A Crash Course in Smores...
My 20s were a crash course in learning all the things my parents neglected to teach me or I neglected to learn. Some of those lessons were critical and some of them were not so critical.
I was 21 years old. We were on our first camp and canoe trip with our youth group. I was well equipped for this trip. I had been camping once in my life and canoeing never. I was the perfect candidate to help Daran lead this trip. I am a planner so I had planned everything down to a T. Checklists are part of my DNA. We arrived with about 15-20 students and staff in the dark. I put my stuff in the tent that I did not set up, and then sat around the campfire that I did not start. So far so good. It was time for Smores! The students asked where the stuff for smores was. That was the one request they gave me before the trip. I expertly directed them to the bag that I packed with the Smores stuff. Pause, now you will patiently listen as I preface what happened next with a reasonable explanation that will allow you to extend grace to me. Don’t read ahead. I repeat, don’t read ahead. I am silently judging all of you that just did.
Explanation: I had never had Smores myself, seeing that I hadn’t really been camping. I wasn’t the typical American child. I’m sure that my Korean mom wondered why people would go camping anyway since we paid for a house to live in. Also, I grew up in an African-American community. I don’t know if it is typical to not go camping as an African-American, but it wasn’t typical in our community. When asked if she liked camping, my African-American friend explained, “No! My people don’t choose to sleep outside unless you been put out the house.” So now that you have heard my preface, here goes!
One of our students, Joe, walked over to me with a puzzled expression on his face holding a Walmart bag. “Noreen, you said you bought stuff for smores?” I was actually a little proud of myself for knowing what smores consisted of without having to ask anyone. He incredulously pulled out a bag of chocolate chips and looked at me. Not understanding the problem, I explained that I chose that option because they were cheaper than chocolate bars. Next, he proceeded to pull out a package of miniature marshmallows and looked at me. Again, I didn’t understand the problem, so I asked , “You need marshmallows to make smores, right?” As Joe got out a cast iron skillet and attempted to melt the miniature marshmallows in it, he not so patiently explained to me that usually you put a big marshmallow on a stick and heat it over the fire. Then you put it between two graham crackers with a piece of flat chocolate that won’t roll off the graham cracker. How was I supposed to know?! I probably shouldn’t tell you that I also bought cinnamon graham crackers because they were out of regular ones. We didn’t have Smore's that night because, for some reason, the melted marshmallow stuck to the cast iron and wasn’t very spreadable. I do think that the cinnamon graham crackers and chocolate chips were consumed grudgingly. That was mistake number 1 of my first camp and canoe trip.
My birthday is coming up, and I will be 43. I have a weird reaction to getting older. I like it! I realize how much smarter I am, and how much I have gotten wrong over the years. I wish that my mistakes were limited to my smores debacle, but unfortunately there are more dire issues of the heart that God has been working on in me. I am happy to say that at 43 I am less prideful, less judgmental, more grateful, more disciplined, more aware of grace, and miracle of all miracles, I can accurately make smores. Imagine what I will be like at 53! Hopefully I will be even less prideful, even less judgmental, even more grateful, even more disciplined, even more aware of grace, and miracle of all miracles, I might be able to start a campfire for the smores! Who knows?