There’s nothing natural about that orange color that they
put in Doritos. And it does unnatural things to van upholstery that deserves a
warning label. Neon upholstery isn’t the only evidence of another long summer
of camping ministry. Our van is abused, filthy, and completely used up by the
end of each summer. Garbage, sand, dirt, body odor blending with the smell of
salt air, lonely socks, and miscellaneous electronic equipment are lodged like
the casualties of war in every conceivable crevice.
Honestly, by the last week of camp I also feel like a
casualty of war. Physically, emotionally, spiritually battered. Willing but
wasted. It was in this depleted and slightly irritable state, as I drove a
handful of weary junior counselors up from our last boy’s camp in southern
California, that I had a short and surprising conversation.
A month prior to this moment Bob Nass and I had spent half a
week training some pretty green counselors on the details of counseling boys.
At that point it seemed to them, as it always does prior to stepping onto the
field, that the task ahead would roll from one touchdown to another. Difficult
… yes, but smiles the whole way. But a month later the silence of exhaustion
was only softly broken by the periodic tapping of phones texting friends and
family back home, held in hands attached to bodies sprawled on the bench seats
of my van.
I remember driving along with only the hum of rubber pushing
at asphalt, the glow of little screens illuminating the interior, and the wave
like wash of headlights marking the passing of the miles left until home. This
hypnotic silence was suddenly broken by Matt who had until now sat
uncharacteristically quiet behind me.
“Is it as frustrating for you to deal with us junior
counselors as it is for us to deal with campers?”
Hmmm … that had come out of nowhere. This kind of candid
self-reflection deserved an equally candid response. “Yes Matt. It can be
difficult … but it’s worth it.” I responded. “I love you guys and because of
that I don’t ignore where you are today, but I also don’t focus so much on
where you are today as much as where I see you heading. That encouraging
prospect gives me the hope that provides joy in the midst of what can sometimes
be very frustrating.” That was pretty much the end of the conversation but I
could see a thoughtful and satisfied look rest on his face as I glanced in the
rear view mirror. I hope he felt as encouraged as I did.
How many young men would have the ability to think so
critically about themselves? There was so much good packed into that simple
question. And it points out not only the caliber of young men that we have each
summer serving as counselors at camp, but also reveals the major thrust of our
camps. For sure our camps are about the campers who attend, but an enormous
goal of our ministry is to pour into the lives of the junior counselors. Just
consider the exciting opportunity that represents: a month of 24/7 training and
discipleship through living and serving together.
The fruit we see each summer in the lives of our counselors
is certainly worth a van defaced by months of ministry, and even a body wearied
by the task.
My very British grandmother became a nurse at the age of 14 as the war with
Germany was escalating and the Germans were practicing the newly developed and
imprecise science of rocketry on the stiff upper lips of Londoners. This meant
that each time my grandmother took the train back to the hospital in London
where she worked, another building around the hospital was gone, along with the
people who were in it at the time the rocket fell. In spite of this daily
danger the doctors and nurses, including my grandmother, stubbornly fixed their
jaws and served the people of London, running up to the roof to extinguish
incendiary bombs as they fell on the roof, rescuing patients from the basement
as it flooded with water from a broken water main, and in countless other ways
demonstrating a kind of courage that we rarely see in o
