Butt-Crack-Daybreak-Rooster-Crowing-Top-of-the-Morning Surfing Lessons: Summer Camp Series 3

You want ridiculous?


How about the moment you get word that your cabin is assigned the 7:30 am slot for surfing lessons.
That's right, 7:30 am.
Not mid morning.
Not late morning.
But the "butt-crack-daybreak-rooster-crowing-top-of-the-morning."

Lucky us.
And lucky me.  I got the task of herding them into the icy water with the promise of fun and exhilaration.

Fortunately, a few of them characterized their experience the same way, but in different words.
"That was boo!"
"Did you see me out there?"
"That was tight!"

Clearly, adventure opens up new areas of the our spirit.  Getting out of the city is a good good thing for us. Hoping to facilitate more of these experiences, as the summer moves on.

Sneaking Up on the Guy Sneaking Out: Summer Camp Series 2

It was only the first night.  But it was beyond midnight and I already had an empty bunk. 

 

Sneaky Guy may appear in this photo.

This wasn’t my first rodeo.  And so the investigation began, through blurry eyes and the gravity of sleepiness. By process of elimination, I discovered who my escapee was.  “D” used the back cabin door as an exit, taking advantage of the fact that there were twice as many doors (2) as adults in the cabin (1).   D just happened to have a girlfriend across the way.  And I was betting she had escaped as well.  Text messages went out to the women’s cabin leader.   Sound sleep kept that leader from returning the message.  Unsure that I would be able to locate the escapees in the dark of the night, I took a different strategy: Lie in wait.

That’s right: Lie (in D’s bed) & wait (while getting sleep).

The first sound I heard was the turn of the door handle.  Then moonlight snuck through the doorframe.  Dude thought he was smooth.  He tiptoed, over a suitcase and towards the bunk.  I remained silent. He put two hands on the bed rail to push himself up.  Suddenly, nose-to-nose, he noticed.

He jumped back.

I popped up.

Silence.

Then, “Get in bed.”        

And.         Then.           “We’ll talk in the morning.”

B---u---s---t---e---d.

On Getting 4 Muslim Friends to Camp: Summer Camp Series 1

I knew Dalmar wanted to go to camp. I knew that he would have the time of his life. He’d heard about it for years from friends and teammates. I just didn’t know if we’d be able to get him on the bus. 

You see, he is a Muslim. And this was Christian camp experience. For years, we have been working with Muslim students. Our neighborhood is hyper-diverse. With over 30 languages and dialects among over 80,000 people, it’s been dubbed “The Ellis Island of the West.” Diversity of faith follows too. In a 3-block walk from Urbanlife, one can step foot into a Muslim mosque, a Buddhist temple, a Jehovah's Witness Kingdom Hall, or an LDS church. Somali refugees are predominantly Muslim, both culturally and by faith. Many of these students come to "club" on Monday nights, where we eat together, play games of all sorts, and listen to a short message from the Bible. At times, they come to our "small groups," where we discuss life issues and apply biblical teachings. Often times, students won't read the scripture aloud or hold a Bible. But more often than not, they will discuss honestly and add value to conversation. But getting students out of town and on overnight experiences is a whole other challenge.

I knew Dalmar wanted to go to camp. I knew that our mentoring friendship would deepen exponentially if we got to spend a week together. . I just didn’t know if we’d be able to get him on the bus. 

Dusting off my recruiting skills from community college basketball coaching, I made getting Dalmar to camp, a top priority. I started early. Cost is a common obstacle for students. We overcame this one early. Dalmar, and friend Ali, worked on the UrbanLife farm on a Saturday morning in June. This guaranteed their spot and provided a sweat-equity style down payment. But the obstacles began to mount.
Through text messages, I would read, “I can’t go, I have basketball.”
 Later, “I don’t think my mom is gonna let me go.”
 Then, “My mom said no and I really wanted to go…she feels like you are a stranger and stuff like that.”
I wondered if his mom was up for meeting me. She agreed to a home visit. But with limited English skills, she sent me through an interview with Mo’s sisters (2), brothers (2) and nephew (1). 
I passed.
Dalmar was given permission. And he wasted no time thanking me:

We faced a few minor obstacles after that meeting. 
A week before, “The only problem is the money coach, but I really want to go.” 
And, “I forgot my papers at home.” We got over the hurdles. 

 I knew Dalmar wanted to go to camp. As his basketball coach, I knew that he was a natural leader and would bring students with him. I just didn’t know if we’d be able to get him on the bus.

Once Dalmar got the 'green light' from his mom, he started working on his friends. He invited Khalid. Khalid was a family friend of Dalmar's for years. He attended a local school, but had never come to UrbanLife or met us. He was ready to pay full pop and was excited about the trip. But it wasn't until his mother pulled up, wearing a hijab and adorned in henna designs from fingertip to elbow, did I believe he was coming. 

Dalmar also invited Ali. I knew Ali because I coached him this past year. In his case, we faced additional barriers that surfaced less than 24 hours before our departure. Getting him clearance required early conversations with a brother, an additional home visit the morning of camp, and door-to-door van chauffeur service. We did it all.

Dalmar made it on the bus.
Ali made it on the bus.
Khalid made it on the bus.
And Dahir (a 4th) made it on the bus.

I knew Dalmar wanted to go to camp.  And now, he was coming with friends!

Waterslide Photos 'Turned Up'

3 on 3 Tournament for Zero

In urban ministry, sometimes you just shoot an 'air-ball.' 

For all the non-hoopers out there, this is when your basketball doesn’t make it in the goal, hit the backboard, touch the rim, or even graze the net. It’s a bad thing in hoops.  It's embarrassing when people see it.   Adding insult to injury, opposing crowds often chant, "Air----ball!    Air----ball!" to draw painful attention to the blunder.

It happened to me this past week. And before you start chanting, allow me to describe.

A month ago though, I was confident about facilitating a 3:3 basketball tournament in the park. I called it "Asphalt Jungle" and reserved the four outdoor courts at Colina Del Sol Park.

I had all kinds of good logic to back up my plan.

-       It’s incarnational.  It sends me into the world of my students.  ‘Chilling’ and hooping at the park.

-       Kids will be out of school with nothing to do.

-       It will be a perfect momentum-building event the week before camp.

-       Keeping them in organized activity, keeps them out of unorganized crime.

-       Students love to compete, and be called champions, even if it is “Champion of the outdoor park in the 92109 area code on a Tuesday in 2013.”

-       The court, with 4 outdoor hoops, costs only $10 an hour to rent.

It didn’t go down so well.

At 10am, I pictured swarms of students breaking into teams and signing up.

There were zero.

I envisioned 4 courts of games, teams battling simultaneously.

I chose the hoop with the best net and shot 10 free throws alone.

I thought I’d be settling score disputes and refereeing foul calls.

I never had to flip the scoreboard past 00.

I prepped a full tank of Gatorade to keep the boys hydrated in the hot sun.

I ended up sharing a glass with a 5^th grader that rode up on his bike.

I planned to crown the victors at a local pizza joint.

I ate my sack lunch back at the UrbanLife office.

In the end, I am not all that disappointed.  In fact, I still think this event has potential to be one of the most fruitful street-level outreach efforts we can possibly do.  I am even going to try it again in a month or so. 

Next time, the best of my energy and voice will not be lost on recruiting for summer camp.   Next time, I’ll realize that students aren’t getting to the park by 10 am on a lazy summer morning.  Next time, I won’t be working on my own jump shot.  And next time, I will actually need that Gatorade to make it through the day. 

All basketball shooters throw up air-balls from time to time.  The great shooters block out the crowd's heckling and move on to the next shot.  That's what I intend to do.

Just pass me the ball now.