“Think you’ll survive?” Mark whispered once they sat.
“Your guess is as good as mine,” Lana answered, “but if I don’t, bury me somewhere quiet. . .like in the woods.” She sent him an eye-rolling grin.
“You’re a good sport, Lana,” he said, then opened his mouth and filled it with a bite of a hot dog and bun.
When the meal ended and the dishes were cleared from the table, Mark announced the Bible study. Lana watched Bibles appear from everywhere—back packs and shoulder bags. Some campers pulled small New Testaments from their back pockets.
“Since we’re going to learn about teamwork and trust, let’s look at one promise Jesus made,” Mark said. “Open your Bibles to Luke 6:27.”
Pages rustled and then silence.
Mark read the verses. “ ‘But I tell you who hear me: Love your enemies, do good to those who hate you, bless those who curse you, pray for those who mistreat you.’ ”
Lana heard the teens mumble among themselves, and finally they turned toward Mark.
“So what does this have to do with us?” Mark asked.
Questions flew. How can we love our enemy? Does God really expect us to bless people who curse us? Though they’d heard the words before, the teens’ disbelief resounded.
The discussion continued, and Lana watched Janet. She knew the girl had felt alone, and she’d wondered how the teen would handle this discussion topic.
“Jesus does this every day,” Sara said.
“Huh?” Jason grunted.
“Jesus forgives us all the time for our sins and expects nothing in return,” Sara responded. “If we’re to follow Jesus, then we have to do the same, no matter how hard it is.”
“That’s right,” Mark said. “Listen to this in verses 35 and 36: ‘But love your enemies, do good to them, and lend to them without expecting to get anything back. Then your reward will be great, and you will be sons of the Most High, because he is kind to the ungrateful and wicked. Be merciful, just as your Father is merciful.’ ”
Lana let the meaningful discussion settle in her thoughts. She recalled the teens at her high school, wondering how many of them went to church and if they were eager to learn about Jesus like these teenagers seemed to be.
The vision, however, gave her hope. Maybe her attitude had been as much of a problem as her students themselves. Had she really given them an opportunity for input? Had she excited them in the same way Mark seemed to do about studying God’s Word? Looking at her teaching in a new light sent a flutter of anticipation through her. Maybe next year things would be different.
“The important thing,” Mark continued, “is to look for nothing. Don’t expect a reward here on earth. Instead you’ll find those treasures in heaven.” He closed his Bible and ended with prayer.
“Campfire?” Gary asked from a front table.
“Later, maybe,” Mark said. “First, we’re going to have fun.”
Groans filled the hall, and Lana couldn’t hold back a smile.
“Lana’s going to tell you about our camp version of a road rally. Remember our focus here is teamwork—cooperation, communication, and caring about others. Now it’s time to break up into eight groups of four, and before you get too far away, make sure you all grab a flashlight. This rally may last until dark. “
Lana listened to the scraping of bench legs against the plank flooring as they rose. She watched in fear, praying that one teen wasn’t left unselected and feeling unwanted, but in moments, she eyed the room and saw eight groups of four. Her focus first settled on Janet. Next she eyed Don, thrilled to see him among the campers. Both previously isolated teens stood with three others, looking animated and happy. Her heart lifted at the sight.
“Lana,” Mark said, “tell them how this works.”
Though an experienced teacher, Lana stood in front of the group feeling her own kind of apprehension. A classroom was her territory, not a camp meeting room, but she looked at the eager faces and began. After explaining the procedure, she watched enthusiasm grow in the room. “Does everyone understand before I give you the first puzzle?”
“What’s the prize?” Susan asked.
“If we win, what do we get?” Jason echoed.
Mark laughed. “Now if you were listening to our Bible study, you wouldn’t expect any reward on earth.”
The room filled with laughter. Yet Mark had made a point.
“Let’s not worry about the prize for now,” he said. “The objective is to come in first with all of the puzzles solved.”
The buzz of voices faded without an argument so Lana continued. “Select a team captain, and send your leader up for the first puzzle.”
Following a chaotic moment, Lana distributed the clues, and the teams scattered, heading through the two screened doors to the outside.
“You did great,” Mark said, sliding his arm around her waist. “What’s the first clue?”
“You want to be on a team?” she asked, giving him a sly grin. “It’s a bag of elbow macaroni with a note that says, ‘Use your noodle.’ ”
“I know noodle means to use your head, but I’m sure it has another meaning. Right?” He grinned.
“Inside one of the elbows is a little note telling them where to go next.”
“Not bad,” he said. “Should we follow?”
She shook her head. “We’ll probably get there before they will. But here’s a question for you. What’s the prize?”
“You’re as bad as the kids,” he said. “The camp administrator went into town, and I had him pick up a pizza. I’ll pop it in the oven in an hour or so.”
“Pizza?” Her stomach growled at the thought. “I love pizza.”
“We don’t always get the things we love,” he said. “Not right away, anyway. Sometimes we have to wait.”
His tender eyes sent her on a whirlpool journey to her heart. She sensed his words had a deeper meaning, and the reality fluttered through her like butterflies. Lifting her gaze to his, she couldn’t speak.
Mark clasped her arm and guided her outside beneath the dusky sky. “Let’s go check out the fire pit. I’m sure they’ll want a campfire before bed.”
She walked beside him, and he wove his fingers through hers as they made their way toward the sandy fire ring. The scent of pines and earth sailed on the air, and Lana inhaled the aroma, feeling that God had given her a reprieve from everyday experiences—even though she had fought the opportunity. She fought so many things. The concept weighed on her mind. Would she ever give up the fight and let God take control?
She looked up at Mark, admiring his strong profile against the setting sun. Could Mark be part of God’s plan? They’d known each other such a short time. Maybe two months. Yet Lana felt close to him and comfortable. Her heart fluttered at the touch of his hand, and her pulse skipped like a child at recess when he gazed into her eyes.
“Why so quiet?” Mark asked.
“The quiet sounds nice, doesn’t it?”
“You’re thoughtful.” He squeezed her fingers. “Sorry you came?”
“Never. I’m learning more than the kids are.”
He gave her a surprised look. “What do you mean?”
“About my teaching style. . .and my attitude. I know I have a long way to go, but maybe it wasn’t you who motivated me to come here. Do you think it might have been God?”
His smile brightened the shadowy surroundings. “God works in mysterious ways.”
She nodded, enjoying the conversation and the feel of Mark’s arm brushing against hers.
Close to the lake, they found the fire pit. Fallen logs formed a wide circle around a sandy hollow piled with kindling and fire wood. A generous supply of split wood stood nearby.
“Looks good,” she said.
He nodded, then slipped his fingers from hers and guided his arm around her waist. Turning toward the lake, Lana stepped along with Mark, and when they reached the narrow strip of sand, he paused.
“Nothing like a sunset on the water,” he said. “When
I see beauty like this, I wonder how anyone can doubt God controlling the order of things. Such systematic detail can’t happen by chance.”
Lana looked across the multicolored lake, rippling with orange, gold, and coral splotches. “I think people are afraid to believe because they think they’ll lose their free will like God will take over their lives. They don’t understand. Even with God, we make choices and decide the path we follow. Trouble is, some of us make bad choices and follow misleading paths.” She released a disheartened chuckle, knowing she’d made many bad decisions in her life.
“Do you have someone specific in mind?” Mark asked, his voice teasing.
“Not a soul,” she said, understanding he knew better.
He glanced at his watch and turned away from the lake. “I’d better get that pizza in the oven or our winning team will have a cold prize.”
When they returned to the activity hall, it stood empty. Mark headed for the kitchen, and Lana checked her clue list, guessing how far the teens had gotten in their solutions. She’d left the canoes for last, and since no one was at the lake when she and Mark were there, she figured it would be awhile longer before the winners arrived.
To her surprise, only fifteen minutes passed before the winning team came through the door, bursting with conversation and laughter. “Did we win?” Janet asked, scanning the empty room.
“You sure did,” Lana said. “Congratulations.”
The girls let out a squeal, and Mark came to the kitchen doorway. “Your prize is almost ready.”
Sniffing like bloodhounds, the four girls hurried toward the kitchen while giggles and noise sailed through the doorway.
Lana heard the screen door open and turned, watching another group file inside. Seeing the empty room, their faces broke into grins, then faded when they saw the girls coming from the kitchen with the pizza.
Despite their disappointment, conversation rolled with stories of how they’d followed the clues and where they’d made mistakes. As each team arrived, they watched the girls scarfing down the pungent pizza, and soon they wanted no more watching.
“How about a campfire?” Gary said. “At least we can eat marshmallows.”
At the word campfire, conversation hummed. Mark gave the go-ahead, and the door swung open and slammed closed as they darted outside. Voices raised with comments about finding a stick to whittle and heading back to their bunks for their stash of marshmallows.
“Ready?” Mark asked. “The girls can finish that pizza alone.” He gave them a wink.
“Save us a seat,” Teri called.
Mark nodded and turned to Lana. “We’ll get our flashlights and head down.”
Without hesitation, Lana agreed. The scent of the tangy pizza had stirred her appetite, and she had considered mugging the girls for one little piece.
Mark clasped her elbow as they stepped outside, and as always, Lana liked the cozy feeling. She sensed his enthusiasm for the whole day, and she admired his Christian love for his work, his youthful charges, and the Lord. Mark seemed the epitome of trust. Lana had no question that she loved God, but she prayed the rest of Mark’s qualities would rub off on her even a little.
Clutching flashlights, she and Mark headed for the wooded clearing. When the fire blazed, everyone scooted forward with anticipation, awaiting the perfect moment to toast their marshmallows over the glowing coals.
One of the boys brought along a guitar and strummed some familiar campfire tunes. Little by little, voices joined in singing.
Mark sat beside Lana with a jackknife, whittling pointed ends on long sticks for the marshmallows, and as he passed them out, the marshmallow bags were opened, and the white puffs of sweetness were skewered to the ends.
Lana marveled at the blackened, flaming globs they pulled off the stick ends and ate. She sat near the fire and, with great patience, rotated her stick, holding it the proper distance for the golden brown version she preferred.
“Here, Lana,” one of the boys said, thrusting a coal black ash in front of her. “See it’s perfect. You can have it.”
“Thanks, Bernie,” she said, “I’m doing fine.”
Bernie eyed her with curiosity while she continued to rotate the spear, admiring the golden, swelling puff. Perfection. “There,” she said, “now this is what I call a toasted marshmallow.”
As she pulled the stick forward, the soft confection lost its housing and dropped into the fire and burst into flame.
“That’s what I call garbage,” Jason chortled.
“How about making me one just like that,” Gary joked. The group nearby tittered as they watched her golden masterpiece burning in the fire pit.
Purpose rose in her, and she thrust another one onto the end and again pivoted the stick slowly at the perfect height from the coals, watching the deepening bronze. With great pride, she pulled the marshmallow forward—more carefully this time—but a passing teen bumped her stick, and her prize marshmallow fell to the ground. She scowled at the teen and snatched another white orb from the bag.
Mark laughed. “Is it really that important?”
“Yes,” she muttered. “I’m demonstrating the art of toasting a proper marshmallow.”
“Look,” one of the boys called and waved his stick toward Lana to show off his near perfect exhibit. But the loose, gooey mass flew from his skewer, and the confection sailed through the air and tangled in Lana’s hair. A gasp rippled around the circle.
The young man gaped at the empty point on his stick, then at the others around him. “Hey! Who snatched my marshmallow?”
While the teens tittered at his distrust, Lana pulled away the gooey lump now decorated with strands of her brown locks. “Here you go,” she said, extending the mess toward him.
His eyes widened. “Wow! I’m sorry, Lana. But do you see how perfect it is?”
“Was,” someone called out.
The crowd laughed him into embarrassment, and Lana gazed at the sticky goo. “Sure thing. That’s what I call perfect.”
With the mess smeared on her fingers, she rose. “I guess I’d better beat the girls to the shower so I get dibs on the hot water.” She leaned toward Mark and sent her most satirical voice his way. “I’m glad the ladies have the night shift.” She sent him a sweet wave and pattered down the path toward the cabin.
Though she’d joked, Lana winced at her behavior. It’s my way or no way. Like Mark said, did it really make that much difference about the marshmallow? She’d begun toasting it for fun—as a challenge to herself and to demonstrate what a really great glob of golden perfection looked like. Instead, she’d frowned and behaved like an idiot. Mark deserved so much more than a woman with her pitiful amount of self-control.
After the shower when she crawled into her sleeping bag, Lana relived her last disillusionment of the day. Needing a schedule to share the same shower stalls seemed bad enough, but no one had prepared her for the other news.
Ice cold water.
Ten
Mark relaxed. Two days had passed without incident. Serious incident, he corrected, thinking of the bandages, bruises, and narrow escape when two teens at the archery range decided to play William Tell.
He savored the time with Lana. Though he still caught her familiar grimace on occasion—like the night of the first bonfire—she’d grown, and so had he. He no longer struggled for courage to slip his arm around her shoulders or grasp her hand as they walked. Those actions had become natural. But he’d not kissed her, and the desire banged around in his head like the cabin bats and made his pulse pick up its pace.
Should he? The question soared through his mind. If he kissed her, would things change? If Lana resisted, would it build a barrier between them? They’d known each other such a short time in contrast to the age-old feelings that wove through his heart. Mark felt certain he loved her. Not for her pretty face and shapely figure—and definitely not for her stubbornness—but for her wit, her intelligence, and her humanity. Though she fought it, her compassion had bloss
omed like a spring flower.
But Mark felt uncertain. How could he know for sure how Lana felt about him? At first, he figured she found him amusing. Maybe a challenge. But lately, she accepted his friendship without question and didn’t pull away when his arm wrapped around her. He suspected she enjoyed it. He even noted a softer, more intimate whisper when she spoke, avoiding the ears of the teens that surrounded them most of the time. But was his interpretation correct or only wishful thinking?
Feeling upbeat, he roused himself early on the third day of camp with a happy heart. Today he’d planned another team activity. The first had been successful, and he hoped while they had fun and a sense of competition among the teams, they were learning those attributes he’d discussed with them.
With a light heart, he stepped outside and confronted the director heading toward him. The director’s desperate expression slowed Mark’s upbeat spirit to a dirge.
“Sorry,” he said. “This is bad news. The cook and her assistant have both come down with the flu. The twenty-four-hour kind, they’ve both assured me, but. . .”
Mark heard his lengthy hesitation, and his heart sank. “But?”
“I haven’t found anyone able to prepare the day’s meals. I even asked my wife, but she has a commitment she can’t break. The cook said if she can drag herself here later for dinner she would, but we still have breakfast and lunch to worry about.”
“So what should we do?” Mark asked, hoping the man had some ideas.
“We have some cold cereal, I think. Maybe we could look together,” the man said.
Mark’s culinary interests slipped into first gear. All he needed was a helper. “Let me see what I can do.”
The director nodded, his expression grateful.
Mark’s mind whirred in thought. Breakfast he could handle. Sandwiches would get them through lunch, and he prayed by evening the cook would recover enough to scrounge up a feeble dinner. He stood for a heartbeat gazing heavenward. Lord, I need a little guidance here.
His body involuntarily shifted, facing Lana’s quiet cabin. He glanced into the clouds again, closed his eyes for moral support, and forged across the grass. She slept near the window, and he rapped gently on the shuttered glass and pressed his lips close to the pane. “Lana.” He rapped again and waited.
Over Her Head (Truly Yours Digital Editions Book 489) Page 11
