Camp is a bunch of things.  It is smores around a fire.  (I had a great one made ‘specially for me, because at our camp you can’t make your own smore.)  It is silly songs.  It is playing in the water and on the field and outside and inside your cabin.  It is laughing at the Old Testament reading.  And it is more.

It is hearing that not even death can separate us from God.  Even when you are 8 years old, because even 8 year olds have experienced death in their lives.

It is getting a lot of attention because you need a lot of attention and leaving your priest for that week wondering and praying about why you need that much attention.

It is scrapped knees and homesickness and visits to the nurse.

It is talking with a counselor who is nearly convinced they aren’t a good counselor because they aren’t a natural clown.  And watching them figure out, over the course of that conversation and the next day or so, that they are a good counselor who can become a great counselor.

It is watching kids tell their parents about the things they have done this week–smores and sailing, games and giggling, skits and so much more and seeing the parents relax as they begin to really believe that sending their beloved children away for a week, for a whole week, was not only okay, but a really good thing.

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