Camp Days
A month after graduating with my MBA, I found myself back in one of my favorite places, if the last place I expected to be: Beaver Cross Camp. All other internships, fellowships, and job applications had fallen through, so I got in touch with my old boss from camp and came on as a Media and Communications Specialist on the camp program team. I spent my first weeks out of grad school in shorts and a t-shirt, literally running across the miles of camp property to capture every minute of the camp experience on camera, in order to share it on social media, our website, and in videos. While it wasn’t the air conditioned office of a global NGO or B-Corporation that I’d envisioned for myself during grad school, as it turns out, that was exactly where I needed to be. And that’s the wonder of camp.
No, we didn’t plan to put all the guys on the program team (plus Ben) in blue shorts and all the girls in khakis. It just happened.
That stuff happened all the time.
I’ve been thinking a lot about those camp days recently. I don’t have words for how much I miss hymn sings and mafia games in the staff lodge or worship sessions in the Pavilion or the water wars across site. Some of the best afternoons in my life were hot July afternoons in a stuffy shed handing out snacks and bottles of Gatorade to campers and staff and my favorite weekends were spent on adventures with my fellow staff members and life long friends. Even though it was my early days of working in media and photography, of all my media work, I’m still proudest of those weekly camp videos — not because of the quality, but because of the heart I put in, the hours I spent editing rather than sleeping, making sure each and every staff member and campers made an appearance. My summers at Beaver Cross gave me some of the best friends I’ll ever have, and even the people that I only keep up with casually now, I still have a deep connection with. They are the people that still pray for me and I for them, the people I asked to be two of my bridesmaids, the people who photographed my wedding, the people I think about with the deepest fondness. The community alone would have been gift enough, but Beaver Cross gave me so much more - memories, lessons, friends, laughter, and, most importantly, a closeness to God so unlike anything I’d experienced before or will again.
God worked in mysterious ways that I’ll never be able to explain. I remember one Sunday morning in particular. My day started at 6:30am, which honestly was later than most days. Dressed and ready for the 10am Sunday service, I finished up paperwork for the camp week which would begin as the first campers arrived before 2pm, only to have to run around the camp site with a good friend and acting camp director as we fixed tents that had been bent out of shape by heavy rain the night before. At 9:30am, my underslept and overworked self arrived at the Chapel, arms laden with weekly schedules and assignments for each of the staff members. I sat making final notes, as I listened to the worship band play some song about the love of God. To this day I can’t remember which song exactly it was. What I do remember is the lists of questions and to-dos that ran through my head - was this the final schedule or would I need to reprint and redistribute by the end of the day? Were all the camper cabin assignments accurate or would they need to change 3 times before the day was over? Would the counselors be okay with their activity assignments for the week? Had we ordered enough t-shirts for all the campers that week? It was an isolating position to be in. But in that moment, I heard a voice in my head, one that was as calm and smooth as honey, gentle like summer breeze say ‘this camp stands up by the strength of your heart'.’ I felt the tears spring from eyes and a peace settled over my spirit. The many questions that always buzzed around my head in the lead up to a camp week remained, but I felt rested for the first time in what felt like months, and I had a certainty that everything would sort itself out. I set aside my pile of paperwork and turned my mind to worship for the rest of the service.
How how I miss these days with my favorite camp ladies!
Then there was the high school week where somehow rumors started to fly between the campers about one of their own, causing tempers to run high and girls to congregate, sobbing in bathrooms. One night, as the threat of a thunderstorm loomed and the drama reached its peak, we abandoned our evening outdoor game plan and had a spontaneous worship session in the Chapel, where I witnessed our worship (and sports — we all wore many hats) leader calm the entire camp. His music was unlike anything I’d seen, moving from traditional worship music into atmospheric, improvised guitar that can only be described as ‘Spirit-filled.’ After about a half hour, he started to talk with a gentleness and an authority that, again, had to be of the Spirit, and his words ushered in a sense of forgiveness and calmed the drama of the previous days. That night, counselors and campers went to bed calmed and settled, all because the thunderstorm threatened to come crashing down at a moments notice, driving us to change our plans radically. Interestingly, it didn’t end up raining that entire night.
Honestly, though, most of the time God worked in the simple ways, in how our stressed and sleepy selves continued to get up each morning filled with joy. Some summers were harder than others, but regardless of the year, we always found that spirit of joy. The summer of 2014 was a particular challenge, as our camp director quit suddenly days before campers were arriving, leaving the staff adrift, confused, and hurt. I found myself launched from humble hospitality intern to what the staff started to call the “Camp Brain,” managing most camper and counselor logistics and media needs. It was a tough, emotional time for me and my fellow program staff, bringing our best selves to show up for the counselors who were processing their own emotions in the wake of the changes. One of my dear friends and I took it upon ourselves to live the joy we couldn’t necessarily feel; we skipped to meals with campers, dropped of care packages to counselors, and rode around on our golf cart in costumes, waving bubble wands. As we did that day after day, we found that weren’t just acting with joy. We were feeling it. Our friendship was forged in the crucible of that summer, and surely is one of the most powerful, if seemingly simple ways I saw God at work at Beaver Cross.
Today I love my life. My days are filled with so much happiness and blessing, so much more than I ever could have imaged life could contain. I am beyond blessed to spend each day with the most incredible man, the love of my life. My job is rewarding and stimulating, and I have some of the greatest coworkers I could ask for. Our apartment is cute, filled with vintage décor and plenty of plants. Potsdam, for being in a remote, forgotten corner of the world, has everything that I need: coffeeshops, river views, hikes, and church a short walk from home. That said, there’s a part of my heart that misses the smells of sweat, dirt, wood, and something I can’t quite identify - the smell that filled the staff lodge. I miss waking up, tossing on clothes, and walking into a room full of friends who are as ready to duel you in a water gun fight as they are to pray for you, and in fact the day ahead will likely contain both. I miss the sleep deprived laughter and how exchanging the peace at the Sunday service would take a full 5 minutes because every single staff member had to give the peace and a hug to every other staff member. I miss the night swims, living off of trail mix, and convincing everyone on staff to take a box lunch in a canoe and eating it on the lake on a Saturday night. I even miss the early morning pre-meeting staff meetings and the late night post-meeting debriefs. My time there has passed, but it gave me so very much. So much more than I can ever articulate.
“It isn’t Narnia, you know. It’s you! We won’t see you there!”
Reflecting on those times reminds me of the truth about camp I realized going home after my first summer: Beaver Cross is my Narnia. It why every summer I was there I knew I was meant to be there, and while as much as I’m sad those days are over, I have a peace about that. At the end of Voyage of the Dawn Treader, C. S. Lewis’ character of Aslan tells Lucy and Edmund that they won’t come to Narnia again. They are devastated, “It isn’t Narnia, you know,” Lucy cries, “It’s you! We won’t see you there!” To which the great lion responds that they were called to Narnia, so that “by knowing me a little here, you may know me better there.” That it the greatest truth about Beaver Cross, if you ask me. It’s a place we go when we are called, and while we are called for all kinds of purposes - to be the Camp Brain or lead worship or encourage the staff or be a counselor that campers remember for their entire lives - we ultimately are called for the same, single purpose: that by knowing Christ to easily and profoundly at Camp, we can find Him more easily in the outside world. It is a place that prepares us to share the love of Christ in the way we live our lives, for the rest of our lives, and strengthens us to recognize the presence of Christ in our lives, no matter the struggles we find ourselves in. It is a place that reminds us that we are wonderfully and uniquely made, as each member of the staff is loved and accepted for exactly who they are. It is a place unlike any other.
Beaver Cross Staff & alumni - our community in Christ.
Even though my days on staff might be over, my days as a member of the Beaver Cross community will never be over. Like the children in Narnia realize that once a king or queen of Narnia, always a King or Queen, we are Beaver Cross staff forever. The camp’s motto and mission is ‘Building Community in Christ.’ I know no organization that adheres to its mission so well. It’s because of that community that Beaver Cross will never be over for me - after all, camp isn’t the place. It isn’t even the water fights and worship sessions and all manners of shenanigans. It isn’t the campfire songs, sweaty t-shirts, or the inside jokes with the most amazing friends I’ll ever know. No, at the end of the day, at the heart of Beaver Cross is that community in Christ, a community that stretches across time and space. It is a community that, if I know anything, isn’t going away anytime soon.
