So I went on a reatreat this past weekend with my church (wilshire ave). Just for the record, my church happens to be perhaps the friendliest place I've been in the state of California; been there for almost three years now.
This weekend was good. I must take a moment to give a shout out to everyone who helped defeat the students in our epic game of capture the flag. We pretty much owned at breaking out of jail, and despite the fact that their flag was illegally gaurded, we still managed to win.
The weekend was characterized most by noise. Everywhere. It didn't matter where you went; you could always hear some kid screaming or laughing in the background. As I tried to take a nap in my cabin one afternoon, with the chaotic sounds of junior highers around me, I realized first that sleep was impossible, and secondly, that the sounds reaching my ears were the beautiful melodies of being alive. Sure, after being sleep deprived patience diminishes and energy fades, but just hearing those kids running around gave me a quick glimpse of the beauty of this life.
So many of them come from hurting homes, and though they try to hide it, the pain and confusion rests on their shoulders every minute of their lives. Yet, somehow they were able to leave that behind them in the city, and even if only for a day or two, they could be truly alive. Some even began to open their hearts to the healing power of God, and started to face the pain harbored within them.
As I sat praying in a small circle of students, I saw the subtle tears of hope in their eyes. As pains were shared, as confusion was confessed, as questions were asked.
Thank God for camps, when somehow, in some unthinkable way, hyperness and real life come together in a combination that changes lives.
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