These, however are but a trifle for one becomes so accustomed to discomfort on trips like these that even the most banal of our normal daily comforts seem like luxury beyond measure. The comforts of home, however lacking any other day of the year are the very typification of perfection, on this, the first day back from work camp.
No, we didn't leave the country. Yes, we could safely drink the water everywhere we went and I never once saw fowl roaming freely or sharing my berth on a bus or a train. Mother Teresa would likely giggle softly at the notion of that our yearly sojourn is at all uncomfortable. There is food, there is shelter, there is love. All of these in quantities well above the minimum necessary for survival.
Myself and one other adult are the appointed quarter-masters and as such it is our responsibility to get 22 people and their attending articles into two fifteen passenger vans and a minivan. We will load and unload this caravan 6 times in 8 days. It becomes a science.
We split up into work groups that are different from the groups we travel with. This to ensure kids form bonds with other people from other places who have other beliefs. It is a good system. The traveling includes talk of which is the best band, or video game or fast food. It centers around whether school will be fun or hard, whether parents are cool or harsh and who will be holding hands with whom at the end of camp. Heaven and Hell, their existence and makeup were popular topics this year.
We stayed at the Clinton Middle School in Clinton, TN, which according to local lore was the first integrated school in the south... one week before Little Rock. It was subsequently bombed by the local chapter of the KKK whereupon the decision to reverse the integration was made and a separate school was built up the hill, within sight. That school is now a cultural center about the history of race and relations in the area and a poignant reminder of how far we have come. Given the provenance of the place it seemed appropriate enough to house us.
Sure, there were 16 showers for 380 sweaty people and the food, while served with love, sometimes tasted like the box it came in. And after a hard day's work, sitting on a gym floor listening to a poorly performing praise team sing the same 6 songs is kind of... well, it's a bitch. After all, I grew up Catholic where we invented the phrase "sit down and shut up." Out idea of a revival was Lazarus and there were likely not any electric guitars. You can always tell the Catholics and Anglicans during worship service because they may as well be wearing signs that say "I'm uncomfortable right now." This was my fourth camp and it doesn't get easier, but at least there is no talk of hate, damnation and vengence. This is a place where love is always the topic of the day. I can live with that.
Our project house was in our "neighbor's" family since built. The adjacent homes were also kin. It was a good old house, (a classic southern D style bungalow from what I am told), well built and in better condition than any of the other projects I had worked on before.
Heather, the homeowner, was my age or so and we liked the same music that was inappropriate to the job site at a Christian camp. We played it at inappropriate volumes and sang all the inappropriate words. I considered it to be anathema to the worship services... my little give back. The kids rolled their eyes and pretended to be unenthused. We knew it was a ruse.
The projects went well. Here I choose to leave out the details of it all since while they are paramount in my mind, they are not important to the experience. I bonded with one camper who had a past with some difficulty and a bright future matched only by her bright smile. She will be just fine and told me so with a big hug and a nice "care card" at the end.
Care cards are a camp tradition. Warm fuzzies that get turned over to you upon the close of camp. Care cards bring thought, tears, laughter and even surprise. I write a lot of them. I get a lot of them. I think care cards should be de rigeur in all aspects of life. They are wonderful.
I am encouraged by the singing and the laughing and the positive spirit that abounds. Most of all, I am proud of "my" kids, for they were absolutely the class of the camp in all respects.
LF Abbie, RF Lauren, LR Sami, RR The Author cheer on ourvictorious volleyball team
Lexie manages to make the author smile inspite a high fever froma sudden sinus infection.
About one year ago, I began this blog. I began it with a post entitled "An Embarassment of Riches." Again, I stand in awe of the intelligence, open mindedness and love these students have for God, the Earth and all who dwell here. They tell me I bring them joy and lively discussion and warm encouragement, but they just can't know what they give me in return.
The words simply do not exist.
Below are my hasty notes I wrote down in the blur of my return. I leave them below unaltered, for I shall suss these out in the near future:
Howard Johnson's Hell Hotel Ship of the Damned where you have to get into the hotel room with channel locks
The old man, possibly with dimentia who is writing twelve books "conversations with Kentucky..." and his constant Ypsitucky joke...
Dogs fighting
Ichthus and the trillion dollar bill
Clinton TN School
My Work Crew
My Neighbor
My kids
Wal Mart in TN is pretty nice!
I did not once eat at McDonald's... BK and Wendy's and Taco Bell, no comment.
Georgia Peaches
Happy "blogiversary" as it were... (it hasn't been one year, but it's been a "workcamp" year... you make up words, I can make up time)
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