Just be thankful you're not in a prison camp...

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Hi All ~ Long time no blogging I know!  My life has been consumed with elections and Christmas program preparation.  But now the election is over I'm hoping to get back into some semblance of a routine!  Hope you enjoy this Thanksgiving thought below!

Just months before my 16^th birthday my family moved from Minnesota to Florida.  If you’re imagining us packing up all of our belongings, having a few good-bye parties, loading up a moving truck and heading South to the white sandy beaches of the Atlantic, that’s not exactly how it went.

 My mom and dad decided that we would load up one of our cars with only the bare necessities.  My three older siblings were grown and already out on their own which meant my mom would take my youngest brother Rodney and me on down ahead of my dad so we could start school.  The three of us would move in with my Aunt and Uncle in their 3-bedroom 2-bath home along with four of their five children; making a total of nine humans and one large Doberman all living in 1250 sq. feet.  My dad would stay behind till he could sell the house and the business; then join us as soon as possible.  I know.  What were they thinking, right?

Actually, the experience of bunking up with the cousins is a memory of a lifetime.  I enjoyed the closeness…most of the time.  The morning routine proved the roughest interval to maintain an acceptable level of sanity.  With only two bathrooms and seven people all needing to be ready at the same time you can imagine the bedlam. 

One of those mornings the chaos grew especially hectic.  My aunt, trying to herd the six of us into her five-passenger car with all of our backpacks and gym bags, squeaked out in a panic, “Hurry up we’re going to be late…again!”

Invariably someone would holler, “I can’t find my shoes!  Has anyone seen my other shoe?  Stephen, did you take it?  Where is it?  Someone help me find it!” 

My cousin Stephen fired back, “Why would I take your shoe, you dork?”

Then another would shout, “Hurry up, I can’t have another tardy or I’ll get detention!  Why don’t you find your stuff the night before like the rest of us!  Ahh yuck! Who spilled the milk and didn’t clean it up?  I just stepped in it! Now I need a new pair of socks.  Mom, where are the clean socks?” 

She’d reply, “You don’t have time.  You’ll just have to wear those today. I said get in the car!” 

Grumble, grumble, grumble….

Then another, “Mom, where is that paper I asked you to sign?  I gotta have it today.” Each voice managed to crank up the volume level overriding the last speaker, ensuring they were heard in this simultaneous and confusing conversation.

I happened to be the only girl in the bunch and unfortunately I have an overactive sense of responsibility.  So naturally, any disaster the boys may be having, I felt it my duty to rescue as much as feasible. I’d wipe up the milk, hunt for the shoe, unless I also needed to secretly hunt for my own.  Barely 7:30 in the morning and all of us were already exhausted. 

The insecurities of being a sophomore in a new high school and trying to make my way only added to the weariness.  Everything required an effort.  Where do I sit for lunch?  Does that cute guy really keep watching me or is he staring at my flatter- than- a- pancake, humidity-suffering hairdo wondering, “Why doesn’t that girl do something with that straw looking stuff on top of her head”?  There is a reason there is only one letter difference between humidity and humility.  What hall do I take to get to my 3^rd  period class?  I am going to try to call everyone I know by name today… if I can remember them…  I didn’t regret this new adventure.  I knew God had planned it.  Sometimes it just overwhelmed me.  Today happened to fall into the “What in the Sam Hill were my parent’s thinking?” category.

By the time the sardine can of an automobile had been packed with book bags, football pads for after school practice, a trumpet for marching band, my cheerleading bag and oh, yeah, five students and one school secretary, the sour mood sloshing around in the car would have intoxicated even the strongest Positive Pearls in the world.

I confess.  My attitude stunk.  I was tired of it; everyone out for themselves.  Not enough room in the car.  Not enough time in the bathroom.  Barely enough food in the cupboard and no one ever seemed to help with the dishes.  And now I’m going to have to walk in late to my new school… yet again!  Everyone will be staring at me.  My hair and this Florida humidity make me want to slink by the edges of the hallway, not parade across the room to the empty seat up front next to that guy.  Or should I pick the other seat next to the other guy?  Ugh.

About the time I’d decided to pull out the knife and slit my wrist in peace, my Aunt slammed on the brakes- as to not run the stop sign and eject us into the oncoming traffic whizzing past us.  As all six of us whiplashed back to our seats from the sudden thrust she threw these words over her shoulder, “Just be thankful you’re not in a prison camp!”

You might as well have dumped a bucket of ice water over my head.  Her statement stunned me. And then it just plain irritated me.  How dare she say this wasn’t a stressful and ridiculous way to live? 

I repeated the phrase in my mind, mainly out of disgust and shock at her audacity.  (Which for my aunt appeared quite audacious since she had the patience of Job and rarely stood up for herself or told anyone off.) But as I repeated the quote, somewhere mid-sentence I visualized the reality of her words, “Just be thankful you’re not in a prison camp.”  I had read The Hiding Place by Corrie ten Boon.  I vividly recalled the horror of those camps. Before I knew it, the statement settled into my heart and suddenly I saw with new eyes.

Yes!  Thank God I didn’t have to be in a prison camp today!  These obtrusive gym bags piled on top of me, wrinkling my clothes, are a sign that I get to be part of a fun school with lots of extras.  Running late meant we wouldn’t be required to wait outside for the doors to open, allowing the humidity more time to work it’s magic. Tonight I’m going home to a safe place with choices of where to go and what to eat. I’m surrounded by people who, although they stress me out once in a while, also make me laugh until I wet my pants; people who love me and want what is best for me.  I’m not afraid of them. In fact, they are some of my favorite people in the whole wide world!  Yes, thank you God, I’m not in a prison camp.