© Yoon Wan-Hee

A few days ago, a photo was posted on Facebook of Jason, the director of Buffalo Mountain Camp, standing before a wooden cross, gazing at the sunrise over the mountain in the early morning. Something about that image stirred my heart deeply. I left a comment:

“Buffalo Mountain Camp is truly a beautiful place! God knows the heart of His faithful servant better than anyone. In God, no time is ever wasted. There are only seasons of preparation—for plans far greater than we can understand. To make His children stronger, wiser, and more deeply passionate. I offer my sincere gratitude to all the staff and volunteers whose dreams, hopes, and dedication have carried us through this time.”

Buffalo Mountain is one of four camps under the Holston Conference of the United Methodist Church. But on August 5th of last year, torrential rains overnight triggered a massive landslide. Nestled within 500 acres of stunning mountain landscape, the camp’s stream had always welcomed, comforted, and cleansed all who came. Yet in a single night, nearly all the facilities—five cabins, bathhouse, swimming pool, and outdoor campgrounds—were buried in mud. Since its founding in 1949, the camp had served countless children and families each year. No one in the mountains had ever imagined needing flood insurance. The once peaceful and beautiful place revealed a harsh and violent face.

Massive trees were uprooted and tangled like matchsticks, swept down the slope. The stream disappeared beneath mud and boulders. Thankfully, the climbing tower and zipline were spared, but the newly opened swimming pool—built with support from local churches that spring—was buried in sludge.

Over the following year, the conference, camp staff, volunteers, county officials, and church donors worked tirelessly to restore the site. Yet last week, the board had to make a painful decision: to suspend camp operations starting next year. Experts advised relocating the entire facility to a safer location and starting anew with fresh designs. Disappointment spread among church members and supporters, but none more than Jason, who had poured his heart into managing and growing the camp. His dreams, plans, and ministry passion were buried beneath the landslide.

When life strikes with sudden, unprepared blows, we often say, “It feels like the mountain is collapsing.” Like a safety net torn apart, we’re flung into an unfamiliar world, and the emotional upheaval is nothing but pain. Yet just as nature begins to heal itself after a landslide, so too does life. Even in the pain of collapse, a new world awaits us—mysterious and full of grace. A life once fixed on the mountain can now lift its eyes to the sky, the sun, the sea, and the wider world.

As I look upon the fallen Buffalo Mountain through aching eyes, I pray with hope and anticipation for how God will use Jason in the days to come.

— Pastor’s Wife Faith Column #12, LA Christian Today, September 11, 2013