DVRC

This morning, we went out to camp for the Sunday service.
Simon happily played in the bushes the entire service and Claire had one of her grand mal meltdowns for who knows why (did I mention she's a crazy toddler now?)

Trevor and I grew up as campers at Dallas Valley. We both played wide games with enthusiasm, rode horses and climbed high on the wall there. I have vague memories of a tall boy chasing me during Capture the Flag and giggling with him during a Drama skill. He remembers a very loud girl (who me?) who would tease him relentlessly. I have his phone number in one of my old journals.

Later, we worked on staff together. We have a collective memory of more wide games, drama skills and the chokecherry Olympics. (Later, we hung out in university, lost touch, got reacquainted and then fell in love).

Camp was the place I longed for every summer. It was the one place, growing up, that I felt totally free to be me: silly, ridiculous, clumsy and outdoorsy. I loved being a camper there but, even more so, I loved being a staff member.

Every Monday, new campers would roll in, spend the week challenging me and changing me and then, roll out on Sunday. Rinse, later and repeat for 8 weeks and camp life made me the person I am today. I loved the structure, the goofiness, the Christ-centeredness and the friendships that was my summer for 8 years.

It's weird going back now. I still know a lot of the staff. They're former students and campers and they've grown up so well. I still know the songs and the routines. However, my life has changed. I've grown up and moved on. I get sad about that. Sometimes I wish I could braid my hair, slip on some cut-offs and flip flops and go run around for a week or two.

In a few years, Claire and Simon will be ready to be staff kids and I'll braid my hair, stick on a bandana and head back to camp. I think I'll cook instead of counsel. I'll be in my late 30s by then and something tells me I won't be cool enough to be a counselor anymore.

Maybe, if I'm lucky, there will be a tall custodian who will chase me during Capture the Flag and give me his number. Maybe we can teach our kids the Chokecherry Olympics. (I'm always a sucker for a good camp romance.)