Kids' Camp is the tug and swirl of crystal clear water as it flows past us in its powerful, unhurried way. Icy cold. Strong enough and deep enough to bruise my legs against these rocks where I stand buffer between current carried littles and unyielding earth.
Jumping. Clambering. Swinging. Sliding.
Deep sensory input through the long hours of these days, until they fall asleep, exhausted, within moments of freshly washed heads hitting pillows. Miniature zip line. Rope swing. Horse back lessons. Hikes to the swimming hole. Hot sauce in the dining hall. Even the heavy Bibles that they cart back and forth to the barn for chapel are preparing their bodies for these conversations that spill off of our lips as we walk and swim and learn to cross the suspension bridge without fear of toppling off into the rocky stream bed below.
And, we really do talk about almost everything that you could imagine, as if the cathedral of the outdoors is enough to magnify the bumping up of life against life, to set loose the endless questions that bubble up like the hot springs that feed a sulfur smelling pool.
We practice eating family style in the dining hall. Practice passing to the right. Practice taking just enough, so that we don't have to wait for refills before everyone gets fed. Practice drinking enough water and being good sports and conquering our fears.
Talk about the crazy way that God made our bodies to interact with the world, about how we have minerals inside of us, about how hot springs work, and the natural consequences of not getting enough sleep.
Talk about grace and grace and more Grace. Talk about honoring one another and being the boss of our own body. Tell stories about seeing God in people's actions and gender bend the characters in our skit to adjust them to this crew. Talk about homesickness and courage and trust in a faithful God as we walk and swim and swing and eat.
Blast Skillet in the cabin and let them wander around with a speaker in hand to play Disney music or Imagine Dragons or the Cha Cha Slide, the horses watching them sedately, as if clusters of dancing children are the most natural thing in the world. Sing camp songs over and over and over again, and listen to them fall in love with the music team, even as they butcher the high schoolers' names.
Coordinate shower times and braid hair and help them cover the room in scraps of ribbon that tickle their noses at night and seem to constantly be falling to the floor.
Because, here, the most coveted changing spot is reached by climbing over the top of an empty bed and down the other side into a curtained closet. Here, we plan out every afternoon's schedule like we're coordinating a presidential visit and then spend in the in between chunks with kids who have been set free to simply play.
We talk about the things that they should say out loud and the thoughts that they should simply keep in their heads. We give out a thousand hugs and run our fingers through a million strands of hair. We watch them do that awesome thing time and time and time again, and we step back to let them spend a rotation in the pool coordinating the sale of seahorses to their fellow mermaids, caught firmly in this tween-ness of being almost-not-quite grown up.
Wade in the stream and jump in to swim in the deeper parts. Squeeze the water out of water plants to perch like parrots on our shoulders and then watch as we submerge them and they slime up again. Clamber up onto rocks and hold tightly to little hands to keep them strong against the current.
Set thirty-three elementary schoolers loose in this vast swath of campground and walk alongside them as they discover God.
Teach them to your children. Talk about them when you are [in your cabin] and when you are on the road, when you are going to bed, and when you are getting up.
Deuteronomy 11:19
This is camp.
Jumping. Clambering. Swinging. Sliding.
Deep sensory input through the long hours of these days, until they fall asleep, exhausted, within moments of freshly washed heads hitting pillows. Miniature zip line. Rope swing. Horse back lessons. Hikes to the swimming hole. Hot sauce in the dining hall. Even the heavy Bibles that they cart back and forth to the barn for chapel are preparing their bodies for these conversations that spill off of our lips as we walk and swim and learn to cross the suspension bridge without fear of toppling off into the rocky stream bed below.
And, we really do talk about almost everything that you could imagine, as if the cathedral of the outdoors is enough to magnify the bumping up of life against life, to set loose the endless questions that bubble up like the hot springs that feed a sulfur smelling pool.
We practice eating family style in the dining hall. Practice passing to the right. Practice taking just enough, so that we don't have to wait for refills before everyone gets fed. Practice drinking enough water and being good sports and conquering our fears.
Talk about the crazy way that God made our bodies to interact with the world, about how we have minerals inside of us, about how hot springs work, and the natural consequences of not getting enough sleep.
Talk about grace and grace and more Grace. Talk about honoring one another and being the boss of our own body. Tell stories about seeing God in people's actions and gender bend the characters in our skit to adjust them to this crew. Talk about homesickness and courage and trust in a faithful God as we walk and swim and swing and eat.
Blast Skillet in the cabin and let them wander around with a speaker in hand to play Disney music or Imagine Dragons or the Cha Cha Slide, the horses watching them sedately, as if clusters of dancing children are the most natural thing in the world. Sing camp songs over and over and over again, and listen to them fall in love with the music team, even as they butcher the high schoolers' names.
Coordinate shower times and braid hair and help them cover the room in scraps of ribbon that tickle their noses at night and seem to constantly be falling to the floor.
Because, here, the most coveted changing spot is reached by climbing over the top of an empty bed and down the other side into a curtained closet. Here, we plan out every afternoon's schedule like we're coordinating a presidential visit and then spend in the in between chunks with kids who have been set free to simply play.
We talk about the things that they should say out loud and the thoughts that they should simply keep in their heads. We give out a thousand hugs and run our fingers through a million strands of hair. We watch them do that awesome thing time and time and time again, and we step back to let them spend a rotation in the pool coordinating the sale of seahorses to their fellow mermaids, caught firmly in this tween-ness of being almost-not-quite grown up.
Wade in the stream and jump in to swim in the deeper parts. Squeeze the water out of water plants to perch like parrots on our shoulders and then watch as we submerge them and they slime up again. Clamber up onto rocks and hold tightly to little hands to keep them strong against the current.
Set thirty-three elementary schoolers loose in this vast swath of campground and walk alongside them as they discover God.
Teach them to your children. Talk about them when you are [in your cabin] and when you are on the road, when you are going to bed, and when you are getting up.
Deuteronomy 11:19
This is camp.
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