By Ted Werth
Our church puts on two camps for abused and neglected teen foster kids, one for girls and one for boys. Last year was our first year so everything was new. The girls held their camp the weekend before and now I was arriving on the following Thursday to help set up and get things ready for the twelve boys that would be arriving the next morning. There were six of us who were going to be serve as counselors. The weather was sweltering with daily temperatures over 100 degrees. Staff and counselors were excited, anxious and yet nervous; the girls had proven to be a much tougher group than anyone imagined and we weren't sure what to expect from the boys.
The camp site is a great place located out in the country. There are trees, open areas and a perfect swimming hole. After setup, decorations, meetings, prayer and encouragement we wandered off towards our cabins. No one had thought to bring a fan and the cabin was more useful as a sauna then a place to sleep.
I was anxious to work with our campers but I had a couple of other things on my mind as well. This was going to be the first real test of my reconstructed ankle and I knew a minor roll or twist was still enough to to cause major pain and swelling. I was trying to figure out how to temper that and still not drag down my campers during activities. Weighing even greater on my mind was my daughter who was coming to the end of her 12 weeks of boot camp, hopefully on her way to becoming a Marine. Lisa was thousands of mile away in South Carolina and the whole process was much more difficult then I had expected. As a father you want to do something but there is nothing to be done except to keep sending off letters of encouragement hoping they will help. The Marines only allow snail mail during bootcamp and we received letters from her a couple times a week; some good, some not so good. And after almost 10 weeks of this limited back and forth contact it was time for her defining test; the Marine Crucible. The Marine Crucible is a series of both phyisical and mental tests that that take place over 54 consecutive hours and includes 40 miles of hiking with a a full pack. All this takes place with a total of 4-6 hours of sleep and two and a half MRE meals; not everyone passes and hence not all receive the title of U.S. Marine. Lisa was, at that moment, 20 hours into her test and I couldn't help but wonder how she was doing.
Arriving at the cabin I calculated that my chances of sleeping in the sauna/cabin were minimal so I scooped up my sleeping bag and announced that I was going to sleep outside. No one responded so I continued on down to the creek by myself and found a level patch of grass. As I settled in I found myself enjoying the fresh air and the reflection of moonlight off the moving water below. I was totally enjoying my this last bit of solitude knowing that it was going to be extremely busy over the coming three days. Eventually I plugged in my earphones and positioned my pillow for an optimal view. As I watched the full moon and listened to my music I said a prayer for strength and safety for my daughter. And as I drifted off I found myself wondering, even hoping, if at that moment, by chance, we might both be looking up at the same moon.
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