Blast

I spent the weekend in at a camp with 900 high school students. Am I nuts? Quite possibly. But it was incredible! Where else can you eat a rubber omelette disguised as a pancake, “do your business” in a bathroom with ginormous spiders, function on 3 hours of sleep a night and still have a smashing time? Flexibility is a growth edge for me in my middling-ish age.

The weekend was a Christian retreat for the youth ministry in which I serve as coach to leaders. And our church group was housed in the Comfort Suites, which, compared with the Salvation Army campgrounds, is the miner’s equivalent of striking gold. It was fabulous, dahling. I got my own bed and a daily hot shower, so I was happy. Rock Star was also present on the weekend, but he did a believable job of pretending I was wearing an invisibility cloak. We had an understanding: If he went, I’d give him his space. It was all good.

The spectacularly evil camp food, snooping arachnids and sleepless exhaustion was all worth it as I watched beautiful teenagers raise their hands in worship. And surrender to Christ. And love on one another all weekend long.

It was all amazing and soul-filling, and I am so glad that I went.