"Identity Theft"

 

We settle with 98 students into an echoing gym, and they are bright with an energy that is ridiculous, hilarious, over the top absurd. Goofy, happy, and so excited to be here.

The boys have made a tradition of hand delivering luggage to the girls' cabins. Camp has made a tradition of nachos and hot chocolate waiting for us. And, even the freshmen settle quickly into these routines.

We are suckers for these kids, falling into ministry trip style habits of spoiling them even while we push them. Trading hats with boys who want a pom pom rather than a plain black beanie. Eye rolls and laughter at behaviors that are so much younger than what they are often allowed to be. So many moments where we follow their lead and let them call the shots.

They are known. And, they are loved.

We tell them, as often as we have cause to, that they are loved. Call them by name. Remember stories. Engage as deeply as we can. As if being without a youth pastor is constant excuse to remind them of value and worth.

Somehow, beyond our planning or our control, the most important thing is that they are together, in the presence of a powerful God.

They are young and light - and occasionally lacking in the prefrontal cortex - but there is Grace here to cover.

Grace for late night talks and midnight adventures in a half frozen lake. Leaders who carry responsibility when there is a chance to lay blame. And, kids who love each other through the ups and downs and sideways of it all.

We don't have a youth pastor. But, we have a team. 122 of us who are here for a common purpose. Fearfully and wonderfully made. Powerfully loved. Uniquely gifted.

Kids who stand on stage and lead worship with amazing confidence and skill. Who play instruments and provide glow sticks for throwing during during the final song. Stack chairs and reset chairs and stack chairs and reset them again.

Throw toilet paper until the air is thick with the taste of floating fiber and sweat. Wander through the woods until our feet are soaking wet and then come back to dry out with s'mores by the fire. Crowd surf and share honestly and laugh until our sides ache.

 

 Pray and allow themselves to be prayed for. Make space for the goofy and the absurd and the constant cogs in motion that is the reality of a team led retreat.

When 75% of the kids are there within ten minutes of the arrival time and we suddenly have almost an hour - because, what, Bethel people are never this early?! -  the Student Owners jump in and come up with something to do.

When the schedule shifts like puzzle pieces, they shrug and move on to whatever we tell them comes next. Where they need to be. When they need to be there. With the things that they need in order to be successful. These kids are quietly, honestly incredible.

They listen to two different speakers and still make the brain space for a 45 minute session on spiritual gifts.

 

My sweet cluster girls come early to stake out a place in the front row during my breakout-that-turned-out-to-be-a-large-group-session-instead. They listen carefully and respond authentically and do everything that we could think to ask them to do. When I run out of words during prayer, one of the boys speaks into the silence and prays for me instead.

Freshmen boys throw their arms around each other in this tight huddle as I pray for one of them and they each pray for him in turn. The girls tuck their heads in just as close. And, no one blinks twice when the toilet paper from the game is reused to care for snot and tears from all ages and genders.

We are together. Early morning, pre coffee time for quiet conversation and clumsy messes. Meals and free time, sessions and games. Bus rides and late nights. Mistakes and Grace.

Mainly, we are running headlong into Grace. Middle school style. Finding the limits. Testing to see if it will still hold us. Praying that they find its endlessness. And, bouncing back to find the hands that formed the universe still reaching out, secure.

Because, of course they are.

But, sometimes we need this reminder. Sometimes we need to play at what it might look like to live a little more like Acts chapter 2. To start conversations that we hope to continue long after camp has finished. Sometimes we need to wash ourselves in charis and eucharisteo.

There is a space at camp for being both a little bit younger and a little bit more mature. A space for imaginary adventures and wandering wild child through the woods after a pack of deer. For trusting each other to be the holders of stories that are shared with a supernatural ease. For photo bombing and play fights in front of the bathroom doors. For songs that echo in my head as I wake up in the middle of the night to pray for these kids.

   

 "Here in you, I find shelter, wrapped within the arms of wonder, Lord of all, so beautiful."

"I'm wide awake, drawing close, stirred by grace."

Over and over and over again I wake up to the words running through my head, to these insistent reminders to pray and pray and pray some more. Pray on the ride up as we follow the buses and the director of children's ministries comments on the strangeness of not knowing what is going on inside. Pray when I watch some of them fight back the way that Bethel kids have always fought back, proving themselves "responsible" and "mature" and "able to carry the world."

Even though the missteps have already been forgiven.

When I wish that Grace was a tangible thing I could throw over them like a blanket. Let them feel the strength of it with their fingers, see it, test it, know that it is real. Wrap them tightly enough to drive out the fear that ties their hearts in knots. That tries to whisper "not enough."

Pray during chapel. During free time. During games. Cabin time. Early mornings. Late nights. I am reminded that the most important thing that I can do is pray.

I've taken my 45 minutes to speak truth about spiritual gifts. Asked for their ears and their hearts and left the rest up to the Spirit. I bounce around, spending nights in different cabins, riding up different than back, but always separate from our girls. And, through it all, I pray.

Because, whether it is an ocean that separates us, or a few hundred yards, prayer is still the lens through which we see Grace. Still the tugging reminder that there is a someday coming. An already, not yet. Eternity to wash our mess in steams of living water, to join in with our hands and our hearts as healing comes.

"And, the leaves of the tree are for the healing of the nations."

I think of these kids: fearfully and wonderfully made, powerfully loved, and uniquely gifted. And, I can't help but imagine what could be, what will be.

"All fear removed, I breathe you in, I lean into your love."

98 kids. 98 living, breathing reminders of Love and Grace. And, I can only hope, that in our few short hours of weekend, they also have caught a glimpse of that. Have seen their strengths. Seen their giftings. Seen the way that the Body is meant to function together.

Not always smoothly. Far from perfectly. But, together.

Washed in Grace.

I can pray that they will let this be their identity.