Camp!

So, this was the only picture I took of myself this week at camp. Clearly, what happens in Camp, stays in Camp. And also? The little girl who was my makeup artist has seen The Dark Knight way too many times.

Once again, this was a crazy, sleep-deprived, emotional, hilarious, heartbreaking, and blessed week. I got home late last night and am still recovering. I enjoyed the days of taking pictures (last count: 2,000+) throughout the week and had some cute little moments with the kiddos, but really, as the camp photographer, I live for Friday. Because Friday is when I get to see the fruit of my labor. Friday is when the kids get their memory books, filled with photos I've taken, heart notes given to them by the staff and other campers, and special messages written to them by their counselors. So, Friday is when I get to see their faces light up with delight as they flip through the pages and when I get to hear the occasional, "Robin! Thank you!" AND Friday is when I get to play with the kids! No longer am I the spectator behind the lens, but I'm the girl who races them during field games, who becomes their personal sea horse in the pool, and who stands beside them singing, "Headin' for the Royal Family Kids Camp, headin' for a lot of fun!" Friday is a good day.

Friday is also a hard day. Because Friday is when the kids go home. To what? I don't want to imagine. Friday is when we load the campers on the bus, after tears and hugs, and more tears. And on this particular Friday, as all of us were waving goodbye to the kids, I noticed one little guy looking out at us, his palm up against the bus window. His counselor noticed too, and jogged up to the bus to place his hand against his camper's. There they stood, palm to palm with a window pane separating them. It only lasted a few seconds, but it felt like the wind had been knocked out of me and it was all I could do to not break down in sobs. "Get a grip, Robin! Get a hold of yourself!" I told myself, not wanting to lose it in front of everyone. Why was such a simple interaction having such a powerful effect on me? And then it hit me. Those palms and that window represented the little seeds of doubt and fear that lurk in the back corners of my mind. We love on these kids all week long and try to help them understand how precious they are to us, to God. But in the end, we send them right back into the hell that brought them to us in the first place. We give them happy moments, but that's all they are - moments. Moments in a lifetime of hurt and disappointment. And as much as we want to be there for them, to support them, and care for them, there is only so much we can do. We can't change their family, we can't change their situation, and we can't change the system. So, there we are, touching palms, touching lives, but through a pane of glass. We're there, but we're not really there.

I think this realization hit me harder this year than last because this camp was experienced with the knowledge that in a few short weeks I'll be doing therapy with kids just like these. And I'm terrified. I'm scared I won't be a good kid therapist. I'm scared that I'll fall in love with my clients and want to save each and every one of them. And I'm scared of how I'll feel when I can't. I'm scared that soon it will be my hand pressing against theirs, but not really touching, not really making a difference.

But then, something else happened as I was waving goodbye yesterday. Another little camper gleefully opened up his memory book to show us all his pictures through the window. And I realized that moments turn into memories and memories are reminders. Reminders of our love, reminders of God's love, reminders that there is more to life than...whatever it is that they're going through.

And so I hold on to that.