Camp Attack!

This week I went to a kids camp in Gore, NZ to be a counselor for our ministry week. We have one ministry week a semester, when we split up into teams and (obviously) do various ministries. Half of the students went to a camp in Christchurch, and the other half, my group, went to Camp Columba in Gore. After a 5 hour drive from Geraldine, we made it there. We spent a few days going over policies and procedures and playing games with the other leaders, which was pretty cool. I was quite enthralled with the accent at the beginning of the week, especially when the kids showed up on monday. I slipped into it occasionally if I surrounded by kiwis. By the end of the week I barely noticed the accent. I had to think about it. Anyway, kids showed up monday. They were from 10-14 years old. I had the oldest cabin, which had about 11-12 kids from 12-14 years old. I counseled with a guy a year older than me and about a head taller, Mark Taylor. He'd been there the year before and most everybody knew him. He was a funny guy, I'm glad I counseled with him. (Just a side note, picture everyone I write about as a kiwi. Everyone.) Also in my cabin, I had two massive twins who were 13. They were taller than me, fairly stocky, and they had more facial hair than I did. Luckily, they were well behaved. At first I was mildly terrified. How do you disciple a 13 year old with facial hair? I actually didn't spend too much time with my cabin because of the way the camp was set up. We had our cabins and then we had our teams. I was on the orange team with another kiwi girl who was 16. We were in charge of 5 guys and 3 girls, 10-11 years old. That was when camp got interesting. Monday wasn't too bad, I had energy, was stoked for camp, and then tuesday hit. Tuesday was probably the longest day of my life. The girls on my team weren't too bad. The guys were exactly the same as the girls. There was a really strange phenomenon I discovered. When speaking to the guys on my team, I had to say the exact same thing at least three times before I was even recognized. It then took another three times(at least) before my request was carried out. It was quite sad, really. It's a horrible disability. If my kid ever inherits it I'm going to hit him. In love, of course. But he's still going to get hit. My team did get better over the week and I did develop relationships with most of them. It just took a lot of patience that I realized I didn't have on my own. One thing I can say about the first few days was I had to rely on God to get through each hour. I looked forward to bedtime, yearned for it, as soon as we finished breakfast and all throughout the day. I think that was tuesday, mostly. As the week progressed, the kids became more manageable and I actually started to enjoy myself. I could tell you tons more stuff, like the fight I had to break up between two of my kids, and the sweet games, but I really just wanted to let everyone know that it was a great week, I learned a lot, don't regret a minute of it, and I'm incredibly glad to be back at the Crossing, my home. (For a while, anyway. (Don't freak out, mom, home is still my home, the Crossing is just an amazing home now, I miss you and love you guys.))