This past weekend was a real trip. No, I mean that in more ways than one. After missing out on last year's CityTeam Death Valley trip due to a broken leg, I was finally able to make my schedule, my body, and my mind all work together. (I came down with some sort of intestinal distress on Sunday evening before the trip on Thursday, and was afraid that I would, once again, be denied the privilege.) Getting up for a 3:00 AM load and departure was one of the most challenging parts of the trip. I made a thermos of 4 double shots of espresso and found my way to San Jose CityTeam. As we headed out, my assigned riders mostly fell asleep while I drove until around 7:00 AM when we stopped for breakfast. Since part of the purpose was to get to know the participants - all of whom were in various phases of recovery from alcohol and/or drug addiction, we encouraged the awake riders to tell their stories. CityTeam's approach is Christ-centered, and has one of the highest "success" rates for drug and alcohol rehabilitation known. Those stories were challenging to listen to as the trip began. We had to be responsible to non-judgmentally encourage the discussion and sharing. I am not used to being around people that have managed to have lives that are so far removed from "the way".
We drove over 500 miles the first day to arrive at our first campsite. There, in the shadow of Eureka Dunes, we set up camp and experienced great fellowship. The weather could not have been better. (Although I seem to have missed the note on bringing a tent; I am really glad that I did. It gave me an excuse to sleep in my Mountaineer on two thin pads with better insulation from the cold than my companions had.)
The views were breath-taking. The hike alone up to the peak of one of the dunes with just me and God was inspiring. Taking care of the coffee demands of a group of 20 or so men was both challenging and rewarding; but the evening devotionals with singing, witnessing, and sharing were the highlight of the trips. Death ball (like baseball with a rock wrapped in duct tape for a ball, sand traps, cacti, sage brush, and capricious rules and umpiring for spice) was the afternoon's entertainment, along with launches of model rockets and potato cannon firing.
Listening to men share in various phases of their re-hab and the stories of their movement from suicidal despair to desperate search for redemption to hope for a future reminded me that Christ did not come only for the the God-fearing; but for the desperately lost and dying.
My prayer is that every one of the men I met would be inspired to develop the faith that is the substance of things hoped for, the evidence of things not seen. The young man who went from seeking out used needles on the street in order to inject drugs to wanting to become a youth minister - knowing that first he must return to another state and face a warrant that could lead to prison time - who came to me and asked where to find a scripture that he recalled for use in the evening's devotional helped me recall the redemptive power of Christ.
I hope I am forever changed by this trip. I know it has given me a greater sympathy for men who grow up without a Godly Father image in their lives; but who begin to respond positively to the witness of what He can do when we really do serve Him; and who see for the first time the difference in joy and fun; and who find that Christians can have a LOT of fun that has no adverse consequences.
(to be continued.)
We drove over 500 miles the first day to arrive at our first campsite. There, in the shadow of Eureka Dunes, we set up camp and experienced great fellowship. The weather could not have been better. (Although I seem to have missed the note on bringing a tent; I am really glad that I did. It gave me an excuse to sleep in my Mountaineer on two thin pads with better insulation from the cold than my companions had.)
The views were breath-taking. The hike alone up to the peak of one of the dunes with just me and God was inspiring. Taking care of the coffee demands of a group of 20 or so men was both challenging and rewarding; but the evening devotionals with singing, witnessing, and sharing were the highlight of the trips. Death ball (like baseball with a rock wrapped in duct tape for a ball, sand traps, cacti, sage brush, and capricious rules and umpiring for spice) was the afternoon's entertainment, along with launches of model rockets and potato cannon firing.
Listening to men share in various phases of their re-hab and the stories of their movement from suicidal despair to desperate search for redemption to hope for a future reminded me that Christ did not come only for the the God-fearing; but for the desperately lost and dying.
My prayer is that every one of the men I met would be inspired to develop the faith that is the substance of things hoped for, the evidence of things not seen. The young man who went from seeking out used needles on the street in order to inject drugs to wanting to become a youth minister - knowing that first he must return to another state and face a warrant that could lead to prison time - who came to me and asked where to find a scripture that he recalled for use in the evening's devotional helped me recall the redemptive power of Christ.
I hope I am forever changed by this trip. I know it has given me a greater sympathy for men who grow up without a Godly Father image in their lives; but who begin to respond positively to the witness of what He can do when we really do serve Him; and who see for the first time the difference in joy and fun; and who find that Christians can have a LOT of fun that has no adverse consequences.
(to be continued.)
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