Real Life Cinderella: Part 1

My story of serving at the Lucerne Christian Conference Center

Once upon a time, I lived in a castle…and my favorite disney princess was Cinderella so the irony of my story isn’t lost on me…

In 1993, we left the city for the country where my dad felt called to work for Jesus at the Lucerne Christian Conference Center, a place where churches held conferences and summer camps. This move took us up into the hills north of Napa, California near Clear Lake. I was 13 and sad to move away from all my friends and family in the Bay Area.

The further we drove away from the city with its many freeways, billboards and busy vibes, the more the roads narrowed and the countryside became the constant view from our car windows. I loved driving through the Napa valley with the wild mustard in full bloom. The yellow blooms cheered my sad heart.

As we drove closer to our new home, the road hugged the shore of Clear Lake with Mt. Konocti, a dormant volcano, rising high on the distant shore.

My first impression was that it was a beautiful place to move to. Live oak dotted the amber hillsides with Spanish moss draping from their spindly branches. Coming from the city, all the nature and crystal blue lake seemed like a scene from a fairytale. 

As we turned onto the wide street where our new home would be, the Lucerne Christian Conference Center stood tall on a hill at the end of the road. It looked like a castle in the most unexpected place.

The building was massive with three floors and two medieval looking towers. The grounds were beautiful with a large lawn draping down the hill.

“This is our new home.” I thought, trying to let my new reality sink in feeling both excitement and anxiety at the same time.

I wondered where our apartment was located and if there would be any other kids my age. I wondered if my dad would make enough money and if we were going to be okay. I was also excited to have a new adventure and hoped that serving the Lord was going to be a good move for my family.

Upon entering the building, there is a grand lobby with high ceilings, beautiful terracotta tile floors, a large stone fireplace and floor to ceiling windows framing a stunning view of the lake.

It felt like vacation when you walked in.

We lived in an apartment on the main floor in a converted wing that was made into a 3-bedroom apartment with a full kitchen and living room. 

Originally called Lucerne Hotel, the building was built in the 1920s to replicate something that would be found near an Alpine lake in Switzerland. Legend has it that it was a favorite spot for the rich and thirsty and that there was a secret room somewhere in the building constructed during prohibition to satisfy the thirst of its wealthy guests. 

When there weren’t conferences, we had free reign to explore the building. Old newspapers, bottles and antiques were found in the basement adding to the lore and mystery. As a child always fascinated with history, I loved looking at the old pictures and trying to piece together the building’s past. 

By the 1980’s the Independent Fundamental Baptist Church’s board had purchased the building, turning it into the Lucerne Christian Conference Center for churches to come for retreats and camps. 

My dad was hired as the maintenance director and would take care of the grounds and building. My mom, little sister and I were kitchen and cleaning help. There were two other families that lived nearby and worked all the conferences with us. From everything I had learned in church, answering the Lord’s call to serve was the ultimate sacrifice and blessing.

The concept sounded lovely and in the beginning I was very excited to live and work in the building…until reality set in.

We were there to work. And we worked a lot.

A normal work day included preparing, serving and cleaning up three meals. After the meal, we would scrape uneaten food off plates into slop buckets which were rinsed out gallon cans. We wore aprons which protected our clothes from the food splashing into the buckets, but we didn’t wear gloves, which grossed me out. 

The used dishes were placed in bins and some guests were kind enough to make neat piles for us to pick up. Later on, I would try to make it easier for servers at restaurants to grab our dishes because of these memories.

With our carts loaded with bins and buckets, we’d make our way into the kitchen and hand them off to the dishwashers and then take our places at the end of the line where we would dry and put away the clean dishes. 

If I had a meal off, I felt disengaged from the group and actually craved more work. Since this was the way we all connected, I soon didn’t know what to do with my free time.

When the conferences were in session, there were several parts of the building that were off limits, so my normal exploration and play was limited. I volunteered to work extra just so I could feel connected to the group.

We went to school in a room in between meals with the other kids that worked there, there were 6 of us total. The curriculum was religious and lacked depth. We studied on average 2-3 hours a day during the school year and then went back to work after school. My love for reading helped to keep my curious brain entertained since the school work bored me.

Summers were my favorite times there because it was my chance to meet other children our age, giving us the much-needed opportunity to socialize. There were times when being a normal teenager felt amazing, like when we were allowed to participate in a few of the social activities during the summer camps like evening prayer meetings and a camp picnic, after we finished our work serving the meal. When we had other teeneagers help us during camps, it gave us more kids to socialize with, making the work more bearable.

After each conference, we would push linen carts packed with cleaning supplies and clean linens up and down the halls. The cleaning would be split to one side of the hall per person or team. This usually took several hours or a couple days, depending on the size of the conference. It was usually a mad dash to get this work done so we could have some time to play before the next round of visitors arrived.

At the end of each conference, there would be collection baskets set out at each table in the dining room to collect donations for the staff. After the baskets were collected, the administrator would take the donations into his office and divide the money into little manila envelopes for each staff member. These were called “honorariums” because our work was a service, not a job. I usually received $10-$20 for working over 40 hours each week.

I felt like a slave and not a servant to the Lord. I didn't believe we were meant to suffer and work as hard as we were at such a young age. I was reminded that my faith wasn't strong enough. “The Lord will provide,” was a phrase I heard over and over, which made me bitter each time I heard it. It was hard to feel taken care of when we were poor and saw the other kids with things like new shoes and free time. It made me angry.

With the encouragement of my youth pastor, I chose a “life verse” to help me get through the disappointment I was experiencing. I chose Romans 8:28 and clung to these words like they were my lifeline:

And we know that all things work together for good to them that love God, to them who are the called according to his purpose.

I wanted to believe that everything was going to work out.

This verse reminded me that I was “called” and this work was part of my purpose. I was told that it was a good thing to suffer and reminded of the suffering of Jesus on the cross. However, I felt like it was a terrible comparison and an excuse to get us to work. 

My faith began to waiver and my guilt deepened as I dreamed of being normal and not working at the Jesus Camp. I wanted to have a better life. I didn't want to feel so marginalized and believed that there was something else that I must have been missing.

In my heart I knew the basis of everything was love but I felt so much anger and resentment towards the church, the conference center and its administration for the way they worked us so hard and paid us so little. I refused to believe what was happening was okay.

Little did I know that the seeds of manifestation were being planted into my heart as I started looking for other inspiration to help me get through this hard time. I started to stealthily read my horoscope and more contemporary spiritual writers, clinging to words of hope and future predictions.

My intuition was awakening despite the attempts on its stifling.

…to be continued…

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