"Time to wake up, girls!"
Muffled groans came from the lumpy sleeping bags that were my cabin mates. Our counsellor wasn't too thrilled about getting up, either, but I was glad to start the day. In the past week, I'd learned how much fun Glen Mhor, a Presbyterian summer camp in Ontario, could be and I wasn't about to spend my last full day in bed.
I jumped down to the floor, earning a glare from the girl in the bunk below mine. I just grinned, knowing her tendency to early-morning grumpiness. We'd become friends in the past few days; while it was my first year at Glen Mhor, she'd been coming for several, so she had showed me the ropes. She was the one who had rescued me when I was too shy to talk to anyone. That's one great thing about camps; there is always someone who won't let you be shy.
I wasn't timid now. After five days, I could climb to the top of the climbing wall, control the ropes at the bottom, perform a proper J-stroke, do a wet exit from a kayak without getting caught in the spray skirt and I could name every one of the 15 other kids my age at the camp, the legacy of a thousand name games our counsellors put us through. I appreciated those games; they taught us a lot about our peers, providing foundations to build friendships. And those friendships were invaluable in the games we played to build trust, co-operation and leadership.
Among everything that we did, from archery to the zipline (campers clip themselves to a long cable that runs between two tall poles and glide through the air), devotions was my favourite time of day. Sixteen kids and four counsellors — all Presbyterians sitting in a circle talking about God — had a quality of faith that I'd always craved. In other Christian camp settings I'd experienced, the group had been of mixed denominations, which was confusing. Here we were all on the same level, and everything made sense. One very effective activity was a representation of the body of Christ in which we were all given a body part and told to assemble ourselves in order with our eyes closed. Only those playing the eyes could see, and we had to work together to navigate. We managed to run into a parked car, but we learned something about teamwork. I've never had so much fun, and no devotions have ever left such a mark on me. And I'm not just talking about the bruise I got from hitting the car.
Camp life is a different world. Everything you encounter is a metaphor for faith. When I climbed the rock wall, I knew that my own strength would hold me up through the easy parts, but if I slipped on a tough section I had to rely on my harness and the person at the other end of the rope. It's the same thing in life. We can make it through some parts on our own, but we need to trust God to be our safety line when things get rough.
There were other examples: when we helped clean out the woodworking shed, we were doing our part to keep God's world beautiful. When we organized a campfire for the younger campers we were exercising leadership skills. When we set the tables, swept the floor or cleaned the firepit we were serving the community. And when we lay in the dark in the lower playing field, watching for falling stars and sharing a moment of silent friendship, we were practicing God's most important rule: love.
It was there, in the lower field, that I found myself that last night at camp. The 20 of us were gathered for our last after-dark session when all of the younger campers were in bed. For a while, we watched the stars and then one of our counsellors brought out a long cord. We stood in a circle. It was a tight circle and, at first, I was left on the outside. Someone noticed and everyone inched backward to include me. Suddenly I was part of a ring of people whom I barely knew but with whom I was inexplicably connected. Though the night was cold, I felt warm.
The point of our circle was for someone to take the end of the rope and thank someone in the group for something they'd contributed that week, whether it was a large or a subtle kindness. They would pass the rope to that person and they would do the same for someone else. I chose to thank my friend from the bunk under mine, but I could have said something to anyone there. When we were finished and the cord had become a web that was infused with our love and friendship, our counsellors made everyone a bracelet from it. No one failed to see how precious those bracelets were, and we wore them — wear them still — with a feeling that is almost awe at what they represent. All of the good things from that week are tied up in them.
I treasured my bracelet from the start. And as soon as I finish this article I'm going to go to the Glen Mhor website and fill in the application for this year.
