And he said: “Truly I tell you, unless you change and become like little children, you will never enter the kingdom of heaven. Therefore, whoever takes the lowly position of this child is the greatest in the kingdom of heaven. Matthew 18:3-4
That summer, the ringing of the bell dictated my life. It told me when to wake up when to go to my next scheduled activity, when to eat, and when to go to sleep. Time was a guess; with no phone constantly attached to my side, I learned to tell what time it was based on the position of the sun and the last bell. It was the last year in my twenties, yet I was living as though I was a decade younger. As a camp counselor, I worked alongside teenagers, recent high school graduates, and super young adults.
After hearing my story and feeling like I’d be a good fit for the camp, one of my professors, who also happened to be the camp director, put me in touch with the camp director her center hosted. The camp was a camp specifically for kids who had been adopted. But I stayed at the main camp once those four weeks were over.
During training, I shared my story and listened to the stories of others. Though they were vastly different, one thing remained common, our feelings of abandonment. I felt like I became the poster child for the trauma that summer, but I also didn’t mind. The other counselors had grown to become like family to me. Appalled that I’d never had my own camp experience, they ensured I could also experience camp as a camper, even though I was technically working.
I didn’t know it then, but it was one of my best things.
First, I must say that the work that goes into being a camp counselor is entirely underrated. The work is 24/7, and you always have to be on for the campers. I was incredibly impressed by the other counselor’s ability to do so. It was the most exhausting but also fun I’d ever had. Kayaking out to a sandbar in the middle of the water, mud sliding and eating PB & J sandwiches and s’mores, and singing songs by the campfire. Running ropes courses and creative writing classes. Learning camp songs to sing at mealtimes, walking across the camp to go to the bathroom, sleeping in a tent full of campers under the stars, and spilling your feelings after lights out in the safest environments. It was incredible and unlike anything I had ever experienced.
It didn’t matter who you were or where you came from; at camp, you were family. I was never laughed at for my perceived inadequacies. Even younger kids made it a point to build me up. It wasn’t funny to them that I couldn’t swim. Instead, they were concerned I’d be scared of the water. The waterfront director even tried to teach me how to swim in the cove. But when dead animals started washing up, I called it quits.
It was there that I learned about filling my bucket. About how it takes seven positive comments to combat just one negative. There was a bucket in the mess hall with note paper next to it where everyone could write nice notes to people to “fill their buckets.” The letters were essentially a way to acknowledge the individual’s awesomeness or something nice they did. At the end of camp, they were given to you. A few of mine are still hanging in my office.
It’s been seven summers since I spent eight weeks at that camp, yet I still remember the impact as though it were yesterday. Not just the camp but also the hearts of those who graced the camp. It was exactly what I needed to begin healing; establishing a sense of safety within myself and my environment. Until then, I had no idea that safe places even existed.
The Bible talks about becoming like a child to enter the kingdom of Heaven. Reflecting on my camp experience and even being a new mom, I can better understand why all these years later. Children are trusting, forgiving, hopeful and loving. Their emotions are unfiltered, and they see the world with wonder and amazement in their eyes. They’re imaginative, creative, playful, and often laughing as they exhibit their seemingly limitless energy.
As we grow, those traits get knocked out of us. We stop playing and often find no reason to laugh anymore. We become bored or scared or sad about the world around us. Our traumas and heartbreaks cause us to isolate and stop trusting people. Forgiveness is a characteristic that most adults can’t even mumble, often feeling that those who wronged don’t deserve forgiveness. But forgiveness isn’t for the other person; it is for ourselves—a lesson I had to learn the hard way repeatedly in my life.
To withhold forgiveness is to take poison and expect the unforgiven to die.
St. Augustine
Years later, I would embark on my forgiveness journey, even leading me to the one person in my life I thought I’d never forgive. But fortunately, that, too, healed me in a way I never knew I needed, but God did. And as hard as it was even to begin that journey, it led me to truly being able to love myself.
Everyone should have a camp experience. Everyone should also have a safe space to exist simply. I’m forever grateful for that experience and the counselors who made it possible for me. I firmly believe that if we, as a society, could be more childlike, perhaps we wouldn’t be overpowered by our traumas, and the world wouldn’t be so cold.