First and foremost, I do it because I am serving my Savior and camp is where He has called me. I am committed to going where He calls me, and right now I know that it is at a small plot of land that is full of a whole lot of Jesus.
But there are more. There are so many stories. Let me start with this one.
This is a memoir I wrote for one of my classes. I'm not sure how well it will translate onto a blog format, but here is my try. May shed a small light onto the reason why, even this summer, and for many summers to come, I will be going to camp.
This
One Time At Church Camp
On
Thursday all the campers leave.
“UGHHHH!!
I want to go home!” James declared Thursday morning as he stomped back toward
the tabernacle. “Nobody loves me here, anyway.” He had just been pulled out of
a tussle that had broken out in the lunch line. I had separated the two who
were fighting, leaving one where he was and putting James in the back of the
line. This was not okay for James, who had been rowdy all week long. He’d had
enough, and wanted to be anywhere but where he was.
Extreme
emotions were nothing new for James. All week he wanted to go home, finding
some way to make the focus on him, negatively or positively. You see, James is
this squirrely character. Standing no more than 4’6”, this ball of energy was
constantly being carried back into the dorm by two of our more brawny
counselors, or being chased after as he ran from the tabernacle during chapel
time. James was an elementary kid taken to the extreme. But, oh how I loved
(and still love) him.
Of
course I was hot on his heels the instant he took off. Of course I was prepared
to sit James down and chat with him. Of course I was not quick enough to reach
him in time until, of course, he was lashing out at me.
~~~
On
Monday, I was prepared for the week of camp to begin much like any other week.
The soft call of the crow sitting in the distant tree provided a sonorous soundtrack
to the sundrenched morning. I had awoken fairly early that Monday morning,
unable to squelch the nerves and excitement I contained. The campers would be
arriving today! I was so excited to spend another week at my second home; I was
ready to get started spending every minute of every hour hanging out with the
restless third- through fifth-graders; I was prepared to expend all of my
energy only to crash for longer than I should come the weekend. After all, this
wasn’t my first rodeo. By this point, I was a veteran Camp Union guy. No sweat.
After ten years of a Camp Union Camper with eight as a counselor, I was
prepared for all that was to come.
On
Monday, I took on a new role at Camp Union. I was even prepared to be director
of this elementary week. I was a member in a team of young people, full of
fresh ideas, who were respected by the rest of our staff. We got along really
well together—unafraid to talk out situations; we tended to reach decisions quickly—which
was a huge bonus as we faced this bound-to-be crazy week. Us directors, we had
spent countless hours planning chapel services, afternoon activities, and
campfire talks—the whole gamut. With team JAB (Jessie, Allison,Brice), I felt
prepared for anything.
But
I was not prepared for James.
~~~
“James,”
I said as I entered the tabernacle on that Thursday afternoon. He was already
on the stage. “James, please just have a seat for a moment. We can take a deep
breath, wait until we’re calm and ready to join the group, and then go have
some lunch.”
“I’m
not hungry.”
“James,
this is the special lunch all of the counselors worked hard to prepare for you.
Don’t you want to enjoy this last meal we have together for this year of camp?”
I was trying very hard to remain patient with this kid. He had been on my last
nerve all week long. James never felt accepted at home. His parents let him
leave the house for school in the morning, only to return later than a
fifth-grader should that evening. James explained to me that there is hardly
any communication, and very little interest in what he was doing in school or
who he was hanging out with. Not one single adult in James’ life cared about
his growing up. I knew that camp was the only place where he was able to
embrace the truth of his being loved. I knew that camp was the only where
adults were completely invested in his life.
I
had to continue to love him, and show him that love.
“Come
on, let’s go sit on the benches and enjoy the nice fresh air,” I suggested.
James
wasn’t having it. He grabbed the broomstick we were using earlier for a limbo
competition. He started swinging at anything that was near him: the altar, the pews,
even me. Nothing too extreme, just lightly tapping everything (I dodged out of
the way). But I was on his tail. He was not calming down, and I was not going
to give in to his childish behaviors by letting him go without eating. “James.
Put the broomstick down. We are going to eat. End of story.” I was beginning to
finally lose my patience. James ignored me, and walked outside to the benches. I
followed him.
~~~
On
Tuesday I reflect about the Alpha Center. The Alpha Center is one of the coolest
places I’ve ever been to. It is a safe haven, giving children of abusive or
disregarding homes a safe place to go after school. Showing up into the campers
worlds, as opposed to the other way as it works at camp, has such power.
Suddenly, the adults who were interested in them for one week of their lives
are showing interest past what was expected. We “big people” are staying true
to our word: we love these kids.
And
the kids are so excited to show us their world! In the summer before camp,
James was playing ski ball. I walked up to him and challenged him to a game.
Being the competitive animal he is, he of course accepted. James was a
viewfinder in the precision-based game of ski ball. Every one of his throws
carefully catapulted into the 50-point hole as if it belonged there. I on the
other hand could barely get the ball to be attracted to the 10-point section.
Fortunately,
the center works closely with our camp, and brings a van full of kids to each
week. For a week, kids with some of the most gruesome back-stories get to spend
a week where they are truly important. Some of the homes that these kids come
from are horrendous. There are 11 year olds who could leave the house at 7:30AM
and not return until 11:30 PM and whose parents would not even bat an eye or
wonder where they were. They have no adults that truly care about them. For one
week out of their summer, 20 adults care about them. 20 adults wonder where they
are. 20 adults let them know they are special (because, for real, they ARE
special).
~~~
When
he arrived on Monday, I immediately knew James would be my special project.
Within the first five minutes of getting off the van, a fight had broken out
between James and another camper. Blame was being thrown around as to who stole
the basketball and who was really out in four square. At that moment, it was my
duty to break up the fight. As the director of this week of camp, I had high
expectations for myself. I wanted to reach campers in a different light than I
had before. James was going to be the one that I wanted to reach. Not because I
had to, but because I wanted to. James and I would connect I knew we would.
And
we did. He would have his moments, and I would have to remind myself, “It’s
okay, he is only in the 5th Grade.” He would act out, run away from
chapel services, and work me to my last nerve. There were times on Tuesday and
Wednesday where I wanted to grab him by the arm and drag him to a place of
solitude, to let him “sit there until he realized what he had done.” But I knew
that wasn’t the way to handle James.
On
Wednesday, the conversation I had with the J of team JAB, Jessie, helped me
understand how to handle James.. “I am at my wits end with this kid,” I said.
“Brice.
He wants you to be at your wits end.
He is testing you,” Jessie offered.
“How
so?”
“You
know how he is neglected at home. You know how he is constantly told no and you
know how he feels unloved by adults. You’re an adult. He doesn’t know how to
react to your unceasing love, because before this the only thing he knew from
adults was neglect.” I let the truth of those words sink in. He was really a
great kid, and I truthfully did love him. I needed to continue to show him
love. I could not give in. “Just remain patient with him. Show him the love you
know he deserves,” Jessie finished.
~ ~
~
“James,”
“I’m. Not. HUNGRYYYYYY!!!” He shouted with the most rage I could ever imagine an eleven year old to have. On this Thursday, James was a volcano in the middle of its first big eruption. Suddenly the new scenery became targets for his swinging practice; he brought down several branches full of vibrant leaves in one fell swoop. I decided to keep my distance. But I had finally reached my limit, and could no longer accept this behavior. It was time to show him tough love.
“I’m. Not. HUNGRYYYYYY!!!” He shouted with the most rage I could ever imagine an eleven year old to have. On this Thursday, James was a volcano in the middle of its first big eruption. Suddenly the new scenery became targets for his swinging practice; he brought down several branches full of vibrant leaves in one fell swoop. I decided to keep my distance. But I had finally reached my limit, and could no longer accept this behavior. It was time to show him tough love.
“James,
you will put that broomstick down right now. You will get in line for lunch. And you will sit in the cafeteria until lunch is over. I know you are much
better behaved than this, I’ve seen it happen in years before. This is not how a 5th grader acts,
and I expect to see a change in your behavior immediately.” He tried to mention
that nobody loved him here. “I LOVE YOU, JAMES!” I cried, my voice echoing
among the trees and camp buildings. He mumbled that he didn’t care, and then I
couldn’t hold back any longer. “Well you know what, James?” I retorted, “I DO
NOT CARE IF YOU DO NOT CARE OR NOT. BECAUSE I STILL LOVE YOU, AND WILL CONTINUE
TO LOVE YOU EVEN IF YOU DON’T LOVE ME AND DON’T THINK THAT I DO.” At this
point, everyone had gone down into the cafeteria. Except my boss, who had just
pulled into our camp to see me pacing around the benches with James, keeping
the bench between his swing and me. Her presence didn’t stop me from continuing
to love. “EVEN IF YOU SIT UP HERE AND NEVER GO EAT ANOTHER MEAL FROM THE
CAFETERIA, I WILL STILL LOVE YOU. EVEN IF YOU HATE ME, I WILL STILL LOVE YOU. BECAUSE THAT’S WHAT I
DO, JAMES. I CAN’T HELP BUT LOVE YOU.” The swings of his broomstick were
becoming harder and harder. The leaves were the raindrops that always tend to
pour in the emotional parts of movies and television sitcoms. “I HAVE SEEN WHAT
AN AMAZING KID YOU ARE AND I BELIEVE IN WHO
YOU ARE. I WON’T STOP LOVING YOU, BECAUSE I KNOW THAT LOVE IS WHAT YOU NEED.
AND LOVE IS WHAT YOU WANT. SO, DON’T CARE. THAT’S FINE. I’M STILL GOING TO LOVE YOU.” His rage had died down, and
suddenly his bat became a poker, investigating every hole in the dirt. Calmly.
Quietly. Thoughtfully.
~ ~
~
On
Thursday all of the campers leave. On Thursday they get into their cars to
excitedly explain to their families how their best friend poured water on them
during “Drip, Drip, Pour” and it was the BEST. THING. EVER.
On
Thursday, James didn’t want to go home.
You
would think he would. After all, it was on Thursday that I laid into him about
how much I loved him. It was on Friday that he got into his fight with a camper
that sent him into a batting frenzy with a broomstick. But, nope. On Thursday,
James wanted to stay at camp.
“For
real nobody loves me at home,” James spoke softly into the open air.
“James. I love you regardless of
where you are. Everyone here loves you and will ALWAYS be praying for you. You
know that.” I knew I would really be praying for him daily, but I also knew
that to an 11-year-old that promise had no weight to it. All he could see was
his parents ignoring his excited talk of what happened at camp. His Thursday would look very different than all the other campers.
~~~
On
Thursday all of the campers leave. On Thursday they get into their cars to
explain to their families all of the crazy memories they made this week. But not
James. On Thursday, James will climb into the van with the rest of the campers
from the Alpha Center to plunge headfirst back into the world that they so
secretly and internally despised. On Thursday, all of the camp staff will
slowly rip their hearts out as they watch the hours of love drive away into a
world nobody can wish on a young child.
James
knew I loved him. James knew that he was accepted. James knew that I was proud
of the young man he was becoming. It was a tough love, but I am reminded that
sometimes kids like James need tough love because it is caring for them at an
individual and personal level. I had done my job—survive the week, and love on
my campers. It’s campers like James who help me get through each day. I watch
him transform from a camper who was so deadest on going home I had to talk him
out of walking to his town (which was a
2-hour CAR DRIVE) while he sat, bags packed, at the entrance to the camp, to a
loved Child of God who dreaded traveling into the world he had momentarily escaped.
James
was the first to get on my nerves. James was the first to break my patience.
James was the first camper I screamed at. James was the first real tear in my
eye as I watched him drive away. Until next summer, James. Until next Summer.
And so it goes..
