Ebeneezers are the worst

You know what an Ebeneezer is, right?

That line in “Come Thou Fount” used to confuse me. What the heck was that? We were making a Christmas Carol reference here? Scrooge in a hymn?

No. It’s a rock of rememberance, literally. An object that helps you remember an important moment in your life, your experience with God.

I got an Ebeneezer this week.

See, we have the kids paint rocks here for Arts and Crafts. This is actually pretty fun. Columbus has an abundance of rocks of different shapes and types, and girls like to paint things on them with paint pens, some of which are very creative. Some, too, are creepy–  I found a rock at camp the other day that said “Michael Jackson- RIP.” Interesting.

A little girl made me a personal rock after our Friday night game. We call it Battle of the Brumbies, and it works like this: all the counselors and staff get in a giant mud pit on the North side of camp and put rubber bands on our arms and legs. We then bring all the kids over, and for four, 0ne-minute rounds, they try to take the bands off of our flailing limbs. It’s a literal (but safe) fight to the death, and a really fun night.

But lately, the kids haven’t been as bloodthirsty as they used to be. The pit is a little smellier than usual (I blame the heat), so they don’t really come in after us. They kinda’ sit and watch, so we end up having to literally chase them to take bands from us.

This week, me and my assistant Program Director decided to start talking some loving smack to encourage a more passionate response from the young ones. We told them that we were too fast, that the kids couldn’t catch us– and we started saying this Monday morning to whip up as much of a frenzy as possible.

Flash forward to Friday night. I am standing in the pit, still clad in my bands, trying to keep the fervor alive. So I took my place between the counselors and kids, holding up my right arm with outstretched rubber band and asking the campers, “who wants THIS!?! Who thinks they can take this from me!?!”

And this 7th grade girl at the front told me, “you’re going down, Fuzzy Wuzzy!”

The round began. I dug my feet into muddy ground and prepared for battle. And this sweet, innocent young lady who I had just taunted…

…transformed into Kathy Bates at the end of “The Waterboy.”

I got tackled. My read end got planted into smelly Columbus clay. And before I knew, kids were all over me, tearing, tearing, tearing–

Anyway, she got my rubber band.

I thought that was the end of it. I acknowledged the fact that you should not rouse children to fury, and that pride goes before a fall. And then I got handed a rock. One the little girl had found before she left camp. And it proclaimed:

“Fuzzy got beat by a girl!”

and

“I got Fuzzy’s rubber band.”

But, worst of all:

“Fuzzy, watch your back, because (insert little girl’s name) is COMING FOR YOU!!!”

It will now be a paperweight on my desk. And furthermore, a millstone around my neck. Dang it all. Here I raise mine Ebeneezer, and it says, I literally got beat by a girl.