I write you now from a Starbucks in rainy Clinton, Mississippi. I was allowed today to attend the funeral of a close friend’s mother along with the majority of my Forge classmates from this past year. Now, we are waiting out a pretty persistent rainstorm that’s razzing all the drivers on I-20.
And confession: with this, I have now missed more camp this year than my previous five summers COMBINED.
4 days to illness
3 for a wedding
2 visiting a sister camp
A couple for this funeral.
(And a partridge in a pear treeeeeeee!)
I feel slight guilt. You would expect your final go ’rounds to be meaningful, purposeful, pedal to the metal. But I’ve missed like a week and a half of action now. How does that work? These were not my plans; I’m not prone to stepping away from my post. Maybe I’m like Red in The Shawshank Redemption… I don’t like being OUT.
I did hear something that helps me put it in perspective, though. One of the staffers at our sister camp, Crier Creek, did an internship sandwich: a summer on staff, a summer not, then a summer back. And his observation about coming back?
“it’s funny to see how people fill roles summer after summer. You always have the funny kid, the worry wart, whoever, even if it’s a different person filling the role each year. It always works that way. Everyone is replaceable.”
Even me? Hello, pride.
If I’m not at camp, someone has to make sure things run. And whenever I’ve been gone this summer, they HAVE. Well. I am not neccesary. My faith and obedience just allow me to join in the work God’s already doing.
(plus, after six years somewhere, you figure you’d get SOME vacation time…)