Mavis Gets Around

© David Hartman

     What do you do when you're overdue for a blog post but lack inspiration? You go looking for it.
     So I checked the Spam on Wry playlist to see what the next scheduled track was, and discovered it's Roger Dunnam's a cappella version of the old C.W. McCall classic "Old Home Filler' Up and Keep On Truckin' Cafe." You should be listening to it now, unless by the time you read this another blog entry has been posted.

     It reminded me that I haven't blogged about camp. There's a number of reasons for that, I suppose, not the least of which is the fact that I'm still processing it internally. But I can't listen to Cafe without thinking of camp. It takes me immediately to pine trees and sunsets on the ridge. To roasted, buttered sweet corn and grilled bratwurst -- God's perfect, complete meal-gift to mankind. It puts me back around the campfire with kingdom kinfolk and Roger's guitar.

     I try to set my surroundings with little reminders of the camp in Wisconsin, so I don't forget. Not that I ever could. It's too big a part of my past. There's the little jar of sand and charcoal on the bookcase in my bedroom. Usually it's enough to just look at it and remember. When I need something more, I'll take a pinchful of the sand and sprinkle it between the bedsheets before bed. The next morning, put a little dab in my socks -- down around the toes. By lunchtime, I've had all the reminder of camp I can stand for a day or two.

     There's the ring of colored beads from staff meetings long ago attached to my Bible cover. The dozen or so WCYC t-shirts I own and wear nearly every day. The Norske Nook coffee mug on the dresser. There's even the lyric from Cafe: "Now we've been everywhere between here and South Soux, and we've seen us a truckstop waitress or two, but this gal's built like a burlap bag full of bobcats -- she's got it tooogether" that I've cut and assigned as a ringtone and SMS notification tone for one of the folks in my Android's contact list. Whenever she calls or texts, I'm reminded of camp. And also that I need to check my phone.

     But this year was different. I went back to camp for the first time in three years, but I didn't go to Wisconsin. I worked in the kitchen at church camp here in Oklahoma.

     Different role. Different place. Didn't really feel like camp at first.

     Don't get me wrong -- it was tremendously rewarding. In some ways more rewarding than any session I can remember in a long time. I love to cook, so I got to do what l love three times a day for a whole week. I got to do it with some terrific people. But most of the time, it felt more like cooking for a group than being at camp. Part of it was the oppressive triple-digit heat and the fact that after spending several hours in a hot kitchen during the day, I wasn't overly motivated to spend much time in the hot outdoors when air-conditioned indoor options were available. Sign of my age, maybe.

     So it wasn't until midweek that it really hit me. I came in the back door of the dining hall, into the kitchen to get a jumpstart on supper. Through the wall dividing the kitchen and dining hall, I could hear them. And it was just as amazing as I remembered:

"When the oceans rise and thunders roar, I will soar with you above the storm.

Father, you are king over the flood. I will be still and know you are God."

     A hundred camper voices in song. And they sound just as good in Oklahoma as they do in Wisconsin. Bit twangier, maybe, but just as sweet. In that moment, I was back at camp. In that moment, the three-year wait was worth it.

     At this camp, kids got baptized. At the end of the session, kids cried. They didn't want to go home. There's a Facebook page of camper after camper declaring that 2011 was the best session of camp. Ever. Just like in Wisconsin.

     In all that I found peace. Fresh hope for another 20 years.
     And I found I don't have to go all the way back to Black River Falls just to look for Mavis.