We've come a long way from that inaugural year, when I took a month to pack Claire and paid too much for cute custom camp labels from a "Going to Camp?" website, which preyed on the separation anxiety of mothers. Now they pack themselves in about an hour, and I just throw a Sharpie in their bedroom door and remind them they have a better chance of returning with possessions people can identify; we have to decide each year whether we actually want all those items back anyway. Camp Tahkodah dirt is a tenacious combination of sand and construction adhesive. Whether it is embedded in the sole of a pair of Chacos or in the seat of basketball shorts, attempting to remove it gives pause. We do a cost-benefit analysis, and sometimes the camp dirt wins and we pitch the item, a sacrifice to the Spirit of Tahkodah.
This year, the oldest has graduated to assistant counselor, which is a fancy title for someone who is allowed to wash lots of dishes and do other menial chores for the privilege of spending a little more time there. She is also a lifeguard, a credential she sought expressly because she wanted a little edge on getting hired. Our youngest, age 16, is now in the senior girls cabin, and the idea that she might not return next summer is exquisitely disconcerting when she allows herself to think about it -- so she doesn't.
When we packed up our things to move to Searcy recently, we realized the girls had accumulated a handful of Bibles engraved with "Camp Tahkodah" and signed by former director Ross Cochran, souvenirs of the Bible Bee. Although we are not especially athletic, our family tends to do well in competitive question-answering, and our children have won a handful of times over the years. Occasionally we've lamented that we would have traded a ready recollection of the names of the twelve tribes of Israel for a decent jump shot, but it is what it is. God gives us each our gifts and thank heaven there's a place in the Kingdom, and at camp, for the less coordinated.I realized today as I stood under the pines amid a circle of log cabins, with laundry neatly hung on a clothesline beside each, that there are people from Harding who have been ministering to my grimy children in this place for nine years now. They prayed for them before they ever arrived, cooked for them, administered first aid to them, taught them, regaled them with ridiculous songs, hiked with them, rode horses with them, canoed with them, looked out for their safety, exhorted them to good hygiene and entreated them to more effective cabin cleanup, encouraged them in competitive activities, led praise and worship for them all, and called them toward stronger relationships and to a more authentic faith. When Claire arrived at college, a Tahkodah staffer welcomed her into her home for a weekly small group study, for which Dan and I have been most thankful. Relationships forged here as the staff invests in the lives of campers from many states will have ripples into the future of each of these sweaty young humans.
We were pleased to note as we arrived at camp last weekend that Salado Creek was still running, although many ponds and creeks in Arkansas are dry. I was especially thankful today that, in the midst of a miserable and devastating drought, Camp Tahkodah has seen some rain, cloud cover, and merciful relief from the heat, every day this session. But I also know that regardless of the weather, at least for my girls, Tahkodah has always been an oasis.
Here's a link to a video about her Tahkodah experience posted online by a camper last year It gives you some idea of her feelings about camp. Copy and past to play: http://vimeo.com/26932911
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