful, even when I am not. I pray He would teach me to live a life of gratitude, to live with my eyes fixed on the cross, "looking unto Jesus."

Yes, I've missed out on plenty of events (thanks for the constant reminder, Facebook), but I've gained so much this summer. So much more that I would have never done, seen, heard, learned had I not gone to work at Twin Lakes this summer. I've had so many wonderful experiences, and some not-so-wonderful. I've learned so much. I've been stretched - physically, spiritually, mentally. I've had crazy fun times. I've made lifelong friends - leadership staff, other counselors, and even my sweet campers. I've had the opportunity to minister to children, to pour out myself for them, to teach them the gospel, and to live it out (however imperfectly).

It's funny how you imagine life at home to simply stand still while you're away. But life doesn't cope with your demands. Life went on as usual at home - yes, even without me. (Crazy, right?) We even met my new little brother, Ermias, and had a grand old visit. I only got to be a part of just two days of this visit. Once again, life goes on without you - whether you like it or not. A hard, but oh-so-true lesson to learn.

I don't regret spending my summer there. Not one bit. I wouldn't take it back for all the world. Praise be to God for the opportunity He has given me this summer. I pray that He would use these experiences to mold me more into His image, to make my life look more like His.

P.S. This doesn't even scratch the surface of describing my time at Twin Lakes. Perhaps another post complete with pictures and stories will suffice. And of course, pictures of Ermias, as well. :)