After racing around DC, I returned, worked 2 days and 1 night and was chauffeured out to camp.
Yes. Camp was so desperate for any sort of staff that they were willing to drive me there. I also have a soft spot for camp, so was willing to go despite tortuous sleep deprivation.
For the first time ever: I was OFFICIAL kitchen staff. Previous years I was the camp nurse and just helped out in the kitchen because it was where the people to hang out with were...and a pretty central location if anyone needed to find me to take out a sliver or hand out tensor bandages for twisted ankles. This year though, ALL my time was spent in the kitchen. Chopping. Peeling. Stirring. Cleaning. Planning. Sweating. Swatting mosquitoes. Etc. My head chef and I were amazed that we made it through the week AND did not run out of food...and we came close multiple times.
When I am old and don't remember anything, I am sure I will still remember this week of "loaves and fishes" (the kitchen theme of the week that we said half-jokingly, half eternally gratefully).
I lost the tan I had sweat for in DC.
I still have a faint ring of mosquito bites on my ankles.
I have 2 scabs on my left leg that were mosquito bites I couldn't stop scratching.
I haven't had more than 1 day off at a time, and haven't had time to sleep on those lonely islands of "rest" days because camp was an extra week of not working I hadn't actually planned for originally and I am so exhausted that I am feverish as I write this.
Yet, I am so very glad that I went.
My first camp experience was at Redberry Bible Camp, somewhere in Saskatchewan. My mom and grandparents drove me out to camp, and I locked myself in the car and cried hysterically. Not how you were expecting that story to end, right? Eventually I was coaxed/dragged out of the car, settled into my cabin, and reassured that I was going to love it there. I sincerely doubted it. The next day, my Grandpa drove out to see if I needed rescuing, but I was so busy swimming and playing that I hardly took the time to wave. Camp was that awesome. My grandpa was that awesome.
A couple years later, my family moved, my new classmates hated me, and they were also my new campmates. From then on, camp was fun, but not the same free-happy-go-lucky fun because I was keenly aware that I was not popular and did not have a group to which I belonged. Covenant Bay Bible Camp was a much smaller camp. So, everyone already knew eachother, and had known eachother for ages. On my registration I requested the one person I knew, and she cried hysterically until she was moved into the cabin with her friends. I know I had great times at Covenant Bay, and I dearly love the place, but when I am there I have this awareness that I didn't really belong. (Disclaimer: I have that awareness almost everywhere I go)
Yet, I love camp, and have a soft spot for camp, and will be eaten alive by mosquitos to make sure that camp goes on. I went to one chapel, and the kids were singing a song, and doing the same actions I had learnt when I was their age. It made my heart so glad that camp goes on. I don't know what these kids will think of when they look back on their camp days, but when I heard them singing, and saw them "not be shaken" my crazy emotional side went all bleary eyed because camp hasn't changed. It's still this awesome place kids go to hang out, play games, laugh, scream, yell, get bit by mosquitoes. It's profound and powerful. And God is in it. It's a relief to see that even though every one of those kids probably has an iPhone (and I don't) they are still so enthusiastic and joyful that they jump to the side when they sing "I will not be moved".
Which leads to the most obvious point of this entire post: camp is awesome, and we should have actions with the songs in church every Sunday.
