All My Love, Gennavieve

Westcliffe is a small town in Colorado nestled at the base of a towering peak. It is quant, quiet, and eclectic. It's Main Street houses two little coffee shops, a general store, some antique shops, a wood work store, an unbeatable burger shack, and an Amish bakery. The people are simple and sweet. Not the sort of simple which confines them to the narrow judgment of a small-town mindset, but the simple of enjoying each moment the day brings. Every Wednesday the small square is filled with the tables and tents of the Farmer’s Market selling the best jams and jellies, produce and pastries. I approach the market with empty bag in hand and something tasty in mind. I explore the herbs and produce. I decide on some peaches from a man whose companion was a tea cup poodle laying in a doggie bed on the table guarding the peaches, or so I assumed. “What’s his name?” I ask. “Brutus,” the man responds. “He’s a watch dog.” “Guarding your peaches, I see.” “No, no,” the man quickly ...

"I do not understand what I do. For what I want to do I do not do, but what I hate I do." (Romans 7:15) Thanks, Paul. Thanks for getting it, for being real. Sin, hamartia, means falling short of God's righteousness. Paul does not run from the reality of sin. Instead, he exposes the depth of the Christian struggle with sin, giving words to my daily frustration. One can practically feel Paul's intensity increase as the passage continues. His frustration leaps from the page right to the strings of my heart. His words bring comfort because I resonate with him and also teeth grinding aggravation as I face the tension of my sin. What a beautifully tragic discovery for a believer to realize their problems with sin do not vanish when they accept Christ. We are sinners. We are fallen. As descendants of Adam and Eve, we possess a sinful nature. Yet, we are redeemed. Jesus Christ paid the penalty for sin, removing punishment and bringing eternal hope. His bloo...

I am most aware of the uniqueness of my job (working at a Christian Camp) while traveling. Without fail, when I board a flight, the small talk with the strangers in my row will ask the question, "So, what do you do?" To which I reply, "I work at a camp?" "Sorry, I asked what do you do? Not what do you do for fun." I slightly giggle and nod, "I work at a camp." "Oh, are you a park ranger or something?" "No, it is similar to a retreat center." Which always leads to the same question, "So, what do you do when it's not summer?" Classic. The conversation usually involves me explaining further while met with puzzled expressions and fake nods of understanding while closing with "hmmm, interesting" or "well, that's very nice dear." There is so much more. I leave these conversations wishing I could give these strangers a far better picture than my words could ever paint. Yet, how do...