Camp is hectic right now. Hell. It's been hectic for a month because that's what camp is -- hectic -- the very nature of the beast. But I try hard to slow down a few times each day and snap a mental picture of the beauty that truly surrounds me.
Tonight there was a moment -- a sweetly perfect moment -- that summed up all the reasons I do this job, this crazy, hectic, tiresome job. And it was a moment so innocuous and slight that it overpowered me with its sheer simplicity.
It was one of our campers, completely blind, who stood unknowingly in the middle of the "last song circle" at the dance. It was another camper, completely unknown to her, reaching forward to place his hand on her shoulder, including her in the fold without forcing her into line. A touch that allowed her to be connected without being swallowed up. He held it there for the entire song, never breaking that connection. I'm not sure anyone else noticed, but it caught me so unaware that I felt the hot tears of surprise building in the back of my eyes.
And that is what all of our campers and CIT's and staff have done this week for our Lighthouse kids -- welcoming them in without swallowing them up. Moving the circle instead of moving the child. Accepting that we don't all fall into line the first time but saving a spot for when you do.
I think often about the beginning of a wave -- the tiny splash that creates the ripple that builds to the wave that washes over us all. It begins with the slightest movement: a raindrop, a fish flop, a breath of breeze. Is that how all great movements begin, how all great revelations occur? With the slightest touch?
My Lord, I hope so.