I’m in a world I thought I would never inhabit… In fact I’ve prided myself on not inhabiting this world for a while. It is the world of … ‘camp’. For the uninitiated amongst you this is a word that divides Christians. At the mere mention of the word camp (we’ll lose the quotation marks for now) some Christians leap for joy, jump around the room and declare in loud voices that it is the best week of the year. The rest of us stare on bemused by how a week with teenagers could possibly fall into that category. For lots of people doing camp is an essential part of the ‘Christian Experience’. To be honest I was proud I’d never done camp. I had never done camp and I was still here, still on the path to glory and heading to the promised land.
Then I married a man who did camp. Hmm. The call came, would we do camp this year? We ummed and erred and I threw my toys out of the pram (because beneath this serene surface I am a 2 year old child) and hated the idea. Then I gave in. It would be good, mainly because instead of a late night phone call each day I could at least have a late night chat and hug, and wave at husbandface across a room each day.
Turns out I like camp. There I’ve said it. Fear not, I will not persuade you all to do camp, I am after all a bit of an observer from behind the walls of the kitchen hatch (yes I did butter 100 or so slices of bread for your lunch today). I like seeing husbandface do what he is really good at (when I’m not being annoyed at not seeing him much and thinking he’s having more fun than I, *see previous statement about being a 2 year old child), I like seeing many teenagers bounce around the room and see that our God wants to be their friend. I enjoy being around people who are trying to help others really love our Maker. I like hanging out with different Christians and generally realising that we’re all in this together, whatever stable of the Christian world we come from.
There, my confession is made. I quite like camp. Although seriously, this needs not to be called a camp, I’m writing from a posh boarding school library, which whilst containing genius books like ‘Jennings’ and the ‘Hardy Boys’, could hardly be described as being part of a ‘camp’. There are no tents and everyday I get to swim in a heated pool. The room we are in has sky+ and when it rains we don’t live under smelly canvas. So, not a camp, but I like it.