The Kchag Experience: Part 1

Hello everyone,

Christian here, running on a minimum amount of sleep, as usual. 

I'm back (finally connected myself to some half-decent wifi), but to be honest, not sure if I'm the same person I was a week ago. 

I just sat down on my couch, and as I let out a huge sigh of relief, I feel like something inside of me has changed. I feel like throughout this week, I've been exposed to people that have helped me not only humble myself and grow in my faith but also helped me to realize I am just one tiny human in a sea of billions of people; I've never seen such a diverse and an incredible group in my life.

If you're wondering where all this enlightenment has come from, let me fill you in. For the past week, I've been an arachnort (leader/counselor) at the famous Camp KCHAG in the mountains right outside of Beirut. This year the badaniats hamakoumar (13-17 years old) had 78 kids and over 15 arachnortner. This past week spent with the leaders and campers has been filled with countless laughs, mispronounced words in multiple languages, and an amazing time of fellowship with people I’ve come to truly love. 

I wanted to write a few recap blogs to really express my feelings about the week and give you a little insight into what went on and why I enjoyed it as much as I did. Each part of my KCHAG recap blog will focus on a different aspect of the camp. For this first part, I want the focus to be on all the wonderful people that I met while serving as a leader.

It was a weird feeling being the only person that really stood out from the rest of the camp because I’m from America. Everyone that attends KCHAG is used to having leaders that know the same languages as them, live in the same city and country as them, and possibly even attend the same church as them. 

But when I came, I flipped that all upside down.

I don’t know the languages (Armenian and Arabic) that well, and I am certainly not from anywhere close by, nor do I attend the same churches as them. They had literally never seen me before, and suddenly I was among them, making conversation in broken sentences and laughing and learning the whole way.

What blew me away was that everyone, and I mean EVERYONE, was so incredibly kind and caring in accepting me as one of their own.

 One of my biggest fears going into this week was that I would be viewed as an outsider, a pariah, and wouldn’t be able to connect with either the campers or the leaders. My grasp of Armenian has always been a source of frustration and embarrassment for me, and now suddenly I’m thrown into the lion’s den with a group of people whose main language I can only speak semi-well. It was an extremely humbling experience to speak and continually be corrected by kids far younger than me or by leaders with far more experience than me. But the funny thing is, they each did it in a loving way, in a way where they WANTED to see you benefit and succeed from listening to their wisdom and advice. By the end of the week, I was speaking with more confidence and connecting with so many of the kids and leaders on a deep, meaningful level. Everyone treated me as if I did speak the same languages as them well, as if I did come from the same city and country as them, and as if I did go to the same church as them. 

Second, the questions. 

Oh man, they did not stop. 

From the time my feet hit the ground and the kids arrived at camp, I was bombarded with question after question about America, Los Angeles, soccer, girls, my Armenian language skills, and A MILLION OTHER THINGS. I think I got to now myself better after answering all these questions about myself. Even if at times I thought the questions were annoying, I answered and enjoyed it because I loved seeing the curiosity and sense of adventure sparkle in the kids’ eyes when I opened their eyes to a whole world outside of the one they have ever experienced. There is something so cool about trading experiences with kids thousands of miles away from you, only to find out that you are all so SIMILAR. You both cried when a soccer team you loved didn’t win a big game. You both loved the same movies. You both had a desire to travel and see the world. It was just incredible to experience that. Having a cabin full of curious, intellectual guys that were teaching me new words in Arabic and comparing stories about about their life here in Beirut and mine in LA was something I won’t forget.

I enjoyed it even more so with each of the leaders. 

I love every one of them uniquely. Each one has something special about him or her; they are beautiful, hilarious, caring, creative, intelligent, well-spoken, and most importantly, followers of Jesus Christ. Having long conversations with some of them about our biggest fears and losses we suffered and the changes and life decisions we make made me appreciate that type of intimate conversation SO much more. It is a very satisfying feeling to trade answers back and forth on the differences between Lebanon and California, to compare and contrast and criticize or compliment and to just sit and laugh with each other about life. I had barely met these people a week before, and by the end of the week we were talking and hugging and laughing like we had known each other forever. That is the power of fellowship in Christ. 

This whole camp experience was particularly memorable and emotional for me because I don’t know when I will see any one of them again. Leaving camp at the end of a long week is always a bittersweet feeling, but this feeling of emptiness and loss and the uncertainty of our next meeting has really hit me hard now that I’m back home, in my room, just sitting alone. It is a completely foreign feeling being in such a crowded, vibrant, busy city and yet feeling so lost and lonely. It is so hard to establish a “home” here and leave your heart with the people here only to have to go back home and rebuild again. 

If you’re reading this, I’m thinking and praying for all of you, and I hope its only a VERY short time before I see you again. There are so many relationships still to be built, so many jokes to be told, so many stories to be shared, and so much coffee to be drank at 7:30 AM leader devotionals. 

Read on, my friends.

Love, Christian 

P.S.-I want to include some pictures of the people I met during this week. Hopefully the moments and emotions I’ve captured help you understand why I fell in love with KCHAG and will dearly miss everyone from there. Part 2 will be coming soon. 

A Father's Distant Memories

Hello everyone, 

Christian here. Today was an off day for me. Some plans to head toward Anjar, near the Syrian border, were called off or just a little uncertain, so suddenly I had almost a full day to myself. 

In the morning George came over and brought some incredible mamounieh with him. For those who don't know what mamounieh is, just click here. We talked as we ate and enjoyed each other's company. It's awesome to have such a close friend in this part of the world that you can count on to show you the local culture and local customs and teach you everything you need to know about the people here. 

After mamounieh, we decided to call up some of our good friends in LA who we went to Armenia with the year before. Badveli Vatche Ekmejian and his son Ari answered our call late at night at home and we had a great half-hour conversation with them talking about life here in Lebanon and catching up with each other. Again, it's great having friends in that part of the world who you can call and laugh and joke around with, no matter the hour (it was past 12 AM when Ari hung up the call). 

The rest of the day was spent eating (what else to do in Lebanon) some fantastic Classic Burger. In my humble opinion, Classic Burger has very nearly reached the pinnacle that In-N-Out currently holds in the burger world. It was an amazing burger, the coleslaw that goes with it was crazy good, and to top it off, they offer bottomless fries and soda free with your order. No one can topple the king, but they sure can come pretty darn close.

After that, we toured parts of downtown and Zeytuna Bay, just George, our friend Levon, and I, which was nice just to walk and talk. The rest of the night was full of camp meetings and highly important stuff of that sort.

But that's not the point of this blog post today. Today, I wanted to focus on a unique experience both my father and I have now lived through by being in Beirut. It's been on my mind since it occured and I thought this would be a good place to share it.

Many of you know this story from the little story I did on my Dad via Instagram already, but if you don't, the story goes as follows (in short): my grandpa used to own a glass shop in Bourj Hammoud, the Armenian neighborhood in Beirut. Every day my dad and him would walk across a bridge from their neighborhood into Bourj Hammoud to begin the day. When the civil war began, that bridge became very dangerous. Snipers had taken up positions inside nearby mosque minarets so as to get a wide view of their surroundings and pick off anyone they deemed a threat.

One day when my dad and grandpa were on their usual walk across the bridge, shots rang out and bullets whizzed by my dad. My grandpa yelled for him to drop down and get out of sight so the sniper couldn't see them. They had to crawl all the way back down the bridge and across the street to safety. 

But that wasn't the end. My grandpa needed to go to work after all. Someone's got to provide for the family. At that time, there were daring taxi drivers who, for the right price, were willing to drive across the bridge at top speed to the other side to drop off scared passengers. My grandpa paid for the speedy taxi, and with a little luck, they made it across. End of story.

With that being said, on my first day in Lebanon, George and I crossed a bridge to get from our neighborhood to Bourj Hammoud to grab dinner. As we were walking, I began to wonder if this bridge had any ties to the one my dad used to walk. I resolved to take a detailed video of the bridge and send it to my dad to see if he could remember any details about it.

That evening, I called him to see what he had to say. When I picked up, the first thing he said was "that is the EXACT same bridge that I walked on when I was a young boy. Nothing has changed. Nothing. Unbelievable." 

For some reason, that sent chills down my spine. Had the sniper been a bit of a better shot, my dad could've died on that bridge that day, and I wouldn't be here writing this post today. The same bullet holes are still carved into the rock of the bridge's foundation. The freeway that runs under the bridge is the same. The same two-lane road on both sides. 

It was a surreal feeling walking the same steps my dad took on that day, and having a look around at the mass of buildings now built in that area, picturing the events of that day in my head. 

I can imagine a smiling little boy holding his father's hand, wondering what the day at work would hold for them. 

Would he stay with his dad all day, watching his reflection morph and shift in the beautiful glass his father worked with? 

Would his father send him out throughout the neighborhood to deliver finished products to waiting customers? 

Would they eat lebne and olives as usual, or had his dad prepared a special meal just for the two of them? 

I imagine the rapid crack! crack! crack! of the bullets echoing around the city. Neighbors' heads shoot up, suddenly anxious. Shop owners hurriedly pack up their wares and fold up their awnings, closing their metal doors and heading away from trouble. They don't want any more violence to cloud the relative peace in their neighborhood. 

I imagine the instant, blinding fear in my grandpa's eyes as he looked around to see whether his son, his little boy, was okay. How could he go home to his family knowing that he had taken his son out into the open when there were active guerrilla street battles happening around them? 

I can imagine the relief when his eyes darted around and he saw his son there, intact and in one piece. I hear the crack in his voice as he yells for his son to drop down and roll out of sight, into the cover of the bridge railing. I can imagine them both counting each shuffled, awkward, clumsy movement backward on the ground tensely until they had reached safety.

And I can imagine the nerves that were exploding within them as the taxi they sat in picked up speed as it hit the bridge, the egine sputtering and then revving loudly. They stared at the speedometer and willed the already-twitching gauge to go farther.

I sit here typing this as I wonder what life would be like if something had happened on that day. I praise God that my father was safe and emerged unscathed. To this day, it is still something to marvel at.

Read on, my friends.

Love, Christian (Day 7)

Meetings I Actually Enjoyed?!?!

Hello everyone,

Christian here. Today was an interesting day for me, even though it followed a similar routine as the rest of my days here so far.

This morning, I continued my long-standing (read: 3 days) tradition of brewing hot tea for myself and going onto my balcony in the early morning to watch the hustle and bustle of Beirut begin to unfold as the day began. My balcony has a stunning view of not only many parts of the city that surround me, but also parts of the mountain towns and a view of the sea. Quite the view for an amazing price, if you ask me.

My morning routine will usually be to bring my laptop out with me and listen to worship music off Spotify and open my morning with prayer, followed by tea and some crackers for a light breakfast. Then, if I have time, I'll bring my book out to read a chapter or two before I head over to George's house to begin my day.

Today was a bit different, because George had to report to some government officials who summoned him to review if he had a previous criminal record. It's really just a formality, as George is as good of a boy as you will find. Ladies, I'm looking at you when I say that. This time, I had to wait for him to finish before I could head over, so I had a little extra time on my hands.

I spent that extra time in prayer for the day that was about to begin. My plan for today was to attend Trad Church's VBS near the Naba'a neighborhood, then go shopping for camp supplies with some of the other leaders from Camp Kchag along with badveli Datev.

I was fortunate enough to experience another great VBS from the group at Trad Church. The leaders were all welcoming and friendly and not at all defensive of me helping out or taking pictures or doing anything; in fact, they welcomed it. And the kids! They are all fantastic here. It's just unbelievable. Almost every single kid I've met, interacted with, or watched has been on their absolute best behavior and each has been a joy to work with and talk to. They are all polite, well-spoken, and just ready to give you hugs and play with you and joke around with you.

It's a WONDERFUL relief from the US where some of the kids you manage at VBS are an absolute nightmare to be around. They won't listen, they cry like spoiled brats for their moms to hold their hands through the VBS, and pout and whine and don't follow along with the rest of the group. Sorry if it offends anyone, but it's the truth. The Lebanese kids take the cake on this one.

Another thing, that I only found later through the Trad program organizer Nara is that most of the kids that attend this VBS are Syrian. They either lived in Lebanon before the civil war or fled when the country became ridden with violence. Either way, either them or their families have seen and/or experienced unimaginable tragedies, yet as you look at the pictures below, all you see is happiness and joy and curiousity and passion and hope in these kids' faces. It is s refreshing to see and when I heard that news, I looked at the pictures I had taken in a different light.

The rest of the day was spent doing camp stuff that for the time being must remain TOP-TOP-TOP-SECRET until everyone arrives early Sunday evening. I really enjoyed the meetings we had today because the people we are with are awesome. Really, there's no one I'd rather be serving alongside. These guys are the real deal, and they are committed to the youth cause and all they want is for the youth not only to enjoy their time there at Camp Kchag but also be enriched and grow in God's word.

Right now, as we speak I am lacing up my shoes to head out with my friend Koko for some 5-a-side soccer at a local outdoor field. It's the universal sport and now you can see why. I'm going to go tonight not knowing a single thing about my opponents, including where they're from or what languages they speak, but by the end of the night we will all be friends. You have to love that.

That's it from me for today. Not too much craziness, but in the days to come I promise there will be.

'Til next time, read on, my friends.

Love, Christian (Day 6)

P.S.- Photos below are all from VBS today. This will give you a taste of what we're doing and who we are doing it with. Enjoy.