you can't stay here

One of my favorite things ever happens at dusk almost every night during the summer. The grove of trees near IROC and the zipline are home to like a zillion fireflies, and they make the trees sparkle as they do whatever they do. Its magical. I had a thought one night that I wanted to be seven again and catch a bunch of them in one of the Mason jars occupying the shelf in the kitchen. I didn't, because I remembered what it was like when I did that when I was seven. It was so disappointing; the fireflies looked creepy and crawly and didn't twinkle as much when they were all crammed into the jar. The fireflies weren't made for that jar.  Neither are we made for this mountain.  

It feels so empty with staff and campers gone! There are no kiddos squealing down the zipline, no music blaring from the dishpit, no one to take over the staff cabin, which is almost back to normal for me. Camp road is strangely still, and the Dining Hall porch is no longer the center for games, reflection, or good conversation. I'm wearing my Chacos less, I wear real clothes when I go out, and yes, I still check Instagram impulsively to see if there are any throwback posts. Whatever is next this fall is quickly approaching, and I'm fighting feeling empty as well.


Several conversations are still hanging in the air in my headspace, conversations about how camp is a place of safety, where staff can be themselves and experience true community, however rapid-fire that community may form. Conversations that inevitably end with "I DON'T WANNA LEAVE!" And why would you?

Where else do you give so much of yourself and have an unbelievable amount of fun doing it?
Where else do you see the body of Christ working and moving together towards one goal?
Where else are you challenged to follow Christ wholeheartedly every day, choosing others above yourself?
Where else do you get to worship every day beside a whole room full of people your age? 
Where else do you do ridiculous things late at night and still find joy in getting up in the morning to do it all over again?
Where else can you be poured into as you pour out physical, emotional, and spiritual energy?
Where else do you form relationships that turn conventionality on its head by wading deep in a short amount of time?
Where else does food cooked over a campfire actually taste good?
Where else do you see bears leafing through your stuff on the reg?
Oh yeah, and where else do you break into dance in large groups?

What if the answer to most of those questions wasn't just camp?  What if camp was not the ultimate place to experience some of these things, but training for real life? You don't want to go back to normal life, you said when you left. You don't want to fall back into old patterns, I heard you say. You're frustrated that your college/high school/life friends aren't like camp friends, you told me. You are afraid of getting complacent again, you confessed.

Don't. Experience real change. You were not made to stay on that mountain. You were not made to live in the State of Hype of which camp is the capital. You were not made to huddle like fireflies in my seven year-old self's jar.

You were made for the mountains and the valleys, the times of hype and the quiet times, the period of bearing fruit and the process of growth to bear more fruit. You were made to take what you've learned and experienced and live it out in the places you live every day. You were made to be a functioning part of THE Body, not to stay clustered in the palm of the hand on the body.

That night in the gorgeous chapel as the rain rolled down the backlit windows, you told stories of how you learned to trust God more because you saw Him provide strength and patience for you every day. You said you had never been sharpened by other followers of Christ in the way that you had this summer. You said you depended on Christ because you had to, and that you experienced love from others in a way that blew you away.

What you experienced wasn't limited to camp. It was Christ.    

Camp is an extraordinary, breath-taking space of time and place. Camp is a place of growing up and growth, of learning responsibility, compassion, initiative, and humor. Camp is a place where you can be your good, bad, and ugly self and experience grace in tangible ways. Camp is a place where relationships form and spark quickly and deeply. Camp is a place of unmatched silliness and fun.

But camp is to everyday life what the kiddie pool is to the Olympic pool. The summer was pivotal because Jesus was in floaties hanging out at the center of the pool. He showed up and gave swimming lessons. The opportunities to know Him more, to see Him at work, to serve selflessly, and to walk with other people beside you are multiplied when you immerse yourself in the Olympic pool. Don't miss out on them because you miss playing in the kiddie pool.  


Take the growth, take the healing, take the discipline, take the relationships, take the failures with you as you figure out what the next season looks like. You've been scattered from the mountain, but you've been equipped to handle the valleys.  You saw God work in the lives of your campers; look for Him working in your roommates. You saw yourself grow because it was hard. Look for new growth in a month or two.  You failed and were held accountable; be teachable when it happens again.  You experienced joy because you were where you were supposed to be this summer. Ask for that same joy for the remainder of the year.

You can't stay here any more than those fireflies could stay in the jar. You'd burn out. You'd lose your luster.  Go, be light to your world. Depend on Christ for strength and seek Him on the daily. Use your gifts and be confident that God is with you, working in and through you even when you can't see results. Be bold, the way you were with your campers and with each other. And know that in your going you are part of an incredible display of wonder, made more full by the scattering.