What are you, silly?

I am sunburned. Not badly. I am the kind of sunburned where you were outside for a week straight and you thought you were brown enough to chill at the pool for an afternoon without sun screen on. Tomorrow it will probably be brown, and I will remember all that I love about having blond hair in the summer time.

I was eleven years old for six days and I had to remember that, yes, the Jonas Brothers are important to some people. I sat on the edge of a dunk tank and flinched every time a ball was thrown at me.

I was reminded, daily, by the screaming voices of my campers at session, that Jesus is my best friend, and nothing will ever change that. One little girl raised her hand in my devotion and said, "When is accepting Christ into my heart on the schedule because I don't want to miss it." Simultaneously down the hall a twelve year old girl had an orange squeezed out into her hair.

I am blissfully happy in this moment, and its extraordinary because nothing has changed. I always thought the world and circumstances would have to shift in order for me to be this degree of joyful. But in the midst of my six days as an eleven year old I realized something.
My life is pretty great.