TRUEBLOOD: Camp experiences lead to understandings about God, self-worth

There's always an uncertainty about starting something new. But after painful toil and feelings of ineptness, I eventually came to understand why I've been placed in certain situations.

I applied to work at Pine Cove Christian camps in Tyler, Texas, last summer for two reasons: 1) My friend Daniel worked there last year and could not stop talking about how much he loved it, and 2) I had no intention of staying in Omaha for another whole summer. So when Pine Cove came to the Union last November to interview, it did not take much coaxing from Daniel to convince me to sign up.

The interview went really well, but when I was told that they interviewed more than 1,000 students for about 800 positions, I doubted I would be offered a job. Why would Pine Cove want a girl from Nebraska? I'm not a very peppy, outgoing and outspoken person, which I believed to be the prototype of an ideal camp staffer. Surely Texas already had enough highly qualified individuals who fit the camp profile better than I.

The morning of Dec. 8, my doubts that Pine Cove would call me with a job offer mounted immensely. Another possible summer opportunity was playing around in my mind, but I didn't want to do anything about it until I had heard from Pine Cove. I jotted down a brief prayer asking that God make it clear where I was supposed to go.

Later that evening I got a call from Robby Mayne, the camp director at the Pine Cove Towers camp, offering me a job as a wrangler. My heart about leaped out of my chest. I asked him to explain what a wrangler was because I had no idea.

When he explained that I would be working with horses, I hesitated to accept, not knowing a thing about them. He said horse experience wasn't required and that the camp would teach me all I needed to know. It seemed like such a unique opportunity and the timing of Robby's call was so significant. I gave myself a day to think about it then called Robby to tell him I accepted the position.

The first day I pulled up to the camp I wondered what the heck I was doing there. I did not know a single person, and I felt completely inadequate and unprepared for the job. Maybe I had made a mistake.

Everyone I met that night was extremely nice. The staff did its best to make sure everyone understood that we had been carefully picked for our jobs. We had a place at camp; we belonged.

As training week went on I began to feel more comfortable with my job and the other wranglers were quickly becoming some of my closest friends. We spent long hours together, getting up before the sun to go into the pasture to halter horses. My body was physically worn out from grooming, hoof-picking, saddling, scooping horse manure and raking the barn. The physical labor, however, was not nearly as difficult as the emotional challenge of the job.

One day during the third week hit me particularly hard. The morning started out fine, and I was feeling confident in my position as lead wrangler for our trail ride. I was completely unprepared in the afternoon, however, when my partner and I switched roles and I became side wrangler.

I forgot a wrangler rope to lead the horse, and I didn't check my stirrups, so my knees were bent at a ninety-degree angle. I also had a hard time matching kids with the right horses; I had to switch them several times because their saddle was too big or too small. I was forgetting important details, and it frustrated me because it was the third week, and I knew I should have been on top of my game. I felt completely incompetent and questioned why I was even there.

I had lost it, and my barn manager noticed. She pulled me aside at the end of the day, and we talked while she bathed one of the horses. She wanted to know what was going on and how she could help. I spilled my frustrations while she just looked at me with understanding eyes. I admitted that I was second-guessing some of the decisions I had made that day because I wasn't confident. She said that when you start second-guessing yourself, that's when you make mistakes.

I started to tear up a bit and felt embarrassed. She told me it was OK to cry. We realized that we both hate crying in front of people because it feels like a sign of weakness. Crying, however, is only the body's natural way of dealing with stress. I learned that day that perhaps some more tear-shedding in my life would do me good.

Prior to our one-to-one I was a bit intimidated by her; I knew she cared about the wranglers and was only strict because she wanted us to be safe so that the kids were safe. I needed her to show me that she cared, however, by pulling me aside, and it really meant a lot to me when she did. She reminded me that I belonged there, that it was OK to mess up and that I'm a weak human prone to making mistakes, but that there's always a God who can give me the strength to get through anything.

The very next day after my emotional breakdown I received three notes in my mailbox from some girls who had been in one of my classes. Their notes said they thought I was an "awesome wrangler" and that they really enjoyed riding horses with me. It was a much needed blessing that reassured me I must have done something right.

I didn't realize how relevant everything that happened in Texas would be to my current situation. Although I'm not dealing with children, my position as a Resident Assistant has put me in a place of responsibility for the 49 girls who live on my floor, as well as the rest of the building. Sometimes it requires the same kind of emotional strength that I needed at camp – a strength that I could not develop myself but had to look to God for.

There are moments in my Resident Assistant position where I feel inadequate and wonder how in the world I was ever chosen for this job. I think about how I got through camp, and I'm reminded that even when I feel like I'm not qualified to do something, if I'm where the Lord wants me to be, He will equip me for the tasks laid out before me.