1. Full-time hours
2. Part-time pay
3. Being "uncool" again
4. Fund raising
5. Still never enough $$$
6. Shape Notes
7. "We've always done it that way"
8. Boy-crazy girls
9. Some, but not all, parents
10. Responsibility
1. Delegation
2. Planning ahead of time
3. Money management
4. Time management
5. Being in charge of people
6. Complaining people
7. Lack of motivation
8. Little or no appreciation
9. Stress
10. Opposition
Hopefully, this can become a regular installment on this blog.
I've started blogging on my movie review blog again.
Cinema Standard
Check it out!
Transformers and Shaun of the Dead are new.
Also check out my youth group's MySpace page, The CORE.
This ain't Kansas, Toto, or South Carolina for that matter. My youth group, The CORE, from Smith Chapel Wesleyan Church in Liberty just got back from SetApart07. The International Wesleyan Youth Convention took place in Orlando, Florida, from December 28-30. A trip to Universal Studios then followed on the 31st. The bus ride home included New Years.
The busses sat in the parking lot of United Wesleyan Church near Easley. All suitcases, teens and sponsors were loaded by a few minutes after midnight. The trek south began in the deep of night. It wasn't long before most of the passengers were sleeping except for me. I can't sleep in a moving vehicle. It was a long night and Golden Corral greeted us in Orlando.
Registration was much easier than I expected and we set off for the mall to watch a movie. The 1.5 mile trip took over half an hour, plus the half an hour wait time to get on the bus. We watched National Treasure: Book of Secrets, which I recommend. The movie let out at 5:30 and it took us an hour and a half to get back. Add those together and you get...that's right, 7 pm, which just happens to be right when the night session was set to begin.
Our seats were about two thirds of the way back and there was no use trying to see the stage. The two large screens set halfway back gave everyone a great view. Sevenglory performed, then Steve Fee led worship, followed by the opening message ("Set Apart for God") by Efrem Smith of Kingdom Building Ministries. It's always a little difficult to get into the first service, so it wasn't a ground-breaking message for most of the people there.
The next morning Building 429 opened the service. Our seats were about 10 rows from the back, so we didn't really see much. After worship, Marilyn Laszlo spoke about her experiences in Papau New Guinea, called "Set Apart for the World", and left us with the challenge to use whatever you have in your hand for God. She was a great speaker and many of her stories were moving.
Saturday night boasted a performance by Kutless, which was the first thing that my teens really liked. This is the first time some of them and I went up front for the concert and worship. Shaun and Theresa Blakeney spoke about being "Set Apart for Purity" including sexuality.
Kevin Myers, garbed in black leather jacket, spoke Sunday morning and brought his motorcycle on stage to talk about an intimidation tactic he used to protect his daughter from some bullies. He cranked it up and let it roar inside the building (a $200 fine according to the fire marshall). It was a great message on being "Set Apart for Life". Everyday Sunday's mini-concert started things off before the service.
Fireflight rocked the start of the service and Efrem gave the last message of the convention on Sunday night. Family Force 5 ripped the place apart with their concert after the last service. I had forgotten how much fun their concerts were. My face melted off several times and had to be surgically replaced.
Monday's adventure included Universal Studios Orlando. Some of the attractions we got to experience were Shrek 4-D, Twister special effects, Disaster green screen effects, Jaws, E.T., The Mummy twice, and many more. It was loads of fun.
At 8:30 we packed back into the busses and headed back toward SC. A few hours into the trip, midnight rolled around and as the clock tripped over to 2008, we passed Jacksonville. A river dissects the city. We parked on the I-95 bridge and watched fireworks being shot off of a barge in the river between skyscrapers. It was awesome! With several stops in between J-ville and SC, including almost running out of gas, we made it back in 11 hours. The parking lot of United greeted us once again and we groggily (as I had not slept on the bus) moved our bags to our personal vehicles. Bed was a welcome sight.
Many thanks to the Wesleyan Church for a great youth convention. Can't wait for the next one, Somewhere??? '09.
Summer 2004
Southern Wesleyan University Ministry Teams experience some great youth camps up and down the eastern seaboard, but sometimes are allowed to participate in some untraditional events. A SWU senior citizen gathering called Southern Celebration brought dozens of 60, 70 and 80 year old alumni together for a week-long adventure seeking the waterfalls of the South Carolina Upstate. The highlight of the week had all the alumni and the ministry team members on boats discovering Lake Jocassee, South Carolina's most scenic lake.
The line of pontoon boats visited waterfalls including Lower Whitewater and Laurel Fork falls, at which the boat pulled into a narrow cove only inches wider than the vessel itself. The waterfall plunged into the lake a few feet from the boat and provided a great spot for some cliff jumping for the few brave souls who dared to climb the treacherous rocks.
Back out on the open water, we spotted a rock jutting out of the lake. A perfect spot from which to jump. Not only did the young ministry team students go for a leap, but one of the alumni hopped out of the boat and joined. Her name was Ruth and she was 67 years old at the time. That trip is solidified as one of my fondest memories.
Fast forward to today, June 2nd, 2007.
Alarm - 6:30 a.m.
I didn't want to get up but had to be ready to go by 7. I hopped out of bed and got dressed in swimming shorts just in case I decided to take a swim. As 7 rolled around the truck pulled up and I went out to greet Doc.
[Dr. Roger "Doc" MacKenzie is the chair of the Religion Division at Southern Wesleyan. I had the pleasure of having nearly every course that he teaches. Our trip to Jocassee would have us meet Dr. Rocky Nation, professor of Biology at SWU and avid outdoorsman. I would be borrowing one of his kayaks for the day.]
First stop - Hardee's for a biscuit to start the day off right. Then back to the road to drive up Highway 130 to 11. A right turn on 11 and then the road to Devils Fork State Park. After park fees were paid, the truck meandered down to the lake via the curvy road to the remote boat access. [I'm told the purpose of the remote boat access is to give kayakers and fishermen a less busy spot to put in their craft.]
Two kayaks sat waiting - one light blue, long and slender and the other forest green, short and wide. Doc stopped and we unloaded his red kayak - the longest of the three - and placed it beside the other two. The green one would be mine for the day. After stowing items in the boats, we moved to the water's edge and shoved off; each of us trying to keep our feet dry with the exception of Doc, who decided it wasn't worth the effort (he had worn sandals for just such a purpose).
Rocky explained the basics of kayaking and we set off toward the first point a couple hundred yards away. My kayak bobbed back and forth as I tried to maintain stablility and balance. As the two long boats began to leave me behind, I realized that I would be in for a greuling day of paddling. The point seemed to be just as far away as when we had started (maybe even further).
After reaching the first point, we turned to head across the lake. I was apprehensive about this to say the least. I do not want to be out on the middle of Jocassee when my awesome paddling skills get me overturned. It took several long minutes and a lot of tiring strokes to get across, but a rare sight sat waiting for us.
Rocky focused our attention on a tree which stood on the tip of a small point. A tiny white dot sat motionless near the top of the tree. With binoculars focused, Rocky sat motionless for a moment. "It's a bald eagle," he informed us. I had never seen a bald eagle in the wild until then. The trip was already worth it. As we neared the point, the bird took to the air flying relatively low around the next point, where Rocky notified us it had lighted again.
It took some time to make it to the next point, but as we rounded it - hugging the shore - the eagle flew out of a tree to my right. I was less than a hundred feet from a bald eagle...pretty amazing, at least for me it was amazing. What is even more amazing is that I saw it poop. BALD EAGLE POOP! How about that, Andy Dixon, not in HD...in real life.
We navigated the three kayaks between the shore and a small island then turned right into a cove. The cove slowly narrowed and the sound of rushing water filled the air. Wright Creek Falls sat nestled in a crook at the very end of the cove. Huge rocks littered the bottom of the cove, some of which were as shallow as the dips of our paddles. Other spots were obviously ten feet deep or more, but with the crystal clear water of Jocassee, ten feet looks like a lot less.
According to Rocky, it's customary to get the front of your kayak wet under a waterfall, so we each took our separate turns splashing the cold, mountain-creek water on the tips of our boats. I believe that my commitment in this tradition was much greater than the others', because the tip of my kayak was two feet closer to the opening where I sat than was theirs.
We relaxed for a while with our feet propped on the tops of the shells until I decided that I wanted to get out and explore the waterfall from a closer vantage point. I pulled to the shore, got out and made my way through the underbrush and spiderwebs to the second tier of the falls. The total height of the falls is probably fifty feet, maybe a bit higher. Rocky explained that the last time he visited the falls at Wright Creek, the lowest tier was hitting the rock bottom of the lake. [A video on this site shows the low levels of the lake a couple years back - the place where the woman is standing in the video is under a few feet of water now]
The end of break time found us eating a small snack. Paddles hit water and we were on our way back toward the ramp. About halfway to our final destination, a group of common loons greeted us. Six or seven of the sharp-billed, light brown waterfowl took turns diving for fish. I paddled within ten feet of one, which quickly ducked under the water. The rest of the 3.4 miles back were relatively uneventful with the exception of several boat wakes to make the ride interesting - one of which almost made it into my kayak.
The boat ramp was much busier than when we had arrived. A dozen people or more scurried about pulling kayaks into the water and strapping camping gear to them in order to go to a remote campsite. Once everyone was out of the way, we pulled up to the ramp and got out.
I wanted to try one of the narrow kayaks and Rocky wanted to try Doc's, so I jumped in (rather, I slowly slinked into) the blue boat while Rocky sped about in the red 14.5'. The slender kayak paddled incredibly easily compared to the stubby one. I felt as though I was flying on water. Doc wanted to try the blue because it had a rudder, so I got out and let him take his turn while Rocky continued speeding around in the red. "I got it up to 6 miles per hour," Rocky stated, citing his GPS.
We dragged the boats onto the pavement and loaded them onto the vehicles. Rocky waved goodbye and was off as Doc tied off his kayak. We hopped in the truck and headed back out toward the highway, all the while I read a book on the furbearers of South Carolina which Rocky had so eagerly given away. Who knew that muskrats could be so interesting?
We took a different route home than the way we had come. We rode on Highway 133 through Six Mile, then Maw Bridge Road to Central. Doc dropped me off and I walked in the apartment with new dreams of life on the water. Now, how can I get my hands on a kayak?!
...continued from Sunday, December 31.
Every moment of time spent in the drenching deluge was watery torture. Two bodies sat with heads between knees discussing the options afforded them. Option number one: build a small fire, attempt to cook dinner, lie under a poorly constructed “tent” and sleep in the middle of nowhere less then ten feet from the river. Option number two: pack all the stuff up, head farther down the trail, try to locate the camping area by Licklog Falls, set up the “tent”, somehow eat dinner and manage to get some sleep. Option number three: pack up all the stuff, backtrack the five miles to Burrell’s Ford Campground, find the girls there and take them up on their offer of hot dinner, set up the “tent” again and get some shuteye. After many minutes of debate, a unanimous decision to head back up the trail fueled the grueling task of breaking everything down and packing it all up.
Seven o’clock had already passed when walking resumed and over four and a half miles of trail lay ahead. Dark would relay its greeting before any of the girls would. Less than two hours and several missteps over gnarly roots later, the first campsites (or last as seen before) came into view. The tiring pace drained bodies and caused legs and backs to ache under the strain of thirty-five pound backpacks. Thirteen miles in one day and only eight miles of progress to show for it.
The river ran barely visible left of the tired company. No audible sound could be heard due to the depth of the water. Walking in the dark beside a quiet river can be best described as eerie, not unlike a trip through a ghost town devoid of life. The now familiar right turn into the heart of the campground and the sight of the large campfire were welcoming.
...continued from Saturday, December 30.
Not much further ahead a small, flat area about ten feet above the riverbank looked to be a suitable spot to set up camp for the night. Local regulations which require campsites to be set up no closer than fifty feet from the river were decidedly ignored. The rain had increased to a soaking downpour and complicated the setup. There would be no dry place on which to set up the makeshift “tent.” The “tent” included one large piece of plastic, nylon string and the tan poncho to be used as the floor. The plastic was quickly strung up between a few small trees and provided barely adequate shelter.
With the “tent” finished, the gathering of wood for a fire commenced. Finding dry wood immediately presented itself as an issue, but with enough time and energy a suitable pile of kindling and timber found its way into the pile. Starting a fire using wet wood is complicated at the very least – frustrating and nearly impossible are probably better descriptions.
...continued from Friday, December 29.
Puffy, white clouds slowly became grey and covered the sky as far as the limited view would permit. The thickening humidity warned of an ominous peril for hikers: thunderstorms! The search for a suitable place to set up camp began, but the steep grades would allow no such thing. Long, low rumbles came rolling over the ridgelines, quickening the walking pace. It would be nearly an hour before the first raindrops softly pattered the leaves.
The forecast for the day had mentioned a forty percent chance of rain which, according to Murphy’s Law, meant precipitation was inevitable. The slow rate of the rainfall picked up until clothes and packs became damp - an indication that it was time for ponchos. One GI style, tan poncho emerged from a pack along with an “engineered poncho,” a euphemism for a piece of plastic with a hole cut for one’s head.
Check back soon for the next installment...
...continued from Thursday, December 28.
Back on the journey, the trail tightened to a corridor of trees on each side with the river visible through the braches on the right - the path still a distinctive dirt strip. A slight, downhill grade made walking nearly effortless and afforded a chance to concentrate on taking in the natural beauty of the area.
The dominate green of the leaves oversaturated the view in an almost surreal way, contrasted only by the deep brown hues of the path and the tree trunks. The thick sound of water rushing over large rocks complimented the deep colors of nature. Glimpses of the rapidly quickening water and the growing cacophony signaled the approach of
...continued from Friday, December 1.
The dirt path meandered by the last campsites and drew close to the river’s edge. Feet strode no more than a couple of absent-minded steps from a fall into the deep, cool water. The walk traversed mostly level ground and would have been a boring section without the quickening pace of the watercourse.
Empty stomachs brought up the discussion of lunch. The next open area with a fire pit would signal time for a meal. Forty-five minutes and more than a few voiced complaints about lack of viable stopping points later, packs were opened for the first time since setting out on the trip. Food and fire-starting gear were brought out and a small, efficient fire was started.
Canned food is generally a bad choice of hiking provisions; the extra weight adding unnecessary pounds to the packs. An exception to the rule found Chef Boyardee ravioli sizzling in tiny mess pans. An attempt to produce forks from the bags proved a moot trial. Silverware: a forgotten necessity. Out of the packs came the knives. A nearly weightless skeleton knife and the legendary BFK would have to function as forks. One is extremely careful when endeavoring to eat with a razor-sharp utensil.
