How Shelby and I Met: A True Story

Shelby's grandmother is beset with Schloppinger's disease, a debilitating, strange disease, which has caused her to lose the use of both arms. Her greatest joy amidst her biplegic life is calling in to win radio contests. Of course, she can't dial, so she has a caretaker make the calls for her. Her whole family scoffed at her silly hobby until she won two tickets to visit Northern Ireland. She was delighted to invite Shelby, who had dialed many a call-in radio program for her. What's more, one of her good friends lived there, whom she had not seen in ages: a Mr. Rochester.

Meanwhile, I was studying in Northern Ireland for my doctoral thesis on bedflies, also known as noctororum scoliorum. I was hiking with my handicapped friend, also a sufferer of Schloppinger's. We were headed to Mussenden Temple to explore the ruins of the burnt castle which an older, insecure bishop had built for his young, beautiful wife. The ruins of the castle are surrounded by a large ditch which had possibly served as a moat in the past.

While exploring, I began to need a bathroom urgently. The only thing to use was the moat. I looked about for a person on patrol who might deter the necessary act. The only thing my eyes lit upon was a battered sign that read: BEWARE, SHEEP GRAZING. I knew, just as I'm sure you do, that certain breed of sheep can spell peril to those who are so unfortunate as to be caught staring upward into their eyes. Looking down upon a sheep means little, however, for they assume you to be their superior. Due to my weighted bladder, I meant to risk it, whatever the cost.

Just as I emerged from the wide ditch, there was a girl of about my age, staring in disbelief at my impertinence. She assumed, quite correctly, that I had used the moat as a bathroom. "Didn't you see the sign?!" She pointed, eyes wide. I tensed immediately, on guard for the sheep attack. She saw my look of panic and assumed a fighting stance as well, believing me to have seen some raucous sheep activity headed in our direction.

Seeing nothing, she saw the root of our misunderstanding, and pointed to the sign of which she had meant to accuse me. Directly beside me was a sign which read: ABSOLUTELY NO PEEING IN THE MOAT. We both laughed, eased by our mistake, and made introductions. We were mutually impressed by our immediate fighting reactions, but our conversation was cut short by the needs of our handicapped companions.

Some days later, we were destined to meet again! While studying, I was staying at the home of a friend named Jane. She told me of her admiration of her employer, a man named Mr. Rochester; indeed, the very same Rochester with whom Shelby's grandmother was so closely acquainted. So it fell that at a dinner party hosted by Rochester, Jane and I were to be in attendance. Who else should grace the table but Shelby and her biplegic grandmother!

While taking a tour of the large Rochester mansion, a castle, to be sure, Shelby and I finished the conversation from the moat days earlier. So deep in our thoughts were we that we became dreadfully lost in the place. We headed eastward in the mansion, toward voices which we supposed to belong to our friends. How wrong we were!

We trod up a staircase, much worn and quite small, believing it to be the servants' entrance to the hallway near the dining room. We heard laughter: at times faint, then quite loud, then a good deal of talking. But as we approached, all seemed to be coming from one voice, and that not of our friends at all. We assumed our sheep-fighting stances, and tried the door, only to find it locked.

At this, disappointed and relieved, we decided upon an alternate route which finally brought us to our friends who had hardly noticed our disappearance. Rochester was the exception, for he seemed to note our pale faces and breathless entrance. He kept a close eye on us for the rest of the evening, fidgeting more than before, and ushered us out long before the appropriate time of departure for family friends.

With these two singular experiences behind us, Shelby and I were forced to part once more. She and her grandmother were headed back to Pennsylvania, while I stayed in the area for some months more. When I returned to Pennsylvania, Shelby and I met up again at Millersville University: I with my doctorate, naturally, and with a slightly redder haircolor, a common effect of working with bedflies, the notable result of my research.

Wouldn't you know it! We read in the paper just days after meeting again that our friends, Jane and Mr. Rochester had been in love. But those strange voices we had heard in the night had belonged to MRS. Rochester! Mr. Rochester had married a crazed woman many years ago, and had kept her in the far east tower all that time!

Now, just as we told our group of nine middle-schoolers on camp-out night, if you google "Jane and Rochester," you're sure to find the newspaper articles which we found to be so disturbing. For our part, Shelby and I are still divided as to the appropriateness of the relationship which Mr. Rochester had allowed to ensue despite his lawful marital status.

Two Lists

Things that are the same:

God is good.

My head is full.

Things that are different:

My heart is not worried, just broken.

My cabin is so diverse! I know that we will be working through lots of difficulties this week. I'm exhilarated by the possibilities.

Camp is quickly coming to an end.

I'm headed to Ohio on my birthday!

Squirrels make me downright uncomfortable.

I am super emotional. This is rare. Normally my emotions are a few levels down. Just look at me wrong and I might cry.

Outpost

We play a game here called Outpost. Red flag belts versus blue flag belts. Each team is searching for the other teams large flags, and pulling opposing colored flag belts. There are four ranks: one general for each team, five lieutenants, colonels, privates. All are worth a different number of points if captured. The lieutenants, for example are 25 points, the privates are 5 points. The best strategy for lieutenants is to simply hide and try not to be captured. Then there are flag-bearers; assassins who don't wear belts and pull only the flag-bearers; then mercenaries who the generals buy to pull flag belts.

The privates and colonels stay together to pull flags and to scout for the flag-bearer.

Easy? Sure. EXCEPT that it takes place at night! I was a lieutenant whose ankle hurt. I ended up running stealthily through the woods, falling into a ditch, and remaining hidden there for the last 25 minutes of the game. While in hiding, I let my imagination take over and I tried to remember all the war stories I had ever read. I thought of Born on the Fourth of July, and All Quiet on the Western Front. And you know what? I can see how little boys love to pretend fight.

From the First Teen Week

From Monday morning, I was pretty certain that each of the nine girls in my cabin were leaders, "Gamma Girls" as one article calls them: young women who do not need the approval of their peers to know and do what is right; they are happy, interesting, busy, involved. They are less susceptible to peer pressure due to their own self-control and inner contentment.

All nine girls led the way in everything. We danced, we laughed, we had generally the best week of my life. They loved worship time and decided to be the last ones dismissed each night if we could do it.

During my last one-on-one time late Friday night, we walked around the main camp area. Aubrey had not spoken much of her own accord throughout the week. She mostly relied on her best friend Kari who was also in the cabin. But when we were alone, she finally had a million questions. She wondered about Satan and his fall from heaven (a strange, sticky story, if you ask me); she wondered how she could be right with God. She had kept all her precious thoughts to herself all week. Many of her questions had been addressed during our evening services or during our cabin discussions. But the answers had gone over her head.

I tried to bring the gospel down from its lofty heights to the very ground we were now sitting on. Every time I explain God's love for us in Jesus, I get butterflies. The concepts of grace and justice and forgiveness had been fluttering over my head, too. And when I finally took them down to hold them, they became dear and real again.

Aubrey recommitted her life to Jesus on Friday night. She wants her Sin to be Forgiven. She had asked Jesus into her life before, but she has not been discipled in the interim, and she didn't understand anymore. I wish I could say that my head wasn't drooping before the end of our conversation. She had so much more to tell me. She is a writer. She's in the midst of authoring a mystery novel. She is an adventurer. She is not afraid of anything the ropes course can throw at her, she is not afraid of new places, of new people. She loves to tell stories. She loves to be in theater.

I say "Weekend" you say "WooHOO!"

Middle schoolers came this past week. I had a cabin who didn't enjoy discussing deeper subjects. It was so difficult to draw them out, that I almost cried after our evening cabin time on Tuesday night! By campout night on Wednesday, I made a few discoveries: they just weren't the kind of people to talk about their hearts in a big group. They just weren't. And I couldn't make them fit a mold of my expectations.

So we went star-spinning in the ballfield Wednesday night. We laughed til we were tired, then walked through the darkness back to our campsite. Some of the girls were so scared! I loved it.

During our one-on-one times, away from the group and their stilted dynamics, I felt that I really began to know them; and they are such precious girls. I wish even now that they could return next week. This is notable, because for all other weeks, I felt no such inclination of actual friendship developing. Our relationships til last week were something like maternal leadership.

On Thursday, during my first game of Drop Zone, I rolled my ankle. It's still swollen and angry, but I think it'll be ready for running by mid-next week. That is, after the mini-week campers (second- and third-graders) leave, of course. Oh, how I love the weekend!