Remember this post? When I was super nervous for Camp and I was weepy all day? I went to Camp the day after I wrote it, and everything turned out marvelously. I made friends at staff training (I was pretty nervous about that, but I felt like it was dumb to be nervous about it, because I've been working long enough there that I should be best friends with everyone already. But it turned out really well) and then this week, campers came and I had a wonderful cabin and the best co-counselors.
I just learned from these past two weeks how incredibly blessed I am. A lot of people were praying for me, and I just felt so loved and cared for. Earlier I was being so selfish. I was worrying about myself and whether I was going to be okay, but I was shown how very wrong I was and how much I was letting my thoughts revolve around me.
On the last night of staff training, the Knights of Columbus came and cooked some really good food for us, then some representatives from the Jaycees and the Lions Club came and I was just reminded that Camp isn't about me. Just because I'm a counselor doesn't mean that I make Camp happen. I may be a more visible part to the campers and their families, but so much goes into making Camp happen and never gets recognized. So much money is raised all year around for these beautiful people to come and let me love them for six days and so much paperwork is sent out and read and signed and so much thinking is done about each camper and how they'll do at Camp and all of that happens before I even officially decide to come back each summer. Camp is such a legacy; I immediately feel a special sweet bond with anyone who has worked there in the past, and I am so honored to work there now. It is a privilege to get to love my campers and to spend my time with them.
Campers were here this week, and I was humbled over and over again in so many different ways. When I was wiping bottoms and cleaning poop off the floor, when I was helping old ladies shower, when I walked with one of the ladies at her pace instead of mine (really really slow), when I woke up so many times every night to walk campers to the bathroom, I was thinking about how this is what Jesus does for me. And if He does this for me, I can do this for them. It's the least I can do for the least of these.
I'm a counselor. I help wash people in the shower, I have an extra sense for untied shoes, I tackle bodily fluids with an open nose and gloved hands, I kiss boo-boos, I distribute cups of water, I carry knick-knacks and epi-pens in my backpack, and I love those babies like they are babies. Except for they're not. They're all older than I am. Some of them are older than my grandparents.
There is one camper I do not get along with so well. I love her very much, but I don't like her always. Yesterday morning, she woke me up exactly one minute before my alarm went off to tell me that we were out of toilet paper, when in fact I had known since 2AM. All week, she kept calling me "baby" and I did not like it one little bit. She thinks she is superior to other campers and sometimes counselors, too, and it drives me crazy. She tells me things about other campers' personalities, trying to be helpful, but it really isn't. It's mostly just annoying. I spent a good amount of my evening yesterday folding her huge granny panties and didn't get a "thank you." Whenever she gets emotional, she won't admit it. She starts fanning her face and mouths the words, "hot flashes" to me, even though she's post-menopausal.
The other day, she made me a friendship bracelet. I'm currently using it as an anklet because it's so big. It's less of an anklet (or bracelet), however, and more of just two pieces of thread twisted together and then tied onto my ankle. But I love it.
I think the reason she drives me so crazy is because I am her. I am difficult to love, I'm ungrateful and I have no idea that I cannot survive without a Wonderful Counselor to fold my underwear and pair my socks and make sure I'm hydrated and don't trip on a pebble. This one camper reminds me all the time of how much I need Jesus.
Every Saturday, after campers leave, all of us counselors get ready for the next week of campers. We make banners that have to do with the theme and we find a fun way to write the camper names on them. This week was medieval week, and our cabin was "Darling Damsels of Dove." Our camper names were written on hearts with little white wings like a dove, and this morning while parents and caretakers were coming to pick up campers, one of mine asked me to cut her name off of the banner so she could keep it and take it home. So I did, and then everybody wanted her name to keep forever. So I cut everybody's name off of the banner, and they all eventually left my co-counselors and me, and later I got to my cabin and looked at the banner and thought about how it was so symbolic of my heart at that moment. The banner said "Darling Damsels of Dove" in pretty cursive letters and had the counselor names in the top right corner, and then the rest of the banner was eight missing pieces. All that was left was the physical cabin and my co-counselors and me, but what makes Camp what it is was missing. That's how I feel every Saturday.
This song is how I feel about my campers. Parents and caretakers and whoever else always thank me and tell me how much they appreciate me giving up my summer to be with my campers. And I'm not going to say that I can't imagine it any other way, because I can. I can imagine myself having a summer where I sleep in every day and read books all the time and perfect my frittata recipe while listening to Mat Kearney. And I would enjoy a summer like that. But I can't imagine enjoying that more than I enjoy Camp. I need Camp. I always thank my campers for letting me be their counselor. Sometimes it's hard for me to figure out the lesson a camper taught me, but I always eventually am shown something really great that I needed to learn from them. I'm pretty sure they teach me more than I teach them.
Campers are not so much campers and yes so much heroes.
Love,
Lauralicious
No comments:
Post a Comment