Stories from the Summer

There are so many moments during the days that I step back and think, “Wow, this is my job. I’m so blessed. I get to have fun and hang out with kids and get paid for it!”

Then there are the moments when I stop because I realize I’m in the middle of something that, outside of the context of camp, is utterly ridiculous.

Like in summers past when I put on a child’s bumble costume and painted faces for the kids carnival.

Or when I was in a skit based around the ever-so-juvenile act of spitting.

Or, for example,  right now when I’m  in a trash bag under a truck topper lying on the dirty ground next to the maintenance shed hiding from campers.

THIS IS MY LIFE?!?!

I am 23 years old. And adult. A woman. A college graduate. And here I am- literally down in the dirt- in a pathetic attempt to avoid being pushed into the lake during the infamous game of Counselor Hunt.

 I picture myself through the eyes of my friends, family, teachers, etc. and am embarrassed and somewhat ashamed- I mean I know people who are younger than me and less mature to boot- and they are already raising families of their own, moving into houses with porches, and working 9 to 5 jobs where people take them seriously and sit around giant conference tables and wear suits.

And here I am acting like I’m the 7-year-old camper who is after me for stealing an Oreo from him.

I start planning what I’ll do if I ever get out of here alive.

I feel like a soldier in the trenches (apologies to those who have fought real battles- but I really felt that this was the never-ending game of Counselor Hunt). I’m suffocating in my own self-loathing by this point.

So I make plans- I’ll work for a prestigious publication writing public interest pieces and traveling all over the States. Or I’ll work for a non-profit company promoting clean water for children in Africa or maybe even start my own company selling clothing made by women in India recently freed from the sex trade. Something important and fulfilling and world-changing, of course.

Then I am awakened from my thoughtful daydream to the sound of footsteps, the creak of the window, the crinkling of trash bags.

I am caught.

A little boy’s face appears and he is smiling with sound- reaching out in joyful realization that he gets to shove me off the dock into the lake.

My planning takes a backseat as my heart is lifted up from the cobweb-filled truck topper. I emerge into sunlight in more ways than one.

What can I say? I’m a kid at heart- an idealist. And this place and these people keep me afloat. And maybe that is one of the many little reasons why I (somewhat reluctantly) stay in camp ministry.

That plus not paying rent plus having all my meals cooked for me plus having built-in friends, of course.