Camp Barnabas

By Heno Head, Jr

Welcome to Camp Barnabas. This is an awesome place! Other than the family joys of marriage and bearing children, I have never felt so delighted to be involved in such a wonderful event. Camp Barnabas has been a blessing to so many people and has impacted so many lives.
Many heartfelt thanks go out to Paul and Cyndy Teas for bringing the camp to fruition. God chose the right people for His project. I'm grateful that my family could play a small role in the realization of the camp.
As the saying goes . . . "When a door is closed, a window will open." In 1992 our door was slammed shut so traumatically that it leveled the entire "house" to its foundation. Our daughter Lauren was diagnosed with bone cancer. How do you tell your twelve-year-old that she has cancer? What will she say? Will she be afraid she's going to die? When we finally told Lauren, her first question posed to us was, "Does this mean I can't go back to camp?"
Little did we know that Lauren's return to Kanakuk Kamp the following year would provide the small spark for Paul and Cyndy to establish Camp Barnabas—a place where kids are allowed to be kids and sickness takes a vacation for a small moment in time. Camp Barnabas is indeed an awesome place.
Heno has done a splendid job of weaving the camp story. Within the pages of this book you will be led through the lives that inspired and supported the foundation of this camp. Even in the bleakest moments of human existence, God shows us He has a plan. Heno captures this story to inspire and share with others.
Another saying that comes to mind is, "There is always a bright light at the end of the tunnel." Our family has made it through that tunnel. I see the light shining through that window ... the light that is coming from all the wonderful people that make Camp Barnabas such an awesome place.

Debe Hauschild
Camp Parent
Camp Barnabas Board of Directors

• Language: English
• Publisher: Heno Head, Jr
• Release date: Jan 31, 2012
• ISBN: 9780974395203

Heno Head, Jr

I live in Monett, MO, where I taught science for years. I also do youth programs in churches. I've combined these two endeavors to write several 'God n Science' books with Standard Publishing of Cincinnati. Most of the books share with adults how to do science demos as object talks. Doing my best to learn the craft of gospel songwriting at the present time. My tunes are southern gospel with kind of a Lynyrd Skynyrd feel to them. No cuts yet, but hoping. I have two daughters--Natalie and Janie--and a cat named Gearshift.

Book preview

Camp Barnabas

Champion For the Challenged

Heno Head, Jr.

Published by Gymstone Press at Smashwords

Copyright 2003 Heno Head, Jr.

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

Chapter One 'Out Of Texas'

Amen.

Looking up from his prayer, Paul started the Toyota mini- van. Cyndy leaned over and squeezed his hand. It's going to be okay, she assured him. God knows what he's doing. He'll guide us.

Paul smiled, shaking his head. He never ceased to be amazed at the enthusiasm of his vivacious wife. Cyndy's can-do attitude was as contagious as it was charming. There's no doubt in my mind that God knows, Paul agreed. I just wish we did.

Sometimes that's half the fun.

Paul glanced in the mirror. Can you believe this van? We look like the Beverly Hillbillies. All we need is a water barrel tied to the outside and ol' Jed riding shotgun.

In the back seat nine-year-old Kayman settled between cushions and boxes, clicking her seat belt. Kayman's blonde hair was still high-lighted by her summer tan. A pretty outgoing girl who sported straight A report cards, she gazed out of the side window as they left their home behind. Softly, Kayman waved one last, silent good-bye to her best friend Amanda. On the opposite side of the back seat, her brother Trace also watched quietly as the neighborhood receded from view. Two years younger, he was already thinking of the excitement that lay ahead. What did it mean to live at a camp?

So it was in the fall of 1991 that the Teas family left Dallas, Texas. Their open road to adventure pointed toward the Ozark Mountains of Missouri. For his part, though, Paul wasn't thinking of adventure. Too many 'what if s' crowded his mind. The way he figured, at thirty-eight years of age with two children, one wife, and no job, he didn't have to seek adventure. Adventure had found him.

Over a year earlier he had been caught in a downsizing squeeze at Espey Houston. Surely, he had thought at the time, it wouldn't be that hard to locate another job in Dallas. But he hadn't found one—neither sooner nor later.

In college Paul had majored in archaeology. With Espey Houston he had been a diver . . . sunken ships and artifacts. Who knows, another zig or zag in his life's journey and Paul might have been one of the Titanic divers. As it turned out, during his Dallas job search there were moments when he felt as if he were going down with the great ship.

Throughout those days he had steadfastly clung to God, his rock. Paul had been a Christian for years. He had loved knowing that God watched over him and his family. During the job search he had prayed, read the Word, and sought God's direction. Paul knew he wanted to live a life that mattered, one that God could use for His glory. But what shape would that life take? Where would it be? And, especially, when would it happen? Too many questions, not enough answers.

Paul was especially drawn to kids in this world, children who needed someone to stand with them, for them, beside them. Years before, he had been walking along a downtown street of El Paso, Texas. A small girl with an outstretched hand stopped him. She was maybe six or seven, no more than eight years old . . . torn little dress, dirty face, beautiful brown eyes. Paul knelt down in front of her and put a bill in her hand, watching those eyes light up. He had been a college student at the time, no wife or family of his own yet. But that image had never left him . . . a little girl doing the best she could to make it from one day to the next.

Now, he did have his wife and children. In his heart he often felt as if there were enough love within him to embrace his own family, and still reach out to kids who were beyond that inner circle. Could he find a job helping those children, he wondered?

No matter what Paul did, though, the silence from heaven was deafening. Where was God's 'open door' about which he had so often heard? If there were a door—or even a window—open anywhere, Paul was hard-pressed to find it.

Then one day the phone rang and the call came. Whew, 'bout time. But the call wasn't for Paul, It was for Cyndy. On the other end was Kanakuk, a camp in Branson, Missouri. The camp was creating a new position—Director of Nursing. Would Cyndy be interested?

Paul and Cyndy talked it over. Was this the door? They prayed about it, knowing that Cyndy would be taking a fifty percent pay cut from her current job in the health field. And that Paul wasn't being offered anything by the camp.

Besides, as a child, he had only spent four days at a YMCA day camp. That was his entire camping experience. Surely a youth camp 300 miles away couldn't be his open door . . . open window . . . open anything. Could it?

Over a period of days, though, the leading they got from their prayer time was, Go. The direction was at once both exciting and scary, for the unknown was like a two-sided coin. 'Wow' was on one side, 'Wo' was on the other. In sharing the idea with their families, both sets of parents said, No. Big No's . . . the kind that made a man wonder if he weren't rowing about three buoys past the lighthouse.

On the other hand there was that small voice that seemed to keep saying, Go. It was that 'seemed' which made life interesting while they put their house up for sale, began boxing and packing, and saying their good-byes.

Cyndy, too, was a dedicated follower of Christ. Periodically, she wrote in a journal during her morning quiet time. Sensing God's guidance in their lives during those days, she penned:

God's timing—so hard to grasp or to wait on. May we follow as disciples . . . not just as those who are fascinated by Him. I pray for His will to be done in our lives in His time.

Soon, all the pieces of the puzzle had come together. Except one. Paul had decided he just couldn't haul their things by himself. He checked with van lines, finding every line's prices to be higher than an airport gift shop. The lowest bidder was Mayflower at $4,900.

Getting this last estimate, Paul eased the phone down in disbelief. Staring at Cyndy, he exclaimed, Five thousand dollars! Just for hauling furniture. We're not talking diamonds.

And that's the cheapest, Cyndy agreed. What do you think?

Well, we can't leave our things here in Texas. Let's see, maybe we can . . . and they began doing the financial gymnastics that would get them hooked up with a van line. In the midst of this juggling act, Paul received a letter from Northwest Airlines in Oregon. The company was inviting him for a second interview, a big step closer to a full-time job as an airplane mechanic. Standing in a roomful of boxes and newspapers, they read and reread the letter. Suddenly, their open road had turned into a crossroads.

Should we pray about it? Cyndy wondered aloud.

Paul didn't hesitate. No need. I know God wouldn't have pointed us so strongly toward the camp if he hadn't meant for it to be our direction. There will be something for me, too.

The next day a $5,000 check came in the mail, just like in the movies. Only this was for real. Years earlier Paul had loaned five thousand dollars to a friend. Over time they had lost contact. Paul basically had just written the whole thing off. But his old pal hadn't, and he felt compelled to send it now. Sorry it had taken so long, the letter said. Better late than never, huh? Hope it helps.

Helps? Paul and Cyndy were struck by the incredible timing. It would be the first of many 'time-released miracles' they would experience over the coming years.

God was in this, Cyndy stated matter-of-factly.

Yes, he was, Paul nodded. We're heading to Missouri.

You know, Cyndy mused, nothing matches following God, does it?

Paul ran his hand through his full head of hair. He was a big man with a gentle spirit. Keen insights into the heart of God were woven throughout the fabric of his soul. Not even close, he agreed.

That evening Cyndy made a last Texas entry in her journal:

To know Jesus . . . to stand apart from the world and really grasp Him. That is my goal, with no pretense or holding back. It is never simple to serve Him, but His words are life. May I live that life to its fullest for Him.

Chapter Two 'Little Condobox By The Lake'

When it comes to summer youth camps, Kanakuk Kamp is a giant among beanstalks. It's one of the largest camps in the U.S., thus the world. Divided into eight camp sites around the Ozarks, Kanakuk annually has over 14,000 campers go through its summer programs . . . more than the populations of most American towns.

That's also a big potential for bumps, bruises, bug bites, and other camp-type maladies—both real and imagined. To tend to these various ailments, Kanakuk has a total of 110 nurses employed throughout the summer. Most have full-time jobs elsewhere, working two-week shifts while their children attend Kamp.

Until Cyndy was hired, though, there was no one person to get all the nurses on the same page. She came on board, writing her own job description as she went.

Branson, Missouri, itself is something of a marvel. The small community of 4,000 people bills itself as the Live Music Show Capital of the World. With over 30 shows ranging from the comedy of Jim Stafford to the variety of Presley's Country Jubilee, from the world-class fiddling of Shoji Tabuchi to the country vocals of Mickey Gilley, the description may well be accurate. Each year some seven million tourists stroll along West 76 Entertainment Boulevard, taking in the music and theme parks.

One thing the musical boom has done is make Branson rental property harder to find than sunshine in a coal mine. The Teases discovered this first-hand. A realtor they had contacted ahead of time had been able to find just one condo for rent—a place so far out of town his directions for finding it were, Head east 'til you're lost, then hang a right. Can't miss it.

So with those directions ringing in their ears, they swooped and looped around the Ozark hills. Finally, they hung that right, easing down a long and winding grade.

Post oaks and scrub cedars hugged tightly against the roadside, trying to reclaim what civilization had taken. Gradually, their vista widened into a mix of pastures and woods. At length they pulled up to the front door, just sitting for a moment and staring at the small, white-painted dwelling. Then Kayman leaned forward and voiced the thought in everyone's mind, "Is that all there is to it?

It does look more like a shoe box than a condo, Paul agreed. Kind of reminds me of Laura Ingall Wilder's 'Little House' books.

It looks good to me! Trace beamed. Look at all this world around here!

Cyndy opened her door, stepping out. With Bull Shoals Lake just around the bend, she said, we can call this our Little Condobox on the Lake. Thank goodness, the realtor let us store our things in his basement.

Once inside, they swung open three doors. That finished the tour. The furnishings were so spartan that a spider web in one corner looked like a decoration. Back in the main room, Paul asked, Well, what does everybody think?

Cool, the kids chimed, then bolted outdoors for the really cool stuff.

Paul pulled Cyndy close. And you, ma'am?

Cyndy smiled. I remember all the hard times before. I think back in those days God was teaching us to do on less. So I say it's cool, too. Cyndy looked in his eyes. But what about you, Paul? Would you rather be working on airplanes in Oregon?

That's one bridge I'll never wonder about us crossing. I'm perfectly at peace with our decision. Let's unload. We are home.

And home they were. Over the next days and weeks they all throttled way down, going from eight-lane traffic jams to bicycle rides along country lanes. They were more likely to see deer, wild turkeys, and raccoons than people. But they enjoyed the serenity. Each day Cyndy went to Kanakuk, starting the job of coordinating their health services. Paul drove the kids to school in Branson. Then, often as not, he had time to spend back at the condo, walking the banks of Bull Shoals. There he'd watch fish leap from the sparkling waters, leaving ripples dancing in the sunlight.

It was a quiet time, a time of introspection and deepening of his spiritual roots. The job situation continued to be big, but Paul refused to let it be a shadow that blocked out God's light. Instead, he kept praying, kept knocking patiently on heaven's door, kept quietly wondering, What is it that I'm supposed to do—that we're supposed to do—with our time on this earth?

Evenings were spent around the lone table in the main room, doing family-type things—studying, playing games, visiting, just enjoying each other's company. Thus passed the winter months.

One February morning Cyndy gazed thoughtfully from the front window of the Condobox. A soft Ozark snowfall had parachuted in silently during the night. With her journal on the table before her, she wrote:

Six inches of snow cover our world this morning. We prayed for snow and God has answered abundantly. I am again reminded that He is the provider, revealing Himself to us as pure as the unblemished snow. If only I could return myself to Him so perfectly. May my faith grow pure.

In March of 1992 Kanakuk's owner, Joe White, decided it was time to take inventory of all the camp equipment—athletic, kitchen, maintenance, the works. Paul was hired for the job. In short order he found himself riding from camp to camp, looking in basements and cupboards, behind doors and cabinets, underneath porches and bunks.

A few nights later, after the kids had gone to bed, Paul and Cyndy sipped a last cup of coffee. You know, Paul said, I am amazed at the amount of stuff at the K camps. They've got things stuck back that I doubt have been used in years. It's incredible. Some of that equipment would have to date back to Spike's very earliest days.

Spike White, Joe's dad, was an engineering genius from Texas A&M. Spike had begun Kanakuk in the 1940's.

I know, Cindy agreed. "I see those kinds of things propped up here and there.