Restoration – in more ways than one.

It’s a given that you fix things at Mountain TOP. You fix the people in the county; porches, roofs, hearts. But I guess I never really realized that my YRG (Youth Renewal Group) could fix me too. I didn’t think I needed fixing. But I did know something was wrong. Something was wrong with me spiritually. Just a few weeks ago, I got over a 3-month long dry period in my walk with God. I just wasn’t connected. I knew I wasn’t doing anything wrong, I was just going through a different experience than the one I had become accustomed to. And I was not enjoying this new experience. When it was finally over, my spiritual confidence was shattered. I was afraid to commit to God. But I knew Mountain TOP would help. And it did beyond my imagination. On Friday night we had our Fishhook worship, just after the emotional bonfire. My eyes were still dry, but when we began to sing ‘Shout to the Lord’, it hit me. Smack full in the face. Just how much God really loves me. I had always been conscious of it, but never fully realized. And He has shown His love for me through my YRG. Through the way we immediately clicked. Through that first work day, when we simply started talking as though we had been friends for a long time. Through the moment when Maddie, (a girl in my group with whom I have a lot in common), and I looked at each other and burst into tears. Even now as I type this, my heart is so overflowing with love. There are no words that can perfectly express the way I feel up on the Mountain. And the battery is about to die on Sally’s laptop.

-Bryn Hooper

The Mountain and the Valley

So I’m here on my last night at Mountain T.O.P. on my top bunk next to the door in Last Resort (remind me never to do that again, by the way…makes for a nasty cold draft when it’s raining at 2 A.M.) and reflecting over the past week.

Scratch that, more the past two weeks.

July 1^st: I started m week by going to the Mountain T.O.P. blessing at church during the 8:45 service. In full neck brace regalia (Another one of those remind-me-never-to-do’s: don’t dive into a pool in such a way as you get whiplash. Don’t ask. I didn’t know you could do that either).

July 2^nd-4^th: All very normal. I proceeded to pack my things (somewhat…semi) and began to organize to get ready for Mountain T.O.P.

Here’s where things get tough. Rather tough, actually.

My great grandmother has been in hospice for the past 2 months (roughly). Honestly, our family has been on “death watch” since December when, after having been diagnosed as having late-stage dementia for a month, she said “They’re coming to get me.” We still don’t really know who “they” are. I thought she was going to die that December night. She didn’t.

The night of July 5^th started out like most nights. My mom and I were sitting down to dinner, just being a normal daughter and mother, me telling my mom what I thought the next week would be like. I’ve never done Mountain T.O.P. before, so this was a whole new thing for me. Then, it came.

My mom got a call on her cell from my grandmother, and after her typical “hello” that she gives when it’s her mother calling, she fell silent and only went to saying “Okay.” Not the excited, trying to retain calmness okay like you say when talking about a gift for someone when the person being gifted can hear the conversation. It was the bad okay. The bad, trying to retain calmness, trying to not break down okay.

This was, as I have heard it titled, “The First Call.” The call that my great-grandmother would most likely die the next week, if not the week after.

And I was about to go on a mission trip.

This wasn’t going to work. At all. That was instinct #1. I can’t POSSIBLY go on a mission trip when my great-grandmother is practically on imminent death. No can do.

Then, I snapped out of it. I realized, my great-grandmother wouldn’t let me skip out on a mission trip to run a day camp for underprivileged kids for anything, especially her death. She’s that kind of person. So I decided to go to Mountain T.O.P. anyway, suck up the fact that my great-grandmother could die any second, and get on with life.

So I packed to go to Mountain T.O.P; my outfit for the funeral laid out in my closet ready to go for my mom to grab for me when she came to get me. I had to go. I had to get away. I had to find some comfort, some joy, some freedom in her leaving her human bonds. I just didn’t know it yet.

So I start my day camp week on Monday, the first full day, with my YRG (Youth Renewal Group) and we picked up our kids on our van route. There was Ryan and Dakota, brothers who lived in a relatively nice house for the area of Grundy County; Daisie and Ron, who live in a few trailers grouped together but are as happy as ever with their backyard of baby chicks and ducks and puppies; and Joshua, a cousin of Ryan and Dakota’s who lived in a small trailer house that’s being added on to. We were then told later, after reaching day camp, that since we had an extra seat in our van due to a boy who got sick and couldn’t make it, we would be picking up one of the kids who was on the waiting list.

At the end of that first long day, I called for our van kids to come along and get in the van.

That’s when I saw her. Her name was Keon, a bright, bubbly, bundle of precociousness and joy. A true pistol. She was a bundle of energy. But that bundle of energy was controlled, and polite, and sweeter than anything you could ever imagine. I was wondering why I seemed to inadvertently separate this gorgeous little girl from the crowd until I realized the scary truth: She reminded me of my great-grandmother.

At first, I dismissed the idea, thinking that my head was just playing games with me.

That is, until we picked her up the next morning. She was standing on her front porch doing one of the songs we teach, the Penguin Dance, for her little sister who sat in a cardboard box looking at Keon’s every move. And from the time we pulled up that morning, until the time we pulled out of her driveway, I honestly thought my great-grandmother had come to visit me in a blast from the past as I watched her smile, her movements, her gestures, the tone of her voice, even simply her looks. And each one reminded me more and more of my great-grandmother.

So today, after being with her five days full of songs and dances and games and crafts, I realized a part of my great-grandmother was in Keon. Is, I should say, in Keon. And as I watched her twirl around in her complete happiness, I nearly burst into tears.

Today was graduation, and I had to say goodbye to Keon. We picked her up first this morning, approaching our route a bit differently. Keon ran up to the van, jumped in, and said with a sleepy voice, “I was asleep on the couch! Aren’t I just silly?” and looked at me with a grin so huge it would compare with God’s himself. I smiled, trying not to cry, and said “Well, yes, silly goose, why’d you do that?”, with which I listened to her tale of staying up late trying to teach the whole family each song she’d learned. She slid in next to me, I helped buckle her up, and I fixed her hair as she talked. And as I did all this, I couldn’t help but think as I helped this child, I was helping my great-grandmother. So we took the long way to the next home, and I played with her hair as she talked (as I do with every little kid I love to pieces to the point where I just want to adopt them), and smiled and tried desperately not to cry.

I never got to say a big goodbye to Keon. And maybe that’s a good thing. I won’t be able to have some huge extravagant final “goodbye” when my grandmother goes.

But Keon hasn’t left me. Her handprints are still left on my fingers from where she would grab my hand to ask me to dance or sing with her. Her joy is still in my heart.

As is my great-grandmother’s. That joy, that love, will never leave. There will always be things that I’ll find where all I can do is think of my great-grandmother and Keon. The penguin dance will never be the same.

Tonight, we had campfire. And at this campfire, we had sharing. I’m not one who shares emotional stuff, I simply don’t. People have enough emotion. But tonight, I felt absolutely compelled to tell everyone my story. This story.

And yes, I did cry.

And as I sat down, I looked into the fire, holding everybody’s hand that would fit in mine, and just began to look in the fire. Suddenly, I noticed something funny. The logs, embers, twigs and sticks spelled out a rather abstract “I Love You.”

My great-grandmother’s last words to me. Keon’s last words to me.

I’m going to survive this. I’m going to make it to the other side of the cross.

I can already see it.

I needed this freedom, this discovery, this…peace.

The peace that I know I can make it.

The peace that, she’s not dying at all.

She’s still fully living.

She’s still here…

everywhere.

–Charly

Tales of Grace

I’ll start by saying that I’ve always been clumsy.  Two of my many nicknames are Dozer- short for Bulldozer, which signifies my tendency to crash into people and objects- and Graceless.  So I should have figured that there was no way I could get through Mtn. T.O.P without getting injured or sick in some way.

                The “incident” occurred on my very first real day at Mtn. T.O.P.  My Youth Renewal Group (YRG) was cleaning out the yard of an elderly gentleman who lived alone with only his dog for company.  I saw some creepers growing up some trees and along the ground, and figured that they needed to go.  Using my plant identification skills gained in Girl Scouts, I deduced that there was poison ivy growing on the creepers.  Here’s my finest moment, the pinnacle of all Grace-like klutziness: I pulled the creepers up anyway and coiled them as I went.  I was (thankfully) wearing gloves, so my hands were safe, but the poison ivy ended up touching my arms all the way up to just below my elbows.  As I threw the vines over the back fence, I shrugged and thought, well, I’ve never really gotten poison ivy before and I’m not that allergic, so better me than anyone else.  Famous last thoughts.

                The next day, my arms started to break out in the characteristic red rash that marks poison ivy.  I knew not to scratch to prevent spreading, but it was hard not to.  I always caught myself just absentmindedly scratching my arms, like when I was talking or looking out of the van window.  I suppose that’s how I spread it to my face, neck and ears.  I’d scratch without meaning to, and then maybe wipe sweat off my face or rub my neck.  By the end of Tuesday, my rash had spread to my neck and jaw, as well as to my lower cheeks.  I was an itchy, aggravated mess, and no amount of calamine lotion could keep me at bay. 

                It was, in a less extreme manner, like being a leper or having the plague.  Once people realized I had poison ivy (which was taking less and less time), they took a step back or looked nervously at their hands, no doubt wondering if I’d contaminated them.  They’d take care not to handle things after I did and usually, if they had just met me, express pity for me and then leave rather quickly.

                I had support, as well, in many ways.  People offered me calamine and allergy medicine, asked if there was something they could do and said they would pray for me.  And finally, on Wednesday afternoon, Mrs. Roth gave me a wonderful suggestion: maybe I could go to the hospital and get a shot or medicine to get my poison ivy cleared up.  She mentioned how close the rash had gotten to my eyes and mouth—both within inches—and said that if I already had it on my ears I should probably do something soon.  When my YRG got back to camp, I found David and told him about my poison ivy and
Mrs. Roth’s suggestion.  David helped me flag down a staff member, who in turn got Charles, our camp director.  Charles took one look at me and told me to find Sally and get ready for a trip to the ER.  Long story short, I flagged Sally down and told her the deal, and she said she agreed that I needed to go to the hospital.  While another staff member was found to accompany me to the hospital, Mrs. Bryant offered to go with me as the adult from my church.  Mrs. Bryant, Jamison (our friendly staff member) and I packed into a minivan, picked up my med forms, and swung by the camp HQ to pick up another woman whose hand was swelling due to an allergic reaction.  Without any further adieu, we were off to the hospital in McMinnville, about a half hour away.

                During the mostly quiet car ride, I considered what it must have felt like to be a diseased person in Biblical times.  It occurred to me that I was kind of like a blind or diseased person traveling to see Jesus hoping to be cured.  That must have been a long, difficult journey for them.  I can’t imagine how it must have felt for them, the elation they must have felt finally getting to Him to receive His blessing, the frustration they must have felt with their broken bodies.  But what I marveled at the most was at the faith they must have had.  The faith that, no matter what, Jesus would come through for them.  It has been this faith that has sustained me this week, borne me through my trials and tribulations and fills me with the inner peace I have searched after for so long.  It is this faith that marks a Mountain Topper and a true believer.

                I am lucky.  I was able to get in and out of the ER relatively quickly and without any major problems.  As I sat waiting to be called, I wasn’t worrying about how I would pay for my visit or what I was missing at home or at camp.  I was blessed enough to be able to sit in that cold waiting room perfectly at peace, if not itchy and a little hungry.  The doctor gave me steroid pills to clear up my poison ivy and sent me on my way with a prescription to fill the next day.  As I marveled at my luck, I appreciated not only that, but also how blessed I was.  Being on the mountain has taught me that blessings can be fleeting, as can be pleasures.  I saw people who lived contently in poverty, never complaining about how much they didn’t have or how much they wanted.  And I was humbled to realize how often I complained of relatively stupid things.  Some of the people on the mountain live without running water or cars, scraping together money just to buy basic groceries, and here I was complaining when my mom wouldn’t buy me that book or shirt I wanted.  It was a lesson I am glad to have received.

My poison ivy hasn’t been good for much, but it has made me realize how blessed I really am, and how much I am cared for in our community.  This morning I came into the dining hall and found that someone had written “Grace’s poison ivy” on the community prayer board.  It’s these actions that define people and Mtn. T.O.P and make me proud to be the Christian I am.

Grace Oberholtzer

Scrape and Consolidate….

Scrape and Consolidate…..

Is it a normal term used in the dining hall while cleaning up or is it a metaphor for our week at Mtn. T.O.P?

  It isn’t horrible, just different.  They scrape away all of the distractions of normal life that we don’t really notice till we don’t have them for a week.  I’ve learned that simple things like TV, internet, e-mail, cell phone service , and AIR CONDITIONING are not necessary amenities to live spiritually fulfilling life.  They (Mtn. T.O.P) have consolidated by packing your daytime hours full of construction, painting, worship, meals, and games.  At the same time you are reflecting on all things you are missing, you are also relishing in the enjoyment of your accomplishments.  So whether it is building a porch, painting a fence, pulling weeds, or just talking to some county people about farm animals and farming techniques everyone around us has found the glow inside of us through the good works we have done.

Bed time !

Trevor and Ben

Musings from the work site.

so yesterday we got to tear down the deck of a porch in order to put a new one down. 

I had assumed that we would tear it all up first and then lay the new deck.

But then Bill pointed out to me that if we didn’t do it bit by bit (i.e. tear a few boards out, replace a few boards) we would have nothing to sit on so as to hammer down the new deck (without balancing on joists – which perhaps was not the safest of plans).   

So on we sung (my happy little YRG and I) tearing up boards, hammering down new ones.   Thundercats! HO! — we were quite the team.

But then I got to thinking. 

Sometimes you have to destruct, demolish, tear-up, take apart in order to fix, replace, make new. 

And then I began to think about all those places in our lives that come apart, end up broken, need fixing, have rotted out, are soft, week and need replacing.   And I began to wonder if these little mysteries – these little things we don’t all too often understand – if God doesn’t perhaps use them to make a new deck – one that is safe to walk on, one that is stronger, one that is new.   

And maybe His approach is more bit by bit than all at once – which is why they are one of those little mysteries…  we don’t always get the whole story when you’re standing in it.   AND you know the railing with lattice – we took off very carefully so we could actually put it back on when the florring was finished.   

"so piece together these little mysteries, sometimes it’s hard to see the writing on the wall.  Trial and tragedy, only God can be, both the builder and the wrecking ball."  – Jill Phillips.

"Behold, I am making ALL things new."  – Rev. 21

and here at Mountain TOP, I would hesitate to guess that it’s not just rotted porch decks that are being made new.

-Sally

Ian’s blog – Tuesday

It’s the end of day two and most of the people are hot , tired, and sweaty. We just started our 2 day project  that ranges from building a shed, building a porch, or building a wheelchair ramp. My YRG has the task of building a shed on top of an existing porch its really easy because it saves up the task of building  the bottom frame and digging the post holes that take forever then cementing them in. Anyway the spirit of Jesus is all around and people are extremely  friendly  and everyone is all including, and thus the end of my blog.

                                                                                                                                                Ian Hooper

Arriving

Today was just about the longest day ever! After the 2 hour drive, which included collecting Ben from a gas station, we finally arrived at the beautiful Cumberland Pines. We had to unload and sort tools, and report to orientation. Next, we relaxed a bit and then headed off to lunch, which made everybody happy. I’m pretty sure all of us were satisfied, but you never know. Following lunch, came the schpeil about safety and da rules. Next, we were separated into major groups, and then furthermore separated into Youth Renewal Groups a.k.a. YRG’s.  After meeting our teams, there was a time to relax and play games. Later on there was worship. I really liked because of all the singing. Also, they talked about how each of us was a gift and how we shouldn’t fix what God has given us and not to focus on our weaknesses. To represent this, each of us took a ribbon and wrote one of our gifts we bring to camp on it. Before the night came, I had already lost mine! It seemed like I was the only one without a ribbon. (minus 1 “0”). Basically, this day was long, tiring, and hectic; yet God was present throughout all of it. In the wise words of Joey, “Yay God!”