Matters of Great Consequence- REVISED

I remember my first clear view of Camp Cloud Rim. It was the beginning of June. The Lake was still frozen over, and there was a beautiful blanket of white snow covering our little camp, nestled in the top of the mountains at 9200 feet. It took my breath away. There was a canopy of clouds hanging over us, proving the solitude that our little community would come to feel. The cold days had returned for me, but slowly melted away. I remember our first flag ceremony outside. The leaves on the aspens hadn’t yet developed and I could see the still thawing out lake reflecting the shoots of aspen trees on the other side. I could feel God’s reflection in that Lake, waking me to say, “Be your best today.” And I knew God loved me, and everything else was of small matters of consequence.

The lake eventually thawed out later that week. As a waterfront instructor, I had to do demonstrate my ability of a wet-exit from a kayak, and how to tip over a sailboat in the painful 45-degree water. Little bright buds of leaves started to grow on the aspen trees, and I was amazed at how green Utah could be. At flag ceremony one morning I was saddened that my view of the Lake in the morning had become partially blocked by these little buds of leaves.

I was always happy at camp. I contribute most of this fact to the idea of living outside, where I am not blocked from the sun’s healing rays. It was an easy-going lifestyle. We had a set schedule, and there was no need to worry about being able to accomplish everything we needed to accomplish each day. You just did. We lived in a little community of cooking sometimes, sometimes cleaning, other times playing, sometimes teaching, always singing, and always knowing God was nigh, so that my joy was overflowing. It was beautiful. When it was my time off, I wasn’t obligated to think about whether I had enough done that day. My two hours off a day were always well spent however. It was easier to decide that I would first read my scriptures till I felt done, read my other books for however long, and finish it up with working on my laptop to finish my portfolio. Or sometimes I’d go exploring to other lakes, or whittle a stick to nothing with my pocketknife. Or take a shower or head to town with my skateboard.

At camp I was reminded that there is so much more to life than worrying about how much money we’re making, or how terribly we’ve been wronged in the past.

Though I was content at camp, life’s rhythm became incredibly steady until its monotony eventually left me feeling apathetic about halfway through. I started to feel like my potential wasn’t being accomplished in such a perfectly sound community. I became bored in my stalemate. As God’s reflection slowly faded away from my view of the Lake by the new budding leaves on the aspen trees, so did my newfound vigor for constant progression—a utopian tragedy. I was distracted by my previous lifestyle of having lists and lists of things to accomplish each day. I felt that I was no longer moving forward. I prayed to be awakened.

That weekend my car was involved in a hit and run after I had left it parked in front of my cousin’s house. Upon returning to camp from that weekend, I suddenly became bitter at how little this camp lifestyle was paying me on a monetary value. I knew what having to replace a car would mean for me upon my return to the real world. My easy-going attitude quickly faded away completely in a single day. The next day wasn’t much better. I sat down to write about how horrible this criminal was for running away from the damage that he had caused my poor little Saturn. I could imagine his mindset of an innocent accident. How he probably was home with his family, pretending like nothing ever happened. It was while imagining this picture that I was forced to realize that being bitter was only hurting me, and the people around me. Life’s steady rhythm had skipped a beat, but in that realization it turned onto repeat. Later, I sat in my kayak on the Lake that day and admired how the once young leaves that had once annoyed me for blocking my view of the lake in the morning, rustled a great spectrum of green in the wind. They animated the sky, encircling me as I sat on the Lake, waking me to say, “be your best today.” So once again, I found myself surrounded by God’s beauty, and appreciating the simplicity of life.

I envy that lifestyle. It saddens me how specialized we as a society have become. Yes, we have continued to perfect mass production, but it takes meaning out of life. Variety. We are pressured to produce so much, and become so obsessed with how much money we’re making, or how well off we are, that we are blinded to the more important items in life that men have forgotten. I loved reading The Little Prince this summer because it talked about all the things that our society has forgotten that are critical to a meaningful life.

“It is the time you have wasted for your rose, that makes your rose so special.”