Even though I wasn't in a particularly "theological" mindset, I paused and listened. I hadn't listened to a sermon since Christmas, and I thought it would be great to listen to a familiar voice.
He was scrolling through a set of older camp photos, long before my time as a counselor. And as he was speaking, he asked the listeners to recall a time where they had nothing about a curiosity about the world and just wanted people to share in their delight. I started to think about the kids I counseled, and how they were experiencing the thrill of meeting brand new people and just getting to see people experience a new place for the first time together.
Then, during the slideshow, I saw a familiar picture. This picture was taken by the fence on the farm at camp. This group of young adults in the back row were holding various animals, and a counselor with fluffy colorful hair and dark clothes was holding a bunny. I recognized the man as Chris, a counselor from my youth. "This can't be..." I thought. I looked to the bottom right corner of the photo, and I see a little blonde girl with a pink shirt, stretching out her cheeks to make a silly face. That little girl was me. The photo was from my first time at camp in 2008–13 years ago.
My mentor's words still ring in my head after proceeding to watch this video as a camper, not just a counselor: "Jesus is referencing some qualities we find more prevalent among children, before they've been jaded by the world and maybe–you could say–before we've lost that sense of wonderment that adults struggle seem to find sometimes."
From this moment on, I held back tears when thinking about my time as a child before I discovered shame. As a child, I held onto and claimed my adoration for the color pink, singing and dancing–even at the most inopportune moments–any sort of social gathering, and God. Exactly as my dear boss said, I had been jaded by my experiences with middle school bullies and the sensory overload zone known as a cafeteria. Admittedly this experience continued through my sophomore year of college and through my summers as a camp counselor. The jaded feeling of wanting to be on a certain "level" with my peers, and never really knowing the end goal.
But I remember occasional pure moments. I thought of when two girls from my building in Brandt invited me to grab hot cocoa in our pajamas at the post Christmas at Luther, and they ended up becoming my best friends. I think of when a middle school kid prayed that I could win American Idol and that I would never stop being a GOAT (greatest of all time, I didn't really know what it meant either.) I thought of when a wonderful classmate of mine–whom I adore very much to this day–deemed that I was a shiny Pokémon.
I have a new goal: being secure in my personality in order to allow myself to get to know people outside of my circle, seeing them as other weirdos like myself. People that once were kids like me. People I could see myself grabbing coffee with in the future. Or petting some bunnies at the Ewalu farm.
-Abs
