the giver.

I'm home.



There is something unmistakeably sweet about piggyback rides. For a week, I've become many things that I rarely get to be. I've been head-kisser, bed-maker, command-giver, and the one who hugs tightly enough to forget that your mommy isn't there. I've been the lap to sit on, the hand to hold, the name to call when something isn't right. I've been question-answerer, joke-maker, the one to tell all your stories to when you want someone to laugh. I've been the tooth fairy and the schedule keeper. I've been the bedtime decider and the one to ask if you've brushed your teeth yet. I've been the hand on your forehead to check for fevers, and the one to make sure that you don't get left out. I've been the big girl who dances like a little girl, candy-keeper, and the one who cheers you on as you tip toe to the end of the diving board. But I have also been the piggyback-ride-giver.

The significance of this is heightened, I believe, by the fact that all of the girls cabins are at the top of an enormously long hill. Every day for breakfast, lunch, dinner, and everything in between, we lady counselors exhausted ourselves in herding groups of nine and ten little girls up and down this hill. By the end of the week, the girls are dragging their feet, to say the least. So, every day I'd crown one of my nine girls Queen of the Day, and one of them Princess of the Day. This award, given for an outstanding act of kindness, assured you a piggyback down the hill to the "wrap party" that night if you were Queen, and a piggyback down the hill to breakfast the next day if you were Princess. Other than this, I kept piggybacking to a relative minimum. Piggybacks were for special reasons, like shoelessness or being Queen, and not just for anyone who asked.

On Thursday, however, this changed completely.


One of my girls, Sonya, 43 pounds of heart-melting Korean cuteness, woke up feeling lousy. She was quiet and didn't speak up for herself much, but she felt awful enough to let me know that she didn't want to eat anything. By the end of breakfast, we were on our way to the nurse's office to find out she had a 101.9 degree fever. Immediately, plans were arranged for her daddy to come and get her. Before that could happen, however, there was much to be done. I don't know what levels of pitiful your heart can stand, but a tiny seven year old with a 102 fever takes the cake for me. No way was I letting her walk anywhere. So, I carried her. Sonya got piggybacks everywhere. Up the hill, down the hill, to the dodgeball courts- wherever I needed to be, Sonya's arms were around my neck. And as we walked, she talked. She had been the quiet one in the group, far more likely to be giggling at something one of the other girls had said than to be telling some funny story of her own. But once she was on my back, she was full of things to say. The one-on-one closeness combined with the trust that I would take care of her opened up all kinds of doors for Sonya. She hugged me tightly when it came time for her to go, and I knew we had won each other's hearts. That night when I put the other girls to bed and I saw Sonya's empty space, a little rush of sadness flooded my heart. It is inexplicable how taking care of someone connects your heart to theirs. I miss her, still.


This, of course, is just one of so many moments of deep sweetness. I don't know if I could fully describe the kind of happiness I found in watching two of my girls walk down the road holding hands in newly found companionship, or in little Mackenzie blind-folding herself and asking me to lead her back to the cabin. I loved the way it became easy to sacrifice dancing and jumping around during worship when one of them climbed tearfully onto my lap and leaned on my shoulder. I can't imagine how much parents must love their kids. A taste of it made my heart swell with happiness.

Don't get me wrong.

For every moment that I got to spend in absolute delight over something wonderful one of my girls had done, there was a moment of pulling-my-hair-out frustration when none of them were in their beds after half an hour of me circling the room telling them all to brush their teeth. But, what could I do? They won my heart, one by one, until I belonged almost completely to their laughter and their tears and their always, always calling my name. It happens every year.

And that's why I'm so completely worn out today.
That, and the staying up until four in the morning having water balloon fights thing.
But, that doesn't make for soulful blogging material.

So there.


Hmmm...what else?

I'm sure I'll think of something. So much happened this week that I have to pick and choose what to say, or I'd be writing this blog until next year's camp. So just assume that it was the best, most tiring week of the summertime, and you'll be on the right track.


Now, to go eat Oreos and perhaps watch a movie. Or sleep. Or anything else that requires little to no physical participation. As much as I love those girls, my heart is in my pillow today.


So. I'll see you soon.

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the end.