Zoe has been participating in a day camp this week. It is run by a regular overnight camp, but they take the fun on the road and do day camps throughout the midwest. All the craziness without the homesickness. Zoe is in heaven.
As I dropped her and her friends off this morning, I watched the counselors. Full of energy, singing camp songs, bouncy in their athletic sandals, wearing the proverbial whistle around the neck, these folks are chock full of love for kids and love for Jesus. My daughter believes they hung the moon.
Just looking at their youthful exuberance makes me tired.
Loping back to my mini-van, too pooped this morning to do much more than slam a baseball cap on my head, I thought, “really? I was one of them at one point?” And at a sleep-away camp no less. On a lake. With swimming, and singing, and archery, and rustic camping, and discipline, and, and. Really? I did that? I shouted camp songs? Threw people in lakes? Did silly skits? All on very little sleep? (must fit in a camp romance and practical jokes sometime, you know!)
I did. For three years. It was the experience of a lifetime with friendships made that are irreplaceable (ahem, ahem, Naomi please come home already!) And some of my favorite campers are my friends on Facebook and mamas themselves.
Though watching the perky counselors this morning made me tired, it also made me grateful. Grateful that the world keeps spinning, and that I keep aging (birthday this week–yahoo!!) and that God brings up more youthful Naomis and Randys and CJs and Marks and Denises to make camp what it is for kids. It’s a wonderful thing.
Thank goodness someone has the energy for it.