Revenge of Camp Stories: Saturday, July 24.

I'm lying awake around 3 a.m. when the heat lightning begins, followed by deliciously cool gusts of wind.  Cracks of thunder follow, and some give the illusion (through sheer volume) of being very close.  The curtains covering the screen above my bed swing out well past 45 degrees from the wall, and I can hear the rain coming before it hits.  I lie in my sleeping bag for a couple of minutes even after it starts pelting in, riding the adrenaline buzz while submitting a request for the safety of all present.

Then I get up and tell the girls to move their sleeping bags out of the screened porch into the main room of the cabin.  There's plenty of floor space there, but I'm too discombobulated to think to drag mattresses along.  Fortunately, someone else thinks of it.  I move everyone's stuff away from the inside of the windward wall, and we all settle in on the floor.  It takes about 20 minutes for everyone to quiet down again, but no one is terrified.  Some girls take the opportunity to snuggle up with others.  It's like a slumber party, but without the party.

It's hard to get up that morning.  I wake them 15 minutes early to allow for dealing with sogginess, but the wind has dried the room overnight.  It's a disaster, though; all six of the campers in this tiny room have brought an incredible amount of stuff, huge tubs of clothing and jewelry and hairdryers, and they can barely rein it in under the best of circumstances.  Today, there's no way we can get this room presentable before breakfast.  Later, I request a day's exemption from cabin clean check, which is freely granted.

Today is the last of this week's classes; new classes begin on Monday.  I'm frustrated with Rabbi's Meeting today (the class in which Bible teachers discuss the text before teaching).  A staff member complains about how the campers in his class refuse to condemn homosexuals as sinners, then not five minutes later proceeds to mock some Christians he knows who choose to observe certain obscure Old Testament laws.  I catch the old familiar stench of belief that we're the only ones who've got it right.  I've known its odor for oh, far too many years: topnotes of ignorance with a deep lingering reek of self-satisfaction.  I don't hold my nose, but I hold my tongue.  If no one else smelled that -- if no one else sees that these particular beliefs just might be a point on a continuum of human Biblical understanding, rather than an island of Obvious Correctness in a sea of Idiocy -- then maybe I am in the wrong place.

My Bible class has truly been top-notch, and I tell them so.  They want to get the same group together for next week's class, but sadly, it's logistically impossible.  I let them have free conversational rein for a while today because they keep taking it in such interesting directions.  "Will the Jews who died in the Holocaust go to Heaven?" a girl asks at one point.  I refuse to give answers (though I do point out the distinction between being racially Jewish and religiously Jewish), but counter with another question: "What about people from other [Christian] denominations? Are they going to Heaven?"  Given the perspective I've just heard in Rabbi's Meeting, I'm not surprised that no one replies emphatically in the affirmative.  But a couple of them say something to the effect of, "Well, they haven't got everything right, but neither do we," and this fills my heart with hope.

We get an extended rest period to make up for the sleep lost to last night's storm.  Afterward, I play washers with some other staff members: Joe, Josh, Whompy, Daryl.  It's not the most exciting game in the world, and I'm utterly abysmal at it (or anything involving throwing), but I enjoy their company.  I'm still missing some people who should be here this year, and one in particular I wish I could talk with about the stuff that's been on my mind.  Even if he didn't get where I was coming from, he'd still listen and respond with respect and compassion.  But I bet he'd get it.

I'm headed down to check out the alternate swimming hole being used today (the water is super high after the storm), when I run into a counselor who's concerned about unsupervised campers in the Great Hall, but has no time to deal with it.  (No campers are supposed to be in the Great Hall without staff present; it's too out of the way to keep an eye on otherwise.)  I check on the Great Hall, but two counselors are there.  Cool.  Back to my original mission.  But I sorta forget how to get there, so I take the scenic route, and just when I'm getting close, who should I find heading the opposite direction but... those same two counselors.

"Hey, is there a counselor with those campers in the Great Hall?" I ask them.

"Yeah, there is," says one, looking a little confused.

"No, we were the only counselors there," the other one reminds her, "but... they're working on a devo skit."

I grimace. "There's supposed to be a counselor present at all times. Otherwise we have to kick them out."

One of them says she'll go sit in the Great Hall, but then waffles: a camper is getting baptized soon, no one knows exactly when, and she doesn't want to miss it.  "Okay," I say, "I'll do it, but let me know about the baptism; I'd like to be there too."

So now here I am in the Great Hall, listening to one camper play the piano, while screams ricochet from the next room (from the aforementioned skit).  It's cool and relatively mosquito-free in here, and the piano music's all neutral-warm-chords stuff, soothing without being distracting.  It's been the perfect opportunity to catch up on writing.  But I still feel grouchy.  Why? Is it because I found myself in the role of rule-stickler when other staff were willing to let things slide?  Or is it feeling stuck down here, away from the fun on the (hot, muggy, bug-ridden) hill?

Aaand now I'm out of things to say.  I wish I had that Celine Dion book handy.

*  *  *

"Shout to the Lord." Is not. A dirge.

I had to pull out my notebook and scribble the above at devo, which was indoors again (in the Great Hall this time, which is bigger and airier than the Lodge). This song sounded great last night at the Serenity campsite, but now was restored to its former slow progress.  I had to stop singing for a bit, because, oh my goodness aggghhhh.  Ultimately, writing that line was enough to help me vent and get over it, although it also attracted Director Jeff's attention.  He teased me about being a "mole," which made me laugh. Later I explained what I was writing and why.  He sympathized.  Whew, I was starting to think I was the only one who noticed.

Previously!  I didn't have long to wait after writing that complaint about boredom in the Great Hall.  Counselor Terri came in and chatted with me a bit, then pointed out that it was now nearly dinner-bell time.  We chased everyone out and went to eat.  The baptism took place afterward; no one had to miss it.  On the way to the crick, I openly eavesdropped on twentysomething counselors Josh and Joe comparing notes on relatives who pummel them with invasive questions about their (currently non-existent) dating lives.  It was tragically hilarious.  I can relate to some degree, but man, I have to admit that even my grandma is a whole lot more respectful.