Gardner and I had a day off yesterday. It’s a gift to be able to step away from the well-oiled machine of camp, knowing that those in charge will keep everything humming along in the right direction. Our team is second to none. It takes a village to make camp happen.
After watching bits and pieces of Tour De France highlights for three weeks, I decided to spend my day off suffering up on the Blue Ridge Parkway, biking up and down this majestic national treasure of a road. It’s moments like these when I realize just how beautiful the world is, and specifically this little corner of the Appalachians (latch-ins, not lay-shuns) that we call home.
Towards the end of my ride, the scene darkened rather rapidly. The sunny skies gave way to fog, and it began to rain. Then it began to pour. Then came the lightning, and all of a sudden, my legs, tired from climbing and pedaling for four hours, found the last ounces of energy, and I pedaled faster than I thought I could, trying to make it back to my car as quickly as I could.
What a feeling, though. Wind in my hair. Rain pelting my skin. Muscles on the verge of cramping up completely. Clothes completely soaked as if I had emerged from a lake.
My outdoor professor in college called situations like this “Type 2 Fun.”
Funny enough, just down the parkway, Lee, Ainsley, and a dozen 7th graders were enjoying their hike up Sam’s Knob. They, too, were caught in a storm and, like good Illahee girls, used it as a chance to sing and be kids. Some of their rain jackets worked better than others, according to Lee, and they ended up soaked too. It was nothing, a good attitude, a few songs sung while hiking in the rain, and a post-hike trip to Dolly’s couldn’t solve.
As a pastor and chaplain, I spent time with people who were struggling. Often they described themselves as feeling “numb.”
It’s ironic because usually they weren’t lacking stimulation. We carry around in our pockets the world’s most stimulating and connected device. Some people have one on their wrist, while others even keep one in their ear constantly. We’re tuned in to the entire world and are forced to hear more opinions than we can possibly process. Within it all, we’re continually reevaluating our worth in comparison to other people, their ideas, their image, and their curated experiences.
It’s not that we aren’t stimulated enough; rather, we’re not embracing the right stimulation.
Now I’m no social scientist, but I recommend reading The Anxious Generation, The Coddling of the American Mind, or Bowling Alone for a more in-depth exploration of the cultural trends surrounding our connection and well-being as a people.
But I am a camp director. From what I see and know, we live in a time where kids need to be stimulated authentically, to feel the joy and even the challenge of camp more than ever.
Camp invites these girls back to a place of real feeling. It’s the crackle of the gravel underneath their feet, the rush of wind through their helmet atop the beanstalk, the whoosh of an arrow leaving their bow, the weight of a half-ton horse underneath them following their commands, the adrenaline of flying off the tarzan attempting a flip, and the warm embrace of a hug from a counselor or friend.
One of my favorite theologians, Dietrich Bonhoeffer, often talked about the distinction between “Cheap Grace” and “Real Grace.” Similarly, it is the difference between “cheap sensation” and “real sensations.” The former are easily accessible, give you a fleeting shot of dopamine, but often leave you worse off. While the latter requires intentionality, creativity, and effort to achieve. The rewards, however, far surpass any difficulties, and you are left with authentic feelings, friendships, and memories to take with you in life.
I watched two of our counselors do this today. Funny enough, they weren’t even working. They were on their off period. Where many staff tend to spend their off periods scrolling through their phone, calling friends, or doing school work, Kate and Gray put on trash bags, covered themselves in dish soap, walked out of the Curtis basement into the rain, and repeatedly slid down the grass hill towards the tennis courts, laughing all the way down. When we want our campers to have authentic experiences, having counselors who are open to those same experiences too makes all the difference.
I realize that you don’t need this argument. You’ve already sent your most precious person in the world to camp for this very reason. You want them to feel, to be loved, to try new things.
Where you might need to be reminded of this perspective is when you get that first homesick letter from your daughter. I know they’re coming. I wrote them as a camper. I’ve received them as a parent. New things can be hard, and for many first-time and longtime campers, being back in this place on Monday was hard.
I spent an hour with Brooks at High Rocks during our field day there, which fell in the middle of the four-week session. I heard him say how much he wanted to come home. I saw real tears roll down his face.
And I picked up Brooks from High Rocks two weeks later, a more confident and experienced version of himself, full of stories, proud of the friends he made, and the things he accomplished.
I said earlier that camp is both a joy and a challenge. I can guarantee you that Illahee has a tonnnnn more joy than challenges. Every challenge that your daughter experiences, though, we know she can overcome. I know Lucy can sleep through the night in a new space without waking up her counselor. I know that with enough patience, practice, and determination, Anna can climb to the top of the beanstalk. I know that Jane can pass out of swimming despite being initially petrified by the unclear water of the swim lake.
The feelings of camp can be joyful, but with their newness, they can be disarming.
There’s no better example of this than what our Pineview campers did tonight. While Heigh Ho and Hillbrook stayed on camp with me and played an epic camp-wide game of “Legends of the Hidden Temple” (You millennials out there will get the reference), Pineview loaded up into buses and drove deep into Pisgah National Forest to slip and slide down Sliding Rock. I’ve never seen anyone go down Sliding Rock the first time and not emerge from the chilly water with wide eyes and a slightly frightened expression. I also rarely ever see anyone who, despite the initial shock of the water and sensation, doesn’t want to do it as many more times as possible.
At Sliding Rock, you feel a lot: excitement, nerves, fear, cold, adrenaline, and almost always, joy. I firmly believe that at Sliding Rock, as with all of camp, all the feelings are good. Because as we learn how to feel authentically, we also learn how to live authentically.
Lucas