More important than the too-faint and quickly fading ballpoint and marker scribbles on my forearm, however, are the marks on my heart -- faces, names, questions and their answers, laughs, hugs, kisses, realizations.
I have realized
That God's Love is indescribable and amazing; His thoughts are higher than mine, and His plans and His wisdom unsearchable.
That I had not known, had not comprehended, and still do not fully grasp the range and depth of the Loves accessible by human hearts.
That it is entirely possible to have your heart and your mind altered irrevocably within thirty-six hours.
This weekend, I had the privilege of spending a day and a half with thirty beautiful children and a dozen or so of their counselors and mentors. The kids come from varied, tumultuous, and often unhappy backgrounds; the purpose of their time at camp is 'to give them a future and a hope.' The owners are fascinating, passionate people; the counselors are joyfully and wholeheartedly invested in their charges; the campers themselves? Oh my stars.
Yesterday started with a note of apprehension; we were cautioned in our debriefing not to touch the children unnecessarily, and never, under any circumstances, to touch them in anger. For me, physical touch is a way of expressing affection, and I worried that I'd forget that that might frighten the kids, or that I'd try to befriend them too quickly for their liking. My nerves were on edge for the first fifteen minutes of interaction with them -- I stood in a corner of the basketball court with my arms folded tightly, smiling for all I was worth as one boy sank basket after basket (He is so talented; he wants to play basketball when he grows up, and I bet he can do it. I hope he does.). Another boy joined the game a few minutes later, and after making an impressive shot, he jogged past me; I reached out to pat his shoulder, and, when he stopped short, checked myself with my hand already extended toward him. Sheepishly, I asked if I could have a high-five. He complied, then planted himself in front of me with his head tilted. I asked how old he was.
'Ten.'
He continued to look at me for half a beat, then leaned up casually, craning his torso so his little elbow could reach my shoulder (which had to be about a foot above a comfortable level for him). He said, quite distinctly and with no trace of shyness, 'What I want to know is: how old are you?'
I tried not to smile. 'Twenty.'
'Oh.' Thoughtful pause. 'I'm twenty-one.'
'Twenty-one? Really now?'
'Mmhmm.'
And suddenly we were pals. He patted my arm and started chattering with me and the boy next to me, a friend from school. The three of us talked for a few minutes (we discovered that our new friend aged more quickly than any little boy ought to; within seconds he was 'ten hundred thousand'), and then he trotted off to finish his game.
This story repeated itself in variant forms for the rest of the afternoon. The kids were (mostly) shy at first, but once we called them by name a few times, or played a game of GaGa Ball with them, they were giggling and smiling and calling out to us. At one point I noticed one of the smaller girls, whom I'd met earlier in the afternoon, wandering over the playground; she was asking herself distractedly 'Where'd my new friend go?' She turned toward me as she queried, and I was surprised and thrilled when she skipped to me, exclaiming 'Oh! There you went!'
Later, before dinner, the kids were split into cabins -- two for the boys and three for the girls. I volunteered (perhaps over-eagerly...I don't even care. I was excited.) to be one of the 'big girls' in the cabin. Once Cabin Two had been named and numbered, they came bounding and screaming over, and one grabbed my hands and yelled eagerly into my face 'Are you one of our counselors??'
I am not and never have been a camp counselor, but I now believe that I want to be. A lot. I felt the dorkiest smile spread over my face as I responded 'Yeah, I'll be your counselor,' and when six little girls erupted into delighted shrieks, joy and love such as I have never felt filled me. They didn't overflow, or pour out of my heart, or come bubbling and gushing out of my eyes as big, salty teardrops; they warmed me. It was as if someone had suddenly put a hot potato or a toasty brick, deep, deep in my heart -- in a place in my soul I had never felt, hadn't even been aware of, somewhere between my lungs and above my stomach -- a place I didn't know existed -- and it felt as though I were glowing, as though the intensity of the emotions was changing the very color of my skin and lighting me up from the inside out.
That sensation, that new and intoxicating sense of being in the presence of a love so intense, so much bigger than me, hit me again and again yesterday and this morning. I reveled in it; it was glory. These children...these tiny people...they are all so beautiful and so precious; each child has a story, a story I want to know. Each child has hurts, has brokenness; each one has a reason to hate the world, to be bitter and angry, yet they don't. I walked into camp expecting to have to minister, expecting to pour love out onto hearts that might not have received it; instead, I was loved. I received the benefits of ministry. Love washed over me not in rivulets or streams, but in huge tidal waves; had it been water, I would have drowned. There was so much of it, and each surge surprised and enchanted me: walking down to the main lodge from the cabins for dinner, one of the campers slipped her hand into mine, chattering about nothing in particular. During our chapel time, another little girl asked to sit on my lap; the boy next to us rested his head on my shoulder.
Over and over, something small from one of us -- a shoulder squeeze, a pat on the back, a ruffling of hair, a smile -- would trigger an outpouring of love from them; hugs and kisses were lavished on us, and I've never seen so many snuggle monsters in my life. These kids were not empty of love; they were full to bursting with it; it seemed that they'd been waiting their whole life for someone to receive all the love they have to give.
As I watched the kids running and playing all day, my heart broke, but my soul sang. Here were beating strong hearts that had been hurt, but that had received into themselves the love and healing power of the Savior. They are not unbroken, but they have been told that there is One Who holds them in His arms, and Who never stops loving them, and they cling to that promise, believing in it wholeheartedly.
In addition to interacting with the kids, we got to hear them sing all weekend; what a privilege and a blessing. Birdsong, the laughter of children, and the noisy water running outdoors have always been some of my favorite sounds. Now topping that list is the music of children lifting their voices with all their might and energy to sing praises to the Living God. There is nothing else like it; it is breathtaking. To God be the glory.
Between church services, one of my the girls who had been spending the most time with me looked me in the eyes and said 'You'll remember me, won't you?' I could have cried. I assured her that I would, and she asked if she could give me her phone number and email address; she wrote them down on my arm.
Before the kids clambered into their vans for their journeys home, another girl wandered from counselor to counselor, writing her name on all of our arms or hands.
These and so many other brief but charged occurrences are burned into my memory as things precious and significant; could I forget these children even if I wished? Never.
I'm still processing all this; it seems that I left for camp a month ago, not yesterday morning. How could so much have possibly occurred in such a very short span of time? How is it possible? I am amazed, astounded, and awed. 'Words are slow' -- I do not know enough; I cannot arrange them so skillfully as to communicate the tremendous and excessive joy and incredulity that overcame me this weekend. The intensity and concentrated quality of the changes wrought in my heart have terrified and blessed me; I can't thank God enough for giving me the opportunities this weekend presented, and I pray that He sees fit to grant me many more. I pray that I will be of use in His kingdom and show the world -- and especially little ones, whether 'mine' or others -- His unconditional and unfailing Love in the way these children have shown it to me.
Heavenly Father, You always amaze me.
Let Your kingdom come in my world, and in my life.
...
The kingdom of the heavens is buried treasure;
Would you sell yourself to buy the one you've found?
Your Love is strong.
There is no one like our God.
For greater things have yet to come;
Greater things are still to be done in this city.
'Let the little children come to me, and do not hinder them, for the kingdom of heaven belongs to such as these.'
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