Trinity Goes to a Rendezvous Camp

Last weekend we did this --and Trinity came along. Four days away from Mommy and Daddy was a long stretch for a three-year-old, but she had so much fun she did not want to leave. Every Memorial Day weekend, we go to Frontiers Camping Fellowship Family Camp. This one is different than others I've posted about because it is leaders of Royal Rangers (an Assemblies of God boy's group sort of like scouting) and their families. FCF is a group not everyone chooses to join, but those who do are sort of like other rendezvous reenactors I have posted about.

We see friends we sometimes haven't see for a year, have lots of fun, spend time singing and having devotions around a camp fire, and eat too much.

It was great to see you, Tom and Cindy and Bob and Darla and Stew and Debbie, and Gerry and Debbie and Gary and Heather...and so on. Here is Trinity, having a great time.


Mommy made T.'s calico dress, a plains Indian style. Trinity made the "beautiful" beaded necklace and the candy bracelet.


I'm making up my bed, Grandma!

Papa bought me a beautiful new dress. Look at my beautiful skirt. It goes out! Do you like it? (T. likes the word "beautiful.)

I love it too! Thank you, Papa!


Here is another new dress, actually more Civil War period, but...whatever. Well, it didn't exactly go with the pink plastic Disney Princess shoes, but other than that she looked like a doll.

Ewww! That ant is eating that dead catta-piller. Don't step on it!

Back to camp. She refused to change into something cooler.

Dancing with glowy things at night! Blow out the lantern, Papa, so we can see!


Four days of nonstop fun with lots of other children, necklace making, "glowy things" each night, marshmallow roasting, learning new words and new songs and socializing with the entire encampment, and Miss Trinity was exhausted by Monday. This is about 8 a.m. She showed a very plucky side. She insisted on trying everything the big kids did, including bobbing for apples (I did NOT expect her to stick her head in the water), Frisbee tossing, and many other things she couldn't do--but don't tell HER that. I love her confidence. I love this kid. :-)

Last Summer Days

We just returned from the last fur-trade rendezvous re-enacting camp we will be at this summer. We had such a good time with Kris, Daryl, Trinity, Kevin and good friends Eric, Darla and Bob, and Cindy and Tommy.

The weather was wonderful (actually a bit hot, so maybe Kris and Daryl can have ripe tomatoes after all), and the company was good. Ken was in pain, but he says he'd be in pain anyway so he might as well be having fun...I'm not so sure, but he did win the archery competition. Meanwhile Kris won the woman's tomahawk throw. was 2nd in the skillet toss, and she came in third in the firestarting--and pie baking competition. I came in second, edged out of first place by ONE point....an upstart first-time pie baker received 100 pts. to my 99! Imagine! Actually, it was fun to see her surprise, and we all hooted and hollered and whistled. Here is a picture of Kris and me on our way to the competition. Kris' pie was apple/pumpkin and mine was strawberry peach. (The winning pie was apple. Go figure.)
A good hot shower felt great, and now I'm going to have a bowl of sherbet and climb into bed!

P.S. I'll go over to The Owl's Kitchen and post the pie recipe. It will prove that sometimes simple recipes are best. I made it up on the spur of the moment. :-) But I'm going to make one again while I can still get fresh peaches and strawberries.

God Loves People

John 3:16-17 (King James Version)
For God so loved the world, that he gave his only begotten Son, that whosoever believeth in him should not perish, but have everlasting life. For God sent not his Son into the world to condemn the world; but that the world through him might be saved."

God loves us.

You knew that, right? Me too. So why is it so easy to start thinking and acting like God is condemnation, or God is anger, or God is snobbish?

Last weekend we went to one of our favorite "Rendezvous" sites. (That's "rondy voo" as in fur-trade era playing), not a romantic tryst. I've posted about this site before. This is the third time we've been to this one, which is mostly a smallish group (20 lodges or so) of friends and friendly acquaintances. It is the place where I was asked to do something I never expected, the place where I baptized someone I normally wouldn't have, where I met The Mandolin Man, and where I took pictures of musicians in the twilight.

Each year we've been there we have been aware of God's presence in some way, particularly on Sunday in the little church service. This year was no exception. Something had subtly changed in attitudes towards us, not that they were bad before, but this time people were more relaxed. They remembered our names, talked about previous rendezvous there, admired little Trinity (who was with us without Mommy and Daddy and did fine). They also graciously welcomed Kevin, Ken's brother, like a long-lost friend.

This rendezvous was quite enjoyable partly because there were a number of really good musicians. The man who plays the washtub bass like a pro was there again, an old man who literally made music with a pair of spoons, another interesting guy who used a washboard for percussion (Zydeco style), a fiddler, and a couple of guitarists. Ever since the baptism experience, we are asked to have a worship service on Sunday. It's always interesting. This year several of the musicians agreed to play for Sunday worship.

They were a motley crew, I tell you! I wish I had a picture. (I would have except I forgot to put the memory card back the last time I used the camera.) Picture all of the people dressed in 18th Century garb.

The bass player plucked his one string, with facial expressions and body language that eloquently said, "I love making this music." He is extraordinary, and I can hardly believe the music he makes with a washtub, broom handle and one string. It makes me smile just to watch and listen to someone enjoy themselves so much in such a simple way.

The man with the spoons had a long, grizzled beard and his hard life showed in the deep wrinkles of his face. The one with the washboard was white-haired and smiling and wore red suspenders to match his voyageur-style red striped long socks.. The guy with the guitar, who loves Dylan songs, was younger.

They played and sang "Swing Low, Sweet Chariot," "I'll Fly Away," and "Keep on the Sunny Side." It might seem funny to think of singing those songs at a worship service, but they were very sincere. As they played Trinity smiled and clapped her little hands and bounced on her wooden camp chair. Others sang, smiled, or just nodded in time. Kevin sang from his wheelchair next to Trinity, wearing his late father's Stetson hat that he had flattened out "mountain man" style. A beautiful little girl with long blond hair sang and smiled in the front row, her boot tips peeking out from beneath the hem of her long skirt.

Something happened. I became intensely aware of God's love. Pure, unalloyed, constant--God loved the spoon player with the deep wrinkles who had probably imbibed too much the night before. God loved to see the washboard bass player having so much joy in his music. God loved the beautiful little blond girl, the cute black children who were dressed in fringed buckskin, the grandparents of the little boy who'd been baptized a couple of years ago. God loved the circle of simple worship. And God loved the ones who, in spite of our efforts and our friendly invitation, did not attend but stayed away, as they have each year, for reasons only they knew.

I wanted the simple moment, the simple and sentimental music, the blue sky and sunshine to go on and on. Truly, my spirit seemed to swell with a deep awareness of the boundless love of our Creator God to his fallible and fickle creation, humankind.

A chance jest from the organizer of the rendezvous, "No need to pray for _________, he's going to Hell no matter what" had turned into a sermon idea. I ended up talking about John 3:16-17. Several of the church attenders probably had little to no understanding of God's "good news." So I kept it very simple. I spoke of God's love and how so many of us think God is eager to condemn us--when the opposite is true.

Afterwards, the grandmother of the baptized boy (I don't know how else to identify him) came up to me and softly said, "Thank you so much" as she hugged me hard. I'm not sure what she was thanking me for, but I knew the Holy Spirit was with us in that moment. Her little grandson, now almost four, appears to be autistic and to have other problems.

Her husband, who tends to be bombastic, hugged me as well and joked, "That is the first time I ever hugged a lady preacher. I used to be scared of you. Maybe some of the holy will wear off on me." Another man quietly said, as he shook my hand, "Thanks for helping me think about God in a different way." Another said, "I liked your sermon. The only time I go to church is here or at other rendezvous. Don't misunderstand, I am a Christian man. I just don't like church. Thanks for making us feel welcome.."

Thank you, God for people. Thank you, God for being love--so amazing, so holy, so beyond finding out. And thank you, God, for the chance to share a simple sermon and to be reminded that you did, indeed, call me to preach the word. Send someone to water the seeds planted, to love, to smile, to be you in this world. Have your way in the hearts and life of each person who was with us last weekend. Continue the good things you have begun, I pray, for the sake of the Kingdom. Amen

Silver Cliff 2008

Presbyterian Gal, you made me do it. You asked for lots of pictures. LOL!

Bearded Eagle hangs up our Yankee flag after we are set up. You can't see his face because he is standing behind "Fred" the bearskin. Our chairs are draped with sheepskins and deer hides, and our little table sits under the awning too. Behind the table you can glimpse my new camp "kitchen." Our lodge opens in both the front and back, as you can see. Nice for cross ventilation.

Inside our "lodge" -- our little Rendezvous home away from home, a bow, arrows and black powder guns hang on the ceiling pole, a candle lantern sits atop my wooden box of clothing and "possibles" (all necessary stuff) and both front door and back door are open to let in the breeze. Also the bugs. Out the back door you see the meadow behind us.

Biscuits, bacon and eggs for breakfast, all cooked by Bearded Eagle on our little wood stove. You can see the stove pipe sticking out the lodge ceiling.

Ahhh, coffee! I know, my hair's a mess. Don't worry. I'll soon be putting a mob cap on it. Isn't my cup cute?

This is my new camp kitchen set up. I love it! No more standing on my head to dig around in a wooden box trying to find the salt or the beef jerky.!

A little looking around in the woods always produces a wildflower arrangement. Note the French fleur de lis on the cup. Very proper to the period.


Haley and her baby sister, Taylor. Two beautiful little frontier mademoiselles!


As the stars began to come out, the people began to gather around some musicians. It was a lovely, cool evening. The music ranged from traditional American songs, to Irish jigs to a little Dylan and even some Coldplay.

"Two Portions" plays the wash tub. I mean, he plays it! If you weren't looking at him you would think that he was playing a big bass fiddle. The guy is amazing. He played for hours. He told me he can play the bass fiddle and the bass guitar, but he prefers playing the washtub at a campfire with his reenactor friends. His daughter once dated our son. Alas, the relationship did not bloom or perhaps I'd have learned to play the washtub by now.

Little girls came out to dance to the fiddle tunes. The two on the outside are dressed in plains Indian "ribbon dresses."

Here is the fiddler. Earlier, I am happy to say, The Mandolin Man visited camp and played with him. Mandolin Man looked the same, and played, once again, like a professional. Sadly, he couldn't stay long so was not present in the evening.

I know this didn't come out right. I had the camera on the wrong setting, but I kind of like it. A whole line of little girls are twirling to the music. You can see the candle lanterns hanging on a lodge behind them.

We are welcoming the people to the Sunday worship service. The two of us did a "tag team" sermon about the cross.

After church Ken (Bearded Eagle) took a photo of Taylor and her mommy, Maria, and me. Maria's father owns the land we were on.

Now came the truly unpleasant part--packing all this gear up and loading it in our van and little trailer. It is NOT FUN and takes time! We will be doing this again in a couple of weeks, but next time we will be with Kris and Daryl and little Trinity. We are looking forward to it!

More on Marriage to Come, but Meanwhile...

I realize I spent several posts talking about what husbands and wives (male and female) were not. The husband is not the authority and constant leader, and the wife is not the assistant. I did not talk about what we are to be, so I will plan on doing that sometime relatively soon.

As for now, my dear husband is going to lead me to the van, hitch up the trailer behind, and drive to the northwoods of Wisconsin (to the boonies). There we will meet friends and spend four days playing dress up as Bearded Eagle and SingingOwl, enjoy the silence of relative wilderness, look at stars with our telescope, cook and eat and share great food, worship outside, shoot guns and arrows, throw knives and tomahawks, read, rest, and converse around the campfire. I hope this man and his friends will be there. He did not show up last year, and I kind of worried about him. It is the same location.

No phone. No television. No fax machine. No computer.

Back soon!

Historical Camp at Jubilee Church

The collage is a sample of something we did at church this past weekend. (I'm not sure why it chopped off the top of so many heads.)

A while back we decided that since quite a few of us are interested in reenacting (thanks to my husband) we should turn this into an outreach/event. After plastering three towns with posters and other advertisements, we erected two tipis and 6 other lodges in a small 1820-style camp and invited the town. We had demonstrations of fur-trade era skills, held kids games that were true to the period (anyone ever played "Graces?"), threw tomahawks at a target, and told stories and had fun around a campfire at night. Our special guest, the man in the lower right corner, was "Jacques LaChristian: the French Voyaguer." He kept us all laughing with his French Canadian accent and his tall tales. (In reality his name is David and he is from Minnesota.)

Sunday morning we held our worship service outdoors. Rain was forecast, but you can see from the pictures that the day was clear and beautiful. We did not have as many townspeople visit our encampment as we had hoped, but we did have many visitors join us on Sunday morning and many indications of God's Holy Spirit working in lives. It was a good start to what we plan to make an annual event.

Does it look like a fun way to share the Gospel of Jesus Christ?



Here is a close up of Janques LaChristian, and below is a picture of some of those in attendance Sunday morning.

Silver Cliff Part IV - Just for Fun

On Saturday we accompanied our men into the woods to attempt a rescue of Miss Rebekah McClue.

It had rained earlier, but now the sun shone through the green ceiling of trees, casting shifting patterns of light and shadow. The leaves shook small showers of droplets onto our heads. It was quiet in the woods (except for us, being silly) and it was not hard to imagine a little of what it was like for Native Americans, Mountain Men or Voyaguers to pad softly through the woods with moccasined feet.

According to the scenario, Miss McC. the daughter of a prominent settler in the area, had been abducted by "hostiles." A "woods walk," as this is called, requires everyone to keep a sharp eye out for various targets, pop-ups, and other surprises. The situation may call for a black powder rifle or for a tomahawk. Some woods walks involve archery but this one did not.

No, we really are not violent people.



Much2Ponder looks like Peter Pan to me in this picture. (Really, I'm just saying that because I am coveting her buckskin dress.)

Her husband, Little Too Much, and Jesse get ready to trek on There is no sign of poor Rebekah yet.

Jesse takes careful aim and fires. He's a good shot.

Bearded Eagle has already felled a "bear" with his tomahawk. Here, he keeps a careful lookout as we quietly creep through the woods.

And here they are with Rebekah Mc Clue, who is tied to a post. Jesse's son, Nick, Ken (Bearded Eagle), Ray (Little Too Much) and Jesse. Pat (Much2Ponder) says she thinks that Rebekah and I are related since we share a specific physical resemblence. I do not know what she means.

Silver Cliff Part III - Frontier-Style Baptism

If you have not read the previous "Silver Cliff" posts below, you might want to read them first, especially Part II..

Mark 10:15-17
I assure you, anyone who doesn't have their kind of faith will never get into the Kingdom of God." Then he took the children into his arms and placed his hands on their heads and blessed them.

Sunday dawned clear and beautiful. Here is the conversation inside our lodge.

Bearded Eagle: This choker has a cross on it, so would it be good for church? Does it match my shirt okay? Where is my Bible?

Singing Owl: You look fine! I can't find my chemise...maybe I should dress in my beaded Indian dress instead? What am I thinking? Why did I say I'd baptize a baby?

People gathered on the grassy center of camp. Some brought benches or chairs. Some sat on the grass. This picture looks like it should be called "the children's section."

I led us in prayer and in singing "Amazing Grace." Something was already happening. People had tears in their eyes, and there was a quiet sense of anticipation.

We've done church at rendezvous before, but this time was different. Almost everyone in the encampment showed up, which is phenomenal. Rendezvousers are more know for alcohol consumption then church attendance

Ken's sermon was "Jesus Will Meet You Where You Are" from the passage about Jesus and the disciples on the shore after the resurrection. He spoke eloquently about the different places we find ourselves, and how the Lord will come to us in that place of need. More tears. One girl was openly weeping, and I could tell that the man seated next to me was struggling with some deep emotions.

I prayed!

Mother, Father and about-to-be-baptized Child were seated in the front row.

Ken concluded with a time of silent reflection and prayer, allowing each of us to talk to God about our current situations and to invite the Lord into them.

It turned out the man who had spoken to me about baptizing a child was the little boy's grandfather. Here we are: me (looking like Old Mother Hubbard), grandfather, grandmother, sister, mother and toddler. And in the second photo, dad has stepped up, his hair still very short from his recent stint in the Middle East.

People were invited to stay for the baptism if they wished, and everyone did. It was a beautiful scene. The sky was bright blue; the sun warmed our backs as we sat in the green clearing. I was nervous (will I do this right?) and I was feeling a little strange about doing something I never thought I'd be doing. And this may sound odd, but I did have a sense of God smiling at us, maybe even chuckling at my discomfort. Does God chuckle? Perhaps.

Look closely at the group picture and you will see a piece of pottery on the table. It is a little creamer pitcher-- very suitable for baptisms of the "pouring " variety, I thought.

From the Old Testament I read scripture about our responsibility to share the works of God with our children and grandchildren. From the New Testament I read about Jesus blessing the children. We prayed for the family and for little Ethan, who has some disabilities. I led them in statements of intention, and I asked those assembled to do nothing that would hinder the work of God in this little one's life.

The words of baptism, "I baptize you in the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit" felt strange in my mouth as I poured a stream of water over little Ethan's head. He winced. God smiled.

As people began to disperse, the man who had sat next to me told me that he was a Christian who had once been strong in his faith. He said he had not been in church for over a year and he had been questioning God's existence. He went on to say that his wife had left him and their two teenagers, and he had left church and God behind at the same time--struggling through the pain of divorce and feeling estranged from God--very angry. He said, "This was so beautiful, and it was just what I needed. I would not have gone to a church building, but this seemed all right. I know God was speaking to me and is going to meet me where I am." I told him I'd be praying for him and trusting that his journey back to faith would be something he could share with others in days to come.

Later, Grandfather approached with another of his several grandchildren. His voice was uncharacteristicly soft as he thanked me for baptizing his little grandson, and he handed me this little pottery vase. The buckskin-clad boy who stood by his side looked up at me shyly as he told me he had picked the Goldenrod himself. A $20 bill was tucked inside the vase. I think this little vase will stay with me long after my chemise and Ken's choker are dim memories.

Praise be to God, who does all things well.

Silver Cliff Part II - The Question

Life is an adventure when you are seeking to follow Christ in obedience.

Friday night after we had settled in at the rendezvous site near Silver Cliff, one of the camp leaders approached me carrying a candle lantern for light and looking a little timid.

He said, "Each year we have something special here. For the last two years we've had weddings. And this year there is a family who have been waiting till dad came home from Iraq to get their little boy baptized. Pastr, could you do a baptism at church on Sunday? They just moved into the area and haven't found a church home yet. They really want to haver their child baptized at a rendezvous, and it seems perfect, since this year we have a parson in attendance, and dad is home."

Gulp.

I immediately thought of Questing Parson and a few of the RevGals and wished they were in attendance. Is there a Lutheran...a Methodist...an Episcopalian in the house?
Uh, I mean, in the group...in the meadow..somewhere? Oh dear.

I gently said that Assemblies of God pastors do not baptize infants. He looked confused, so I briefly explained that their are two main schools of thought on baptism. We dedicate babies to the Lord in a special ceremony, and we baptize those who, later on, decide to follow Jesus Christ as savior. "Oh, fine," he said. Just dedicate him, and then baptize him."

Hmm. I saw that my doctrinal fine points had escaped him. Consternation...and then...the still small voice of--the Holy Spirit? "Baptise him." Uh...God...is that You? "Baptize him."

I took a deep breath. "I would be honored to do that. I'd love to. I'd like to talk with the parents though." "Wonderful!" he said, with a big smile.

Next day I wished for my computer. I do not know how to conduct an infant baptism. What to do? "God, why is this happening, dang it!" Then it was clear. Do what the man had said. Dedicate him and then baptize him.

I then wished for my little black book of clergy necessities. Another deep breath. I settled down with my notebook, Bible, pen, and solitude. I wrote, and it flowed easily. I looked up scriptures and found them quickly. Something was happening in me--a kind of joy.

I joked to my husband, "Don't tell _________." (Our presbyter.) We decided that on Sunday morning Ken would preach and I'd do the baptism and we'd share the other parts.

It is midnight. I'll share the rest tomorrow. Yawn...

Silver Cliff Part I: The Mandolin Man

Hey, Mr. Mandolin Man, play a song for me....apologies to Bob Dylan...

A couple of weeks ago we spent three days near Silver Cliff, a "wide spot in the road" quite far north of the city of Green Bay. It felt like I finished the week of vacation that was interrupted last time. This time there was no "public" to speak of, just a bunch of people (about 30 lodges) playing "make-believe" (see the post below--I used to like to do that and I guess I still do) and having fun together. Much2Ponder and her husband, Little Too Much, went too, as well as J. and M. who are new to our church but not to fur trade reenacting. Wisconsin's "north woods" consists of miles and miles of forest and an occasional meadow...dotted here and there by tiny towns. It extends across most of the northern areas of the state. We drove through deep woods to the site, a beautiful place far from lights and traffic and noise. More about that later, but this post is about The Mandolin Man.

The Mandolin Man is not singing here. He is concentrating.

One sunny morning I strolled down the row of lodges and heard music with an Irish lilt. I stopped, and there sat an old man who looked like he was too frail to stand up. His skin, which looks pink enough in the picture, was white like parchment. He sat under the awning of a small lodge, plucking a mandolin like a professional, along with a younger man playing a fiddle and another playing a guitar.

Intrigued, I stopped. The Mandolin Man was clearly in charge of the trio of musicians. He looked fragile, but charmingly dapper in his vest and derby. "May I sit and listen?" I asked. No response. He looked right at me, so I spoke a bit louder, "MAY I SIT DOWN?" No response. His wife kindly said, "He doesn't see you or hear you."

I thought that was strange, and I wondered how a blind and deaf man could still play together with others so beautifully. "Have a seat" she offered, and I did, tucking my long skirt around me on the wooden bench.

When the song ended the old man seemed to see me for the first time. "Hello! I beg your pardon, madam" he said. "When I play I see the song in my mind. I did not realize you were here. I see the notes; I see the frets and the strings of my mandolin; I see and I hear just the song, understand?" I didn't, but I said I did, to be polite. He was a delight to talk with, and he even, somewhat reluctantly, allowed me to inspect his instrument--a beautiful, custom-made and hand-painted creation of gleaming red wood . He breathed a soft sigh of relief when I gently handed it back to him. He told me he had been playing the old songs, Irish and Russian mostly, for many years. After about half an hour I reluctantly left, but I could hear the music as I walked back to our lodge.

Sitting by a fire that evening, I thought about his single-minded focus on his mandolin and his wonderful music. How could he not even see me?

My prayer, God, is that I may seek you first, with the same kind of focus. That I will see and hear the voice of the Holy Spirit. I don't want to shut people out, but I do want to be able to turn my heart to you with no distractions. I want you to mean so much to me that all else fades, like the old chorus says:

Turn your eyes upon Jesus,

Look full in his wonderful face,

And the things of earth will grow strangely dim,

In the light of his glory and grace.

And when that happens, Lord, may my life provide spiritual music as sweet and uplifting as the music of the Mandolin Man.

Amen

The Bearded Man

We sort of had a flag in church today. :-) My husband's July 4th tie says, "United We Stand." Note the bushy beard. He's getting ready for an National Muzzleloaders Rendezvous next week. Bearded Eagle and Singing Owl (us) will be meeting up with Happy Otter and Two Foxes (daughter and son-in-law) in Iowa for a much-needed week of fun and relaxation (we hope).

Jus' fer fun, here are a few pictures of past events.

Happy Otter


Bearded Eagle and SingingOwl (still coloring my hair then)<


Little-Too-Much and his woman




Blowing on the fire









Anyone near Waverly, Iowa? Come out and see us next week!