one year.

52 weeks.


Three days from now I will have been at camp for an entire year. When I drove in at this time last year, I had a goal to be here 2 years. That was easy to say after spending the previous two years at the North Texas Food Bank where I worked between 40-50 hours a week and had a life full of soul-enriching activities to compliment my high-stress job.

By four months into my camp experience, I realized that this was not what I had expected. I knew it would be tough, and that the kids would resist change and act out towards whoever was in their way. I knew the weather would be rough--hot and buggy in the summer, cold and icy in the winter. I knew that I would work a tough schedule of 5 days straight in the woods with my kids. What I didn't realize is that sometimes we wouldn't have the staff we need, so I would end up working more than 5 days straight, and maybe then only get 1 day off. I didn't realize that I would be told one thing, then see another. I didn't realize what the program needed to be, so that the kids could be helped. I didn't realize the program wasn't at a spot to adequately serve the kids who had been sent there.

I didn't realize that no matter how badly you loved a kid, you would hardly ever see the impact you had on his life. I didn't realize that I didn't come to camp with the tools I needed. I didn't realize that no matter what you do, you can never be prepared to work at a camp like this.

I didn't realize that after a year, I would have scars and bruises all over my body reminding me of the hard times. I didn't realize that my hair would change texture because of the elements in which I live and the stress I am under. I didn't realize that my body would react so adversely to such a drastic change in diet.

In the midst of all these surprises and unexpected twists to the job, I realize this: I walked into this camp ready to put aside my entire life for a year (or two) so that I could do my best to love these boys who need it. As I approach the end of my camp stay, I know that I have loved these kids. I know that I have grown in patience and compassion. I know that I have found the population who needs me the most. I know that I have realized what I need in terms of support from my employer, and I know what I need for me to be okay in the midst of chaos.

I have seen the love of God in my co-workers. I have seen the grace of God each morning that I wake up to a new sunrise. I have seen the patience and understanding of my Creator when I have fallen under the pressure of this lifestyle. And most amazingly, I have seen the resilience of a child thrown through the storm, crushed by the rocks, cast out by society, ignored by the system.

I know I will never stop helping children create better lives for themselves. I couldn't live with myself if I just walked from this path to another. For now, though, this door must close, so that I can continue to love these kids somewhere else, for every human has her limits.