Where the Oak and White Pine Grow

I remember being 9 years old,
having heard stories about Camp Roger from my older sister and brother and even my dad,
running after the service to the information shelves at church
to see if the brochures for summer camp had yet arrived.

I remember the names of all my counselors, those 5 summers between ages 9 and 13
Jane, Lori, Bonnie, Leah, Amy & Kris.
I remember the taste of Sassafras and Blue Spruce tea,
the joy of picking out a candy order EVERY NIGHT,
the worry of whether there would be enough light in my cabin at night so I wouldn’t be scared,
the awe of gazing at the brilliance of stars by firelight on campout night,
the delight in counselors who were fun, silly, loving, genuine, and creative
who loved Jesus and helped my faith grow in evening devotions around a candle in the cabin
or while singing songs in the dining hall, or during chapel in worship, or at serenade at the end of the week
who let me ask my hard questions and showed me how to seek God more.
It was a place I felt I could be most myself and accepted for who I was–quirks and all.

I remember being 18-21 years old,
coming to Camp Roger as a counselor and learning how:
to project my voice so 180 people could hear it,
to start a one-match fire,
to lead Capture the Flag,
to plan and lead devotions with a cabin full of girls,
to teach kids to clean up after themselves,
to cook over a fire,
to clean up another person’s throw-up,
to comfort homesickness even while dealing with some of my own,
to help create community with strangers coming together for a summer or a week,
to depend on God for the right words to share my love of Jesus and his word with others,
to discover who I was as a leader
and to meet and love the man I was to marry.

I remember one summer together, newly married,
braving and fearfully obeying God’s call to leave the familiar and comfort of full-time jobs, stepping into the unknown
which included work as an assistant cook in a position I didn’t love but knew I needed to do,
learning how:
to prepare food for roughly 200 people,
to communicate with my spouse while navigating life changes and challenges in rooms with paper-thin walls,
to trust God’s presence in a place where I had always experienced Him loudly and clearly, yet then,
quietly, infrequently, and searchingly.

I remember coming back in my late twenties as a staff spouse with 2 young children,
having worked at 2 other camps, staying for over 2 more decades,
learning how:
to listen more to older support staff’s walk of parenting, marriage, life, faith
to become one of those older support staff members,
to mentor those younger than me
to serve in various roles,
to see hope and joy in and through young adults every summer, one after the next,
to witness God’s faithfulness
and how He makes everything new again while remaining the same,
to build community in longer-term spans
needing to say goodbye and hello every summer to wonderful people
(which simultaneously wrenches and stretches your heart),
to welcome back those who have left and return,
to widen the circle of belonging,
to trust God during major changes and losses and deserts and mountain-tops and deep valleys.

Now I am 52,
having spent (in part or in whole) 33 summers of my life at Camp Roger
and within those, 23 years supporting Doug in love and ministry as he served full-time
watching him grow, wrestle deeply, challenge and be challenged, struggle, and flourish,
and raising my children to become adults deeply formed by God through this place.
I have witnessed God:
do immeasurably more than I could ask or imagine,
transform over- and under-confident people into leaders for His kingdom,
display His awe through
the face of a child, a shooting star, the tears of another, the songs in a crowded dining hall, the silence of the woods, the delight of a smore,
drawing children and adults alike
to encounter and celebrate God’s love for His children through relationships and experiences in Creation.

Now I will become part of the great cloud of witnesses (even while still being one surrounded)
and envelop those who continue Jesus’ work through this special place
in new ways and old,
all of us running, even while stumbling, even while stopping to gasp for breath,
the race He has given us with perseverance, our eyes fixed on Jesus until
His kingdom comes, his will be done,
on earth as it is in heaven,
trusting the One whose hands the wonders wrought and
to whom all nature sings and round us rings the music of the spheres
until earth and heaven be one.

Now I end this, knowing I cannot write it all,
and boldly, humbly borrow words from John in the last chapter of the gospel God inspired him to write.
Jesus did many other things as well. If every one of them were written down, I suppose that even the whole world would not have room for the books that would be written about how God has revealed Jesus to me through this special place, Camp Roger.
God be with you till we meet again, my friends.
we we.