I don’t know how it started. Thinking back I am not sure what it was that triggered the conversation but Nancy and I had a lot of laughs on our way to church today. Rayann had spent the night with a friend so it was just the two of us. We got to talking and remembering our times at summer camp. I was a counselor for a number of years. I loved it. There was a group of boys who came every summer, all summer. Each week they would show up and we would start camp all over again and after the first two weeks they new our routine better than we did. The director, Jerry, came to me and said, “Dan, I am going to give you these older boys…you take them and do special things with them…make their summer memorable, and help them grow in their relationship with God.”
Now what do you do with a bunch of 11 and 12 year old boys who are “bored” with the same old camp program? Well, we had some fun, created adventures that everyone wanted to be a part of but were special to our cabin. It started simple. We would “sneak out” during nap time and use those two hours to build a special camp area deep within the woods. We had all kinds of shelters. Over the weeks of camp we built our own little community deep within the woods. Nobody knew where it was but us. The cook was a friend of mine. We would “sneak” to the back of the kitchen and he would load us up with everything you would need for a campfire feast. The nights we spent in our own little camp were sacred. The conversations around our fire pit were special.
I got a phone call the other day. It was Claude’s daughter. “Pastor, are you going to be in your office today? I have something I want to give you.” I assured her I would be there most of the day. Less than half an hour later she showed up with a piece of paper in her hand. She sat in my office and said, “I am not sure about this. I do not want to upset you, but I have this sense I am supposed to share this with you. My dad was a poet. When he had cancer he wrote a poem about chemotherapy and I want to share it with you.” Very carefully, cautiously…almost as if not to hurt me she handed me the poem. It was beautiful! It captured ideas, thoughts, struggles that ran through my mind as I sat in that treatment chair watching this fluid of death and life flow into my body last Monday. For the longest time I simply reclined in my chair listening to my music watching the slow drip as the chemicals mixed and were pumped into my body. My mind was almost numb. I could find no words. Claude could and he shared them beautifully.
There may even have been a little sarcastic, less than flattering singing at different times…yes, I know how to solve a problem like Maria. Mom did not approve of the singing…which of course made it all the more fun. Looking back those were sacred, special times. If I see either one of those shows will be on television these days I call mom, just to make sure she knows…so Dad does not miss another opportunity to catch any new plot twists.
We quickly took care of some of the inside projects and then turned toward settling in and having a season of rest and peace.
