Under-qualified and Over-appreciated

As of today, I’ve been at Moose River Outpost for a month. Like most of the times I’ve moved in my life, it simultaneously feels like I’ve been here far longer than four simple weeks and as if I pulled in only yesterday. It’s my day off today, which naturally makes me more contemplative (partially because I actually have time and space to think), but the completion of a month here dramatically increases my nostalgia levels. We’re one month in, one month to go, and I already don’t want to leave. 

This is the hardest job I’ve ever had. I knew it would be tough when I took it, thought it a bit ironic even that they would put the introvert who always finagled her way out of camp games in charge of the camp program. In many ways, my fears have been confirmed. I am often tired and struggle to find time alone. I feel out of my element trying to explain to campers the rules of a game that I have never played myself. Most of the campers have already outdone my meager skills in any of the activity areas, be it archery or mountain biking or waterskiing (though, to be fair, anyone who has even put the skis on before is miles ahead of my current skill level). Any time I check something off my to do list, four more items get added on, and nothing ever goes as smoothly as I wish. 

Despite all that, this is still the most rewarding job I’ve ever had. There have been so many moments in the past month where I’ve had to stop and take stock for a moment, realizing that I actually get paid to do this job. Some of those moments have been less than serious, like while I was biking around camp property in a rainbow onesie and matching wig, facilitating a game; or the following day when I spent hours singing at the top of my lungs with my coworkers while we dug out a mud pit for campers to wrestle in. 

Others, however, have been precious and holy and so overwhelmingly good. I’ve sat in cabins with campers who vulnerably asked the hard questions of life, the ones that no seminary degree will ever enable us to answer fully, like why, if God is all powerful, doesn’t He take the time to make the world better? I’ve watched as the girls follow paths of luminaries to different prayer stations, sincerely engaging with Christ and each other. I’ve observed as campers who stood alone on opening day now confidently roam about with friends during free time, making their sassy comments and feeling accepted and valued for who they are. I’ve stood in the back of Moose Hall, getting ready to speak and feeling overwhelmed and lonely, only to watch as all my friends slipped in the door while singing about how “Never once did we ever walk alone // Never once did you leave us on our own.” I’ve been able to laugh harder than I ever have before. I’ve had conversations with dear coworkers lit only by the faint orange glow of dying coals. I’ve been shown sincere grace after experiences of failure. I’ve cried a lot, yes, but many of those tears have been the healthy kinds - the ones tinged with joy and healing. 

My coworker summarized her experience with staff training by saying that she felt “Under-qualified but over-appreciated.” I’ve since stolen her phrase, as I feel it embodies my life at MRO to a tee. So many of the things we do here are ones that I have absolutely no idea how to do, whether that be some type of outdoor survival skill or a simple task required of my job. Despite all this, I work with a staff who love each other so well and spur one another on towards growth. It is a rare treat to get to be among these people, and my heart aches at the thought of leaving them in August. Most places in the world never take the time to appreciate you, let alone appreciate you when you’re doing badly. 

I’ve repeated that phrase to myself often over the past few weeks, but last night I was caught by how accurately it also describes my experience with faith. I was standing in the main meeting room, aptly dubbed Moose Hall, listening to music and waiting for the female campers to wrap up a prayer walk. Suddenly, life just seemed a little bit overwhelming. I didn’t and don’t know why I was privileged enough to grow up the way I did. I don’t know why God would deign to humble Himself, end up on earth, and die for the sake of me. I don’t know why He would trouble Himself to capture my heart, but He did. I don’t know why I was deemed worthy to come to this place and help lead and teach and love these young men and women, but somehow I’m here and it’s happening and I’m actually getting paid to do this. I am continuously in awe of a Father who, in His sovereignty, could ordain any outcome for the world that He wanted, and yet He allows us to participate in His mission. I was overwhelmed last night by the question of “Why me?” and I’m not yet convinced that I have an answer. 

We are, as humans, a group of under-qualified people. We are broken and out of our brokenness hurt the people around us. We show up to help in situations of pain and sorrow and hunger, and it can often feel like we’re trying to dig to China with a plastic spoon. God calls us to act and live as people of salt and light, and instead we leave the world in its bland darkness. Even in the situations when we act out of obedience to God, it often doesn’t go as smoothly as we want. It’s like when I set up the slip ’n’ slide last weekend and forgot all the padding on the road— I did my job, but it was literally not as smooth sailing as it could have been. 

Yet when God looks at me, He sees Jesus. When He looks at those of us who consider ourselves Christians and attempt to follow what He says, He overlooks all those ways we are under-qualified for love or grace or salvation or leadership and sees Christ instead. If that’s not the epitome of over-appreciation, I don’t know what is. I so often feel like I need to work for appreciation, for love, for recognition, and yet no matter how many qualifications I may earn, I’m still going to be vastly over-appreciated by God. It’s a hard fact for me, with my desire for justice and truth, to stomach, and yet its an outstandingly beautiful fact all the same. 

I’ll never know for certain all of why God called me to MRO for the summer. I’ve been discovering bits and pieces along the way, but to understand it would require an eternal perspective that my often-overwhelmed mind would simply be unable to contemplate. I’ll probably never feel completely qualified for my job. Tonight, though— tonight I’ll rest in the over-appreciation, in this overwhelming support that I receive from my brothers and sisters who also call this place home, and in the overwhelming love from the Father that makes us all family. 

And let me tell you, friends: There’s no place I’d rather be.