Last Word: Saturday July 25, 2020

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“But God has chosen the foolish things of the world to shame the wise, and God has chosen the weak things of the world to shame the things which are strong…so that no one may boast before God.”

– 1 Corinthians 1:27, 29

A theme I’ve been reflecting on a lot these past few months is weakness. With COVID-19 changing the world in ways I never imagined, I became really aware of my own weakness and lack of control over the future. My carefully crafted plans had never factored in the possibility of a pandemic. As a meticulous planner and ambitious goal-setter, I found myself in an uncomfortable place of uncertainty. I began to see my weakness and imperfections more clearly than ever.

I chose this verse because it is a reminder that God does not expect us to be perfect. In fact, it emphasizes that God specifically chooses the weak and the foolish, not the strong and the wise. Our imperfections and weaknesses provide opportunities for us to rely on God. No matter how wise or strong we think we are, the truth is that we always need God. We are all imperfect and that is okay. God loves us and calls us just as we are.

In my own experience I know that it can sometimes be hard to see myself as God sees me. I wanted to share a passage from the book Embers by Richard Wagamese that talks about seeing and accepting your whole self, imperfections included:

“When there’s a crack in my mirror, I can’t see myself as I am–all I see is the crack. The crack tells me that there is something wrong with me, that I’m not enough and that this is how others see me, too. It’s not a question of finding a better mirror. It’s about seeing beyond the crack. I am not, nor ever will be, perfect. But I don’t need to live for approval. I need to live for acceptance and joy in the unique, worthy, lovable, beautiful, sacred being that I am and to celebrate the same thing in others. That’s seeing beyond the crack. I’m learning to love my imperfections; in the end, they make me who I am, in all my flawed glory.”

We are all unique, worthy, lovable, beautiful, sacred beings. Yes, right in this moment, with all our weaknesses and imperfections. We are children of God, chosen and unconditionally loved. Let us pray:

Creator God,

Thank you for calling us and loving us just as we are. Give us clear vision to see ourselves and others as You see us. Help us to embrace our imperfections as opportunities to rely on and glorify You. Amen.

– Megan Meyer (WCB Kitchen Staff ’19, ’20)

Fleet of Witnesses

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The fleet of canoes that we have here at Wilderness Canoe Base is full of stories. Canoes are paddled, portaged, and have endured many ups and downs of camping trips- these memories are passed along through storytelling. Our fleet has grown over generations since 1956. Canoeing as a way of transportation has a long history in the Boundary Waters. From birch bark to wood to aluminum to kevlar, canoes have evolved following indigenous communities’ use of canoes in daily life. There are not many other places in the world where canoeing is the primary mode of transportation, but recreational paddling is part of what makes a trip in the BWCAW so formative. Here at Wilderness Canoe Base, we honor the history of each canoe and value that each one has an individualized name with a story behind it. Each canoe guide has 3 canoes in their assigned brigade, which they take on trail with their campers throughout the summer. (A brigade is the rack on which canoes are placed when not in use.) On trail, campers often come to have a favorite canoe or fondly remember the one that they paddled the most. Caring for our canoes is just one representation of stewardship; a value that Wilderness holds highly.

Many of our canoes have been sponsored by colleges, alumni, churches, the wider wilderness community and many others!

Keep reading to see featured canoes from different generations!

The Oles (1957) 

In 1957, the student body of St. Olaf College sponsored a cedar strip canoe which they named “The Oles.” Oles is a nickname for students, as the college is named after the Norse King, Saint Olaf. A Grumman aluminum canoe which now bears the name “The Oles,” is an In-Camp canoe that is still frequently used to paddle between the islands that make up Wilderness Canoe Base. This is just one of many canoes that St. Olaf College has sponsored throughout the years.

Jonathon (1987)

The canoe, “Jonathon,” was donated by the summer staff of 1987 to commemorate the death of Jon Rorem, a beloved member of the Wilderness Canoe Base community and staff. In 1987, the summer he passed away, the current staff as well as some alumni sponsored this light-weight aluminum canoe in his honor. The canoe Jonathon is cherished by many that knew him at WCB and holds a special place in our fleet to celebrate Jon’s life and love for WCB.

In addition to the dedication of the canoe, this song, “Jonathon,” was written by Rhoda Anderson Habedank in his memory.

Thank you to Sue Ahrendt for sharing stories about Jonathon with WCB.

Song of the Soul & Ruach (2017)

Three years ago, the canoes “Song of the Soul” and “Ruach” were sponsored by a generous group of alumni and friends of Wilderness. “Song of the Soul” was named after the song written by Nancy Koester, a past WCB guide and musician.

In 2017, the 4 women who ventured on the “Journey for Renewal” (J4R) trip were given the opportunity to name the second canoe. Emma Harness, (a past WCB director) along with the J4R women: Tessa Larson, Stephanie Branchaud, Chelsea Froemke and Whitney Vogel chose the name “Ruach” which means spirit, breath or wind. In Hebrew, the word “ruach” is a feminine noun that is used throughout the bible. The name was inspired by a significant bible verse throughout their trip to Hudson Bay. It reads: “The Spirit of God [Ruach Elohim] was hovering over the waters” -Genesis 1:2.

Watch this video of the Journey 4 Renewal trip!

Thank you to Jeff Barrow for sharing about Song of the Soul and Ruach.

Thank you to Tessa Larson and Chelsea Froemke for insight on Ruach.

We invite you to share any information, favorite memories or stories that you have of a certain canoe! Which canoe is your favorite to paddle?

Written by Katie Malcom and Lily Askegaard

Summer 2020 Last Word: Genesis 3:19

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At Wilderness Canoe Base, the tradition of First and Last word begins and ends every day, led by a different staff member each time. It has remained a tradition since the opening of WCB in 1956. Before breakfast, everyone at camp walks to the chapel in silence and finds a spot on the wooden pews. Then the staff member who is leading reads the chosen First Word verse three times. Between each repetition an extended amount of silence is given, allowing listeners to reflect on the Word. Following the third repetition, everyone is able to leave and return to Pinecliff (WCB center/ dining hall) and eat breakfast. Last word is a short reflection that states why the verse was chosen, what it means to the reader, maybe a story, and often includes a challenge or message for the rest of camp to take away. This reflection is given after everyone is finished eating dinner, while all are still sitting at their meal spots and attention is turned to the front of the room. The WCB tradition of First and Last Word centers the day and allows for staff members to share their reflections

First Word

“By the sweat of your face you shall eat bread until you return to the ground, for out of it you were taken; you are dust, and to dust you shall return.”

– Genesis 3:19

Last Word Reflection

Ever since the news started blowing up with COVID-19 related stories, there has been an underlying fear that I or someone I love will die. Death has been on our minds more than ever. We are hearing so many reports on symptoms, tests, ICU units, and “second waves” coming in the fall. These are all horrifying and anxiety-inducing topics. These anxious underpinnings with which we all walk aren’t going away; we have already had COVID-19 related stress for nearly 7 months now. It has been an exhausting year. I think it is important that behind all this fear and caution, we acknowledge our collective mourning in the stories of death that are ever-present in our lives.

The Genesis Ash Wednesday imagery of dust is powerful. The message at the heart of it is incredibly humbling: we will all one day return to dust. Returning to dust alone unites us with everything on Earth. Everything comes from dust; everything returns to dust. While I know becoming dust can be a disturbing thought, it can also be a healing one. Author and poet Leslie Marmon Silko, a Laguna Pueblo woman who grew up in the Southwest, has insightful views on dust. In her essay “Landscape, History, and the Pueblo Imagination,” she offers a renewing perspective on the cycles of life and death.

“The dead become dust, and in this becoming they are once more joined with the Mother. The ancient Pueblo people called the earth the Mother Creator of all things in this world. Her sister, the Corn Mother, occasionally merges with her because all succulent green life rises out of the depths of the earth.

Rocks and clay are part of the Mother. They emerge in various forms, but at some time before, they were smaller particles or great boulders. At a later time they may again become what they once were. Dust.

A rock shares this fate with us and with animals and plants as well. A rock may differ from the spirit we know in animals or plants or in ourselves. In the end we all originate from the depths of the earth. Perhaps this is how all beings share in the spirit of the Creator. We do not know.”

– Leslie Marmon Silko (p. 31)

Silko’s words are radical and an extremely non-anthropocentric way of viewing everything around you down to the pebble under your foot. Like Silko illustrates, we (me, you, the aspen quaking outside my window, the white-throated sparrow singing in the distance) are literally all made of the same substance, dust, and will all return to the same place. Life is cyclical; death renews life. It is freeing to know we are all going back to the Mother. No matter what mistakes I make, in the end, I am dust, renewing the world. It seems weird to be rejuvenated by the thought of one day being compost, but this realization connects me closer with all the creatures and beings with whom I share the Earth.

 

Despite this holistic perspective on the cycles of dust, the anxieties of my family and friends possibly dying due to injustices or disease or COVID-19 are still very real and present. There is so much death in the news – it seems inescapable. Death may be one narrative of today, but I am also seeing something else. All around me, people are desperately fighting for life. The Black Lives Matter protests cannot go unmentioned. This has been a powerful display of life, community, and the fight for justice. Additionally, all of the drastic social changes and sacrifices people have made due to COVID-19 are a direct sign that we are fighting for life. It is frustrating to wear masks and stay away from our friends, but we are doing this so that others can simply live. Our sacrifices are the “sweat of your face” that the Genesis passage is talking about. We will have to work for it, and it won’t be easy, and even after that, we are all still going to die.

So why do it? Why fight throughout your entire existence on Earth, with the sweat of your face, even with a certain death somewhere on the forecast?

Despite all these fearful questions, I am still filled with hope. Hope is a powerful thing. Hope for those small, blissful moments that pass so fast you can barely process the joy while it is happening. We cannot let the narratives of death overcome the narratives of life. Minnesota-raised poet and friend of mine, Kai Carlson-Wee, touches on these feelings aptly in an excerpt of his poem “Cry of the Loon.” I would like to close reflecting on Carlson-Wee’s words.

-Alex

“We are not put on earth to remember the dead.
We are not given access to the ways we will suffer,
what light might become us, or how it will end.
We are given a few dreams, a few nights of wonder-
a whisper, a shiver, a miracle chance to be held
in another one’s arms. The day goes on fading.
The night goes on beating its drums to the hideaway stars.
We are given a few years to laugh at the danger.
To break ourselves down in the service of joy. And then,
we are floating. The water is black. And our quiet Alumacraft
fishing boat carries us farther and farther from shore”

– Kai Carlson-Wee (p. 89)

Works Cited

Carlson-Wee, Kai. Rail. Rochester, NY: BOA Editions, Ltd., 2018.

Silko, Leslie Marmon. “Landscape, History, and the Pueblo Imagination.” In At Home on the Earth, edited by David Landis Barnhill, 30-42. Berkeley and Los Angeles, California: University of California Press, Ltd., 1999.

Alumni Chats: Sarah Hutson

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It’s been several years since my summers at Wilderness, first as a camper, then as a swamper, then as a maintenance and construction base staffer and finally as a canoe guide.

It is sometimes difficult for me to describe what camp taught me to people who haven’t been to Wilderness or another tripping camp. What, they think, could a couple summers canoeing in the Boundary Waters have to do with so-called “real life?” But the lessons I learned during my summers at WCB have stuck with me and inspired me in many non-outdoor situations over the years: Knowing that I’m capable- whether it’s lifting a canoe or leading a project or solo traveling in a foreign country. Leadership and negotiation. Patience. Joy in both community and solitude. But most of all- adaptability and a long-term outlook in the face of uncertainty. The last is the one I find myself remembering most right now.

There is a reading by a former WCB staffer, Peter Ramey, called “Know as you go.” It was read to me by my first guide on a canoe trip and as a guide I read it to every camper as a last word during our trip. It’s about navigating through lakes where everything looks the same and the need to live in the moment and trust that the map is correct and the “mapmaker” knows the way, both on trail and in life.

Of course, (with respect to the author of the original piece) there are also times on trail and on base when it’s not so easy to be in the moment. Times when the portage is marked slightly off, or the map is unreadable due to age. Or times when the unexpected forces you to change plans suddenly, whether it’s a storm, an injury or another emergency. And these uncertain times also taught me a lot about dealing with a crisis. Don’t panic, breathe and say a prayer, evaluate what you do know, use the tools you have to make your best bet and test it, reevaluate, and don’t give up until you succeed.

One these “unknown” or “missing map” scenarios came for me in 2006 and 2007 during the Cavity Lake and Ham Lake Fires. In 2006, fires burned less than a mile from camp, and the smoke blotted out the sun. Several of my fellow staff members worked through the night to install fire suppression systems on base and paddled out to observe fires on Three Mile Island. I went out on a canoe trip with a group and returned to find that camp had been evacuated to Grand Marais. Then the next year, the Ham Lake Fire raged through camp. I remember feeling in the summer of 2007 a very similar feeling to what I am feeling right now during quarantine. A lot of my bedrock assumptions were shattered: that camp- the buildings, the institution- would always be the same. As staff we dealt collectively with profound grief for what was lost as we sifted through the ashes that summer. But there was more to the story. The community came together with donations, alumni and churches returned to volunteer, and we made it work with the buildings and resources we had to continue sending campers on canoe trips. The next summer we started rebuilding. I have heard stories of similar hard times from other past fires and the blowdown in 1999, and the lesson is consistent:  It was not an easy time emotionally, physically or financially. But as a community we pulled through.

Today we are all without a map in the uncertain, scary times of Covid-19 and quarantine. Some people are rushing into danger to help others. Some are reeling from job losses, closures and other upheavals. Others are full of grief and anxiety because the foundations of the world as we know it are being shaken and we don’t know what’s next. And once again, I find myself returning to the lessons I learned at Wilderness. First, practice calm in the face of uncertainty. Trust in God and yourself. And even though we can’t see very far ahead right now, we can take comfort in knowing we have survived hard times in the past. We just have to support each other and know as we go.

Written by Sarah Hutson

Swamper 2006, Maintenance 2007, Construction 2008, Guide 2010-2011

Know as you Go

by Peter Ramey (WCB alumni ’01)

When you’re out on a lake, navigational landmarks such as islands, bays and peninsulas that are shown quite clearly on the map run together so as to appear indistinguishable. What you are paddling towards may look nothing like the inlet that will lead toward the desired portage, but more like a single, solid shoreline. This flusters the dickens out of my fellow travelers as each take their turn with the map and compass, acting as navigator for the group. “We’re going the wrong way,” one repeatedly complained to me once. “There’s supposed to be a bay up here to our left, but its just a wall of trees!” It wasn’t until we were almost on top of the trees themselves that, as if by magic, the bay opened up before us. We sailed right on through, continuing our route, exactly as the map had predicted.

These lakes are like that. Islands, narrow channels, points and peninsulas emerge out of thin air, disentangling themselves from the wooded mass as you approach. It fills one with both wonder and exasperation; it confounds while at the same time giving rise to a sense that the land is alive with you, a labyrinth.

Despite the confusion when seen from a distance, the navigator always comprehends when it is finally necessary, and the hills open up just in the nick of time for the canoes to slide through, and the anxious map-reader is flooded with relief. As much as the camper may absolutely insist that the map is wrong, in the end the map is right every time.

To avoid the anxiety that accompanies the feeling of lostness, I hammer into the heads of my fellow travelers a maxim that by the end of the trip is almost a mantra: Know as You Go. Know as you go means understanding that what knowledge you want you will know when you need to, and that all you must do is continue heading in the direction your compass tells you is right. It is knowing that the future will unfold into the present, allowing you to recognize your position then as you do now.

Knowing as they go, my fellow travelers are relieved of the worries of what has not yet come, and are thus freed to enjoy the loveliness of the place they are at. All that is required of them is to keep moving forward. Should they stop all forward motion, the land likewise stops its self-disclosure and remains and ambiguous lump of green.

The lesson by now is obvious. In our own lives we so often give way to a crushing anxiety over the future’s uncertainty. We feel better when everything is lined up cleanly and neatly- our college plans while still in high school, our jobs while still in college and so on. We want to see everything ahead of us before we get there. Yet none of this can we ultimately determine anyway. It will unfold in its own good time. All we must do is live fully in the present, which is all we are given to live in anyway. But we must always keep moving forward. Make plans, dream dreams, theorize and construct possibilities, knowing always that the future is bigger than our minds can make it, that what we see now is only a small segment of the map, and remembering that the mapmaker knows the way, and that is enough.

Know as you go.

Staff Trip 2020 Last Word

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A great and mighty wind was tearing at the mountains and was shattering cliffs before the Lord, but the Lord was not in the wind. After the wind there was an earthquake, but the Lord was not in the earthquake. After the earthquake there was a fire, but the Lord was not in the fire. And after the fire there was a gentle whisper. – 1 Kings: 11-12⁣⁣

A great and mighty storm was tearing at our tarp. We were kneeling on lifejackets and wondering where God was amidst the lightning and sheets of rain, as we waited out a second night of thunderstorms on trail. With our things and dry clothes being soaked through we felt discouraged and leaned on one another, but still wondered where God was. After the storm, there was a silent rainbow above our campsite and a sunset on the other side that we deemed a “God moment.” Often we imagine ourselves experiencing God in mountain-top experiences, but sometimes God sits with us in silence. If you can’t find God in the chaos, look in the aftermath for a gentle whisper where God shows us we are not alone.⁣

-Marissa & Lily

Summer 2020 Virtual Vespers: The Lord’s Prayer

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Peace be with you! Welcome to virtual vespers, and thank you all so much for joining us in this experience of worshiping virtually. Today we have planned activities for you to do in your household that will be digging deeper into the Lord’s Prayer. You will need to provide a handful of materials explained at each “station” for this worship and we invite you to be creative with your resources! This vespers is one that might feel familiar if you have been to camp before because we love to explore the different ways that prayer can look in our lives at WCB! As you engage with our HopeFULL theme this summer, we invite you to use the ideas from this vespers to continue considering what prayer looks like in your life.

We will start our vespers with a variation of the Lord’s Prayer:

Eternal Spirit, Earth maker, Pain-bearer, Life-giver, Source of all that is and that shall be, Father and Mother of us all, loving God in whom is in heaven: 

The hollowing of your name echo through the universe! The Way of your justice be followed by the peoples of the World! Your heavenly will be done by all created beings! Your commonwealth of peace and freedom sustain our home and come on earth.

With the bread we need for today, feed us. In the hurts we absorb from one another, forgive us. In times of temptation and testing, strengthen us. From trials too great to endure, spare us. For you reign in the glory of the power that is love, now and forever. Amen.

– New Zealand variation of the Lord’s Prayer

Now we will begin exploring the Lord’s Prayer in sections:

Our Father, who art in heaven, hallowed be your name

  • What name of admiration or respect could you use for God? Write or draw it on a piece of paper.
  • We very often hear God referred to as “Father.” What does it feel like to use different words for God, like “Eternal Spirit,” “Creator God,” or “Earth maker”? How do different names for God help us to notice different aspects of God’s identity?

Thy kingdom come, thy will be done, on earth as it is in heaven

Create a visual prayer in response to one (or both) of these prompts: (for example, you might sculpt with clay, draw, or paint… be creative!)

  • What does it look like for God to be present among us in the world?
  • One definition of spirituality is to become more aware of what you are making in the world. What could you make to demonstrate your offering of God’s role of love/justice/peace on earth?

Give us today our daily bread

Take a piece of bread (or another food) and eat it mindfully. Notice the smell of the bread, the texture, and the taste. Think about the following:

  • What do you need each day from God and others to be sustained?
  • What do you have enough of that you can share with others?

And forgive us our trespasses, as we forgive those who trespass against us.

Light a candle as a prayer offering while thinking of the prompt below:

  • What has been weighing on your heart that you’d like to give up to God?
  • Now blow the candle out

And lead us not into temptation, but deliver us from evil

  • Give yourself, or exchange a water blessing of protection with a loved one
  • Dip your finger in water and make a cross shape on your hand

“As Jesus calmed the storm, may God’s love calm your heart and your mind. May you turn to God in times of stormy fear, and rest easy in God’s loving embrace.”

– Water blessing of peace

For the kingdom, the power, and the glory are yours, now and forever, Amen.

  • Copy down the Lord’s Prayer (or the earlier New Zealand variation) and hang it or place it in a spot that you will see often. For example, on your calendar or bathroom mirror.

Sending Blessing

As you go on your way, may God go with you. May God go before you to show you the way. May God go behind you to encourage you, beside you to befriend you, above you to watch over you and within you to give you peace. Amen.

The Body of Christ and Wearing Masks

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I lived in South Africa a number of years ago, and I often reflect on the formative experiences that I had there. Recently, I’ve been thinking a lot about one specific sermon from that year where the Pastor read from Paul’s first letter to the Corinthians and preached about the “Body of Christ.” Reflecting upon health crises that impact various communities around the world – and specifically the community where we were gathered that Sunday morning, the Pastor proclaimed that if we are all part of the body of Christ and if there is even one member of the body who has HIV/AIDS, then the entire body of Christ has HIV/AIDS. The Pastor’s call was for us to care, radically and communally, for those with HIV/AIDS – in the same way that a body works to heal from illness or injury. This sermon reframed Paul’s “Body of Christ” imagery for me, helping me not only to reflect on my interconnected position in the world, but also to think differently about how I (as an eye, or ear, or any other part of the body), must care, radically and communally, for other members of the body.

We at Wilderness Canoe Base have been considering the interconnectedness of our community quite a bit this past week. Throughout staff training, the staff have participated in a variety of conversations that have helped us to think deeply about how we live and relate to our world. We began the week by considering words from Dr. Cynthia Moe-Lobeda, professor of Theological and Social Ethics, who invites everyone to “see the lens in which you see the world.” Moe-Lobeda’s words served as an excellent starting point for our other trainings, which included conversations and readings around LGBTQIA allyship; Youth Development and Mental Health; Justice, Equity, Diversity and Inclusion in the outdoors; Land, Native Voices and settler-colonialism; and Bible Study programming about God’s expansive love for us and for the world around us. Each of these conversations have provided us with opportunities to understand how our minds and bodies connect and interact throughout every moment of our lives. What we say, what we do, what we think, how we act, and all other parts of our lives are bound up in all of creation, and have the potential to come together in radical and communal ways.

For us at Wilderness Canoe Base this summer, radical communality is lived out not only in our inclusive, inviting, and welcoming actions to people from many backgrounds, but also in our practices related to staying safe and healthy during COVID-19. We have worked diligently to social distance, to wash our hands, and clean and sanitize our facilities as often as we can. Furthermore, a significant way that we have radically and communally considered our actions related to COVID-19 at Wilderness Canoe Base is by wearing masks at all moments when we are in community.

One of the most communal, caring, and counter-cultural aspects of mask-wearing is that it is not solely done as a way to protect yourself. While we have been groomed within this society to focus on ourselves (“pull yourself up by your bootstrap,” “just focus on what you need,”), wearing a mask is, as I understand it, as much about protecting others as it is about protecting oneself. My wearing a mask may not prevent me from receiving COVID-19 if an unmasked person sneezes on me—but when everyone wears a mask, the risks of community transmission are greatly reduced. Mask-wearing reorients us to consider our neighbors and not just ourselves. It drives us to consider the interconnected body of Christ.

We at Wilderness Canoe Base have wondered about how mask-wearing might mean more than just practically preventing the spread of COVID-19. Wearing masks has helped us consider how we include and welcome all peoples into the Wilderness Canoe Base community, especially given the data that show that older persons and communities of color have been most affected by COVID-19.

In the same way that our staff are considering how our words, policies, and actions either invite or prevent people from different backgrounds and walks of life to participate in Wilderness Canoe Base activities, so too do our policies and procedures related to protecting peoples’ bodies impact someone’s ability to participate in Wilderness Canoe Base. Each action that we take can be looked at through a lens of how we welcome all people into this expansive community that God has created.

If our call is to care, deeply and entirely, for the body of Christ, we must proactively consider how we are orienting ourselves to the world and how we are inviting all people—and, in particular, those who are most vulnerable or underrepresented—into our spaces. I invite each of you to consider how you are caring for a body of Christ that has COVID-19. It may feel overly cautious, inconvenient, uncomfortable, or disorienting, but wearing a mask is one important way that you can communicate with others that you are actively trying care for all of creation in a radical, communal, godly way.

-Nate, WCB Director

2020 First / Last Words: Psalm 46

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At Wilderness Canoe Base, the tradition of First and Last word begins and ends every day, led by a different staff member each time. It has remained a tradition since the opening of WCB in 1956. Before breakfast, everyone at camp walks to the chapel (walk shown in video) in silence and finds a spot on the wooden pews. Then the staff member who is leading reads the chosen First Word verse three times. Between each repetition an extended amount of silence is given, allowing listeners to reflect on the Word. Following the third repetition, everyone is able to leave and return to Pinecliff (WCB center/ dining hall) and eat breakfast. Last word is a short reflection that states why the verse was chosen, what it means to the reader, maybe a story, and often includes a challenge or message for the rest of camp to take away. This reflection is given after everyone is finished eating dinner, while all are still sitting at their meal spots and attention is turned to the front of the room. The WCB tradition of First and Last Word centers the day on God and allows for staff members to share their faith and reflections.

First Word

Be still, and know that I am God: I will be exalted among the nations, I will be exalted in the earth. The LORD Almighty is with us; the God of Jacob is our fortress. Psalm 46: 10-11

Take a virtual walk to the WCB chapel for First Word

Last Word Reflection

I am sure that when you read, or heard, “Be still” you knew exactly where this was going: Psalm 46. It has become a Psalm that is read for many occasions and has inspired many songs. There are also many designs of the text meant for display… I will admit that I have one of these scrolling pieces of artwork hanging in my bedroom. But, I wanted to share these verses as First Word because of the meaning it has had in my life and faith journey. So, yes, I am sharing one of those last words that is driven by a story, and for me one that has been very formative. But what better way is there to grow in faith than through sharing parts of your journey with a community who can push you? 

Four years ago, I was at a camp in Colorado following my high school graduation. Summer of 2016 was challenging for me as I knew that I was about to enter an entirely new stage of life as a college student. I didn’t know what I was getting myself into, what I really wanted to study and if I was even ready to leave home. It felt like a crossroads where I was unsure if I was prepared for a big change in my life. One of the evenings, I attended a Matt Wertz concert (shameless plug: if you have not listened to his music, go listen right now! Maybe start with his new song “Chase the Light”). Here he challenged the audience to spend time being still with the Lord. I remember thinking “How in the world do you do that? And why would I want to?” After the final song was played, he restated the challenge and I was surprised to see that everyone interpreted it as, okay, right now I am going to find a space to be alone with God. So, begrudgingly, I did the same- finding a spot at the end of a dock and dangling my feet in the water. I sat there and was anything but still. I was splashing my feet in the water, swatting bugs and looking all around me. My mind was even less still. It was swarmed with thoughts, worries, and “what if” questions about what my path was for the future. For every “what if” question I had, there were five follow up ones. There was so much going on and I began to become overwhelmed and emotional, as I frequently was at the time. Just as my thoughts were seeming to spin out of control, my mind suddenly went completely blank and all I could think was “Be still and know” over and over. I remember literally looking around me to see if anyone was there that had spoken to me because the voice in my head was so loud. To this day, I am in awe and feel confident that it was God placing the thoughts in my mind.

While it seems unbelievable, I had not yet encountered Psalm 46:10, or at least had a memorable enough experience with it to know where to find it. But somehow, I had the strongest urge to open my Bible where it turned directly to Psalm 46 when I opened it. So, I began reading. I read the entire Psalm and did not realize there were tears on my face until I reached “Be still and know that I am God” realizing that God had placed it in my fingers to turn to exactly the right page. 

 Still today I look back on such a special moment. I was sent to spend quiet time being still and knowing God but I could not do it on my own; God sent me the words that I needed to calm the storm that made up my thoughts. Later, I decided to create a “Breath Prayer” in order to remind myself of the need to know God and just be.  It is “be still and know.” A Breath Prayer is derived from the Hebrew word “ruach” which means “breath,” “spirit,” or “wind” showing that breath is closely tied to the spirit (how cool is that!) When you breathe, you are connecting with the spirit. A Breath Prayer moves in and out on the wind of your breath and involves more being than doing. You observe and follow your breath as you pray and can be observed in long durations in order to be still in the presence of God, or can be a short prayer that is said many times throughout a busy day.             

I challenge you to take a moment before going to sleep tonight to be still before God. I don’t want to give you an agenda, as it will look different for each person, but try to spend it just knowing God.

-Lily

Lessons From a Winter Walk

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Disclaimer: It feels a bit uncomfortable to have a platform to write about Covid-19. All of us are struggling under the weight of not only the impact of the virus itself, but also the need to make meaning out of what we are collectively experiencing. As Dan mentioned, my personal reflection can’t fully speak to the grief and hardship created by Covid-19, nor can it compare to the truly heroic efforts being made by many of our community members during this pandemic. While acknowledging this, I find relief when others share in authentic self-expression, and my hope in joining that effort is that we can continue to support one another in these efforts of meaning-making by connecting through social media via these and other types of storytelling in the coming weeks and months.

Many people have been telling me recently how they wish they could be in my shoes, which are holed up at Wilderness Canoe Base during this global crisis that requires many of us to stay home. I have the privilege of living and working year–round at camp, and I am lucky enough to be able to simply walk out my front door and be in magnificent wild spaces. As we seek out ways to decompress and get away from the wall of Covid-19 news that consistently puts our minds in a state of worrying about an unknowable future, I’ve been trying to get outside regularly and use the outdoors to guide my thoughts back into the present and just be. What I had forgotten until a few days ago, however, is that exploring the wilderness can sometimes be hard and uncomfortable.

Last week, I set out on a nearby hiking trail that I’ve done many times before. It was a brilliant, warm sunny day and I was anticipating the feeling of my worries melting away as I got my body moving and exchanged my computer screen for blue skies and tall trees. But the wet snow on the trail make hiking incredibly challenging; I couldn’t be sure if the snow ahead of me would hold me up or send me sinking through to my knees. Midway through my hike, I was raging with tears of frustration. My body hurt. I was so discouraged to be failing at what was supposed to be my form of self-care. I was embarrassed that this fairly easy hike was giving me so much trouble. I was even annoyed at my dog who was loving every second of this hike with no regard for my misery.

It’s easy to forget that wilderness experience, while being full of beauty and simplicity and wonder, can also force us to face feelings of discomfort. Many of us can relate to bouts of physical and emotional pain while adventuring; we’ve been on muddy portages that suck the shoes right off our feet, we’ve furiously paddled into the wind without making any forward progress, and we have endured merciless black flies and mosquitos that drive us into our cramped tents at night. And these kinds of experiences allow us to be fully immersed in our discomfort in ways that our culture often seeks to avoid. We often grow uneasy at the thought of discomfort within ourselves and among our communities. We don’t know what to say to our sick friends and grieving colleagues and despondent family members. We want to distract, numb, and move beyond these kinds of feelings as quickly as possible.

But when you are on a portage that seeks to literally swallow you and your canoe into its muddy depths, (or a snowy trail where you can’t find a solid footing), it’s clear that the only way out is through. Many of us have this experience of being in the wilderness, staring down a hard and painful thing ahead of us, and determinedly diving right into it. In these times of global panic, my hope is that we can call upon this aspect of our wilderness experience to help us through our discomfort stemming from our new reality. We can rest in the knowledge that we are resilient. These hard feelings and sensations will not be the end of us, just as no portage will last forever. And we are not alone. Anyone who has ever accepted a “bridge” from a fellow camper knows that when we share the load of our heavy burdens, we can ultimately keep going for longer than if we try to hide our struggle and push through by ourselves.

So my friends, my prayer for you is that you have the strength to feel anything that bubbles up from your heart and mind, knowing that you are incredibly resilient and that there is a cloud of witnesses who are ready to walk alongside you and help you bear the load. Amen.

-Kristin, WCB Site Manager

Kneeling on Lifejackets

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Disclaimer: This is not health advice. Nor is it intended to undermine the unique hardship and grief of Covid-19. These are the reflections of a person who believes wholeheartedly in the transformative and lasting influence of canoe trips, and who is trying very hard to make sense of his admittedly very privileged day-to-day experiences with a pandemic. In the words of public intellectual Theodore Zeldin, “this is what I now feel, which I did not feel before.”

Canoe trips help me to come up against the limitations of what I can control. When I’m headed out “on trail” (into the woods for a camping trip), I make lots of lists. Lists of things to buy, things to organize, things to do. My packing lists are so extensive that I usually arrange them by the pack that the listed items will live in over the course of the trip, and sometimes even by the pack-within-the-pack. Here’s an excerpt from last summer’s “Back-up Small Equipment List,” the subcategorized contents of which were stored in a blue 5-liter dry bag that I tucked into the bottom corner of my food pack:

  • matches
  • bottle #3 and lighter #4
  • Ziplock of birch bark strips and petroleum-dipped cotton balls
  • extra compass and extra F-32 map
  • extra duct tape, zip ties, Superglue
  • extra toilet paper, wet wipes, alcohol prep pads
  • extra fishing line and hooks (capped)

I make lists because I like to be prepared. As my co-guides, campers, and fellow canoe-trippers can attest, my tendencies border the line between thoughtful readiness and irrational over-packing. (Some might even say that I’m way over that line!) But I’d rather have too much than too little, to the point where I’m willing to carry things for a whole week that I won’t ever take out my Duluth Pack because I just sleep better knowing that they’re there.

My inclination towards over-preparedness definitely can influence my behavior during a canoe trip. Sometimes, I’m so focused on what I can control that I forget to live into the present moment; to really experience the beautiful messiness of day-to-day life. Several seasons ago, I noticed that I was actually more worried on the calm, cloudless sunny days than I was on the stormy, windy days. I’d started to internalize the goofy, backwards idea that if today’s weather is “good,” tomorrow’s or the next day’s or the day-after-that’s will be “bad.” Lately, I’ve been practicing non-judgement and being present during my trips. Some days, I can lay back and stare up at the wispy “mares’ tails” (cirrus uncinus, for the cloud nerds) that my mom says indicate storms are a-coming in the next 24-48 hours, and not feel worried at all.

Indeed, no matter what gear I bring or how much I worry, I simply don’t have the capacity to account for all possible scenarios of a backcountry wilderness canoe trip. I know that this inability is also true in the rest of my life, but I’m pretty good at the delusion of control when I have indoor HVAC, pressurized potable water, the internet, and a digital calendar at my fingertips. “Off trail,” I get lots of practice making elaborate, long-term work and life plans, but “on trail,” all it takes is one surprise thunderstorm, one wind-bound afternoon, or one unfindable portage to remind me that I’m not in charge at all.

It is in the moments when I come upon an irrefutable challenge to my prep and plans that a good canoe trip really begins. These moments force me to acknowledge that every person, every lake, and every day brings new experiences that I will never be able to completely understand and predict, no matter how many trips I have the opportunity to take. They remind me that I’m living in a wild, unconquered, and—I believe—ultimately incomprehensible world. They humble me; they make me stand still, stop thinking, and look on in awe.

Most important, these moments make me rely on others. They help me to be consistently astounded by the limitless capacity of communal accomplishment, communal bravery, communal care. They make me remember that this “living” is a group activity, a social discipline. Even when I’m sequestered away from everyone else, soaked to the bone and kneeling on a lifejacket to minimize the risk of a lightning strike, unable to see anything through the darkness and pouring rain, I know that the folks on my canoe trip—and others camped on neighboring lakes— are also crouched out there, experiencing the helplessness, discomfort, and absurdity of life alongside me. Somehow, that helps. That, and a loud chorus of some Maria Von Trapp-style yodels from the trip jokester that echo across the bay with the crashes of thunder and make everyone giggle.

I know y’all are out there somewhere, kneeling on your lifejackets. I’m out here too. Don’t forget to yodel. And to giggle. When the sun comes out again (as it always does), I look forward to finding you.

Much love,

Dan Ahrendt, WCB Program Manager

Thank you to all of the healthcare workers, public safety workers, essential business workers, volunteers, and others who continue to labor selflessly to serve their communities in this time of need. Thank you to everyone else who is taking steps, big or small, to stop the spread of disease.