The Burning Bush

The things that happen at camp are unlike anything that happen off of the mountain. Ever. How do I explain to people who have never been up here the epic lightning protocol poetry slam, or engaging teenage boys in conversations about virtue and love languages on a 13-mile hike, or a Hanz and Franz 230 wake up call, or Mass every day in front of the meadow (or in a car wash parking lot), or the deep conversations that happen in a pick up truck in the rain while on a sandwich delivery run. 

Those things don't happen anywhere else, and in a way that's what makes this place so special. God works in a way up here that is unlike anywhere else, and that makes it challenging to remember that He works just as much (though differently) off the mountain, every day of our lives. It's easier to see it up here because we don't have the distractions of cell phones and traffic jams and work and television. It's easier because we know that's why we're here and we want to be intentional, because everything here is oriented towards restoring the four harmonies. It's also a little bit harder because camp is exhausting and the definition of sacrifice, but ultimately, it's all more full. Life to the full. 

What's hard about it is bringing it down from the mountain. Because this is a very brief reality that needs to overflow into our lives when we leave. We need to have those deep conversations, take time for prayer, connect to nature, sacrifice our preferences for others, live in the dirt and grime and exhaustion of our state in life. I may still never be able to articulate these experiences, but I hope that they show themselves in everything I do from this day forward. That's a tall order. But our God is big.