I miss...

I miss camp.

I miss green apple slushies (without the lid) on paddle boat one-on-ones when junior highers apathetically claimed they “didn't care” what we did on our one-on-one so I get my way and we ended up in the middle of the lake where I could best concentrate on what they were saying.

I miss praying for God to give me love for my campers, then being (stupidly) shocked when He provided love every time.

I miss rubbing the back of a sobbing, homesick camper as I prayed with them or read them to sleep. I miss the hugs and tears and prayers and victory God gave.

I miss late night talks in the lobby of the cabin with the few brave campers who dared to venture out of bed with all other campers watching to come to me with questions about God and how to know Him.

I miss questions. “Is Jesus' last name Christ?” “How can I know if I'm truly a Christian?” “How can I follow God and live for Him?” “What must I do to be saved?” “How do we know God didn't create aliens on a far off planet?” “How do you know God is real?” “How can I trust God when my dad yells at me when He's drunk? Doesn't God see and care?” “If God loves everyone, does He love Satan, too?” “What does it look like to be a Christian?” “What if nothing changes when I go home and I can't live like a Christian even though I've trusted Jesus as my Savior this week?” “I have all these worries and fears...what do I do with them?”

I miss praying with campers in “prayer thumb” circles-at our meeting spot before meals and chapels, in the woods with a terrible bloody nose, at their bunks at night, in the lobby late at night, at two in the morning when they couldn't sleep, again at four in the morning when they still couldn't sleep, in the middle of the lake on a boat, in a circle before a game, in a circle with another tribe after winning the merit race, with a sister counselor before new campers arrived, in counselor circle...

I miss my campers who truly, truly loved God and desired to know Him more, and “sneakily” read their Bibles during cabin time.

I miss my campers who were searching for truth and asked all the right questions, yet never chose to make a decision in my presence.

I miss my first week tribe who patiently bore with me when I didn't know how to start a fire and ended up eating cold hot dogs.

I miss the way campers looked up to me as if I was some huge, spiritual giant that they wanted to emulate. I miss the way it humbled me and made me point them to Jesus who is the only perfect example of obedience to the Father.

I miss being the obnoxiously loud tribe.

I miss singing (and hearing!) 1 John 1:3-6 EVERYWHERE and at ALL times.

I miss not knowing how to be a good counselor, and feeling completely helpless, and being forced to completely rely on God, then see Him work miraculously and answer pray every time.

I miss junior campers who said the most HILARIOUS things! “What kind of pine tree do you think this is?” “A porcupine tree?”

I miss my tribe that begged to be read missionary stories.

I miss the tribe that utterly FAILED at anything even remotely close to being sports related, then made up cheers about being losers, complete with pyramids and other cheer maneuvers.

I miss the tribe that loved toasters...

I miss going to chapel every night and hearing God's Word be opened and taught.

I miss camp songs.

I miss my first week of counseling when I got a fish hook in my finger, had to leave camp to get a tetanus shot, had a clingy, homesick camper, got sick, and couldn't get the fire started on the cook out.

I miss campers' incessant questions and sneakily deceiving me into trying to tell them my age before Monday morning.

I miss teaching 1 John 1:3-6 in tribe talks every morning.

I miss smearing ketchup on some poor, unsuspecting campers' face every week on our action huddle.

I miss firebowl- the part of the week when I suddenly realized that all of my prayers and talks actually came to fruition, and God DID work, even though I couldn't always see it.

I miss asking my campers to pray for the overnight fires every week by name.

I miss sharing the gospel in every tribe talk, on every one-on-one and throughout every day, especially when someone shouted, “That's not fair!” The gospel is NOT fair, praise God!

I miss sitting in the lobby at night, talking to my sister counselor about our tribes and the gospel, and being angry at Satan and saddened for the eyes of campers whom he has blinded, then going to bed BEGGING God to unblind their eyes and let them see and understand their need for the glorious gospel and our wonderful Savior.

I miss the schedule and the routine and the “beautifully choreographed dance” that is the Camp Barakel system.

I miss the East Side.

I miss the feeling I always got right before I got a new tribe of campers-the sick nervousness that wore off into excitement as the summer went on.

I miss the MUD PIT!

I miss the “thrill” of acting on Barakel's Got Talent.


I miss the tech who could always memorize my campers' names before I could.

I miss sending campers out on TAWG during high school week.

I miss dramatically maneuvering my way through the Wonderful Wacky Wild World of the Barakel Wecandoits, and hearing my campers squeal in fear after a “sighting” of the Wecandoit creatures who like to pull you deep into their holes when you least expect it!

I miss painting my face with charcoal.

I miss the good conversations that happened around the fires on Thursday night.

I miss the fellowship with other counselors who loved God and loved their campers.

I miss being soaked in the Tug-o-matic EVERY week I was on E.S., and the campers who would apologize before they started pulling since they already knew I would get wet.

I miss being able to be as loud and fun and crazy and dramatic as I wanted, cuz campers loved it, and that was part of my job description.

I miss singing campers to sleep at night, then singing them awake again in the morning.

I miss losing my flip flops in the mud pit every week on East Side.

I miss over-obsessively head counting my campers.

I miss regularly scheduled meals.

I miss scaring my campers with the prospect of any love note they wrote being turned in to Jeremy Linsley and being read aloud to the counselors the following week, then seeing the thought process unfold in their heads as they chose to wisely avoid boys for the week.

I miss the “long” walks out to our cookout or campout and feeding campers “power pellets” to keep them moving.