During the summer of 1999, I had been suspended from my longtime summer camp job as a result of some sophomoric behavior the previous summer. Because my boss was generally pleased with my duties, he allowed the Teen Camp director to hire me at the end of the summer. Perhaps it was the perspective I gained from being away all year, but I had the most fantastic week ever. A dormitory mix that had me skeptical at first became a blessing: the perfect hodgepodge of musicians, athletes, academics, and outcasts.
On the third day of the week, a couple jocks that had volunteered to work children's church returned with a handful of children's books. In particular, they had grabbed Dr. Seuss titles. Primarily for reaction's sake, they asked me if I would read a Dr. Seuss book as a bedtime story. Having been a youngest child, I had never read a "bedtime story," and I certainly had never done so with 16-year-olds.
Miraculously, in contrast to the previous evenings, they rested soundly after I finished the first book. I decided to roll with it. For the next few nights, they returned to the dorm at 10:30, and I gave them 15 minutes to settle before they received their story. Continually reaping the same effective result, the teens began boasting to kids from the other dorms about their unconventional counselor.
The final evening as we laid in bed, I finished the story and asked if anyone had anything to share about their week. One of the older jocks shared with the others how he had judged them at the beginning of the week and was thankful that he got to know them all. One by one, these adolescent boys began sharing their gratitude for one another, and we decided to spend a little time in worship after the lights were turned off for the night.
I stayed in contact with a good number of these guys, so my heart broke immediately that October when I was given word that one of my boys (Chris) had died from a defect he unknowingly had since birth. I had personally never experienced a close death, so I timidly went to the viewing that Monday, not knowing how I would empathize. I was quickly welcomed by a crew of camp kids, many of which had come to know Chris better since camp, and were able to share a testimony of how he had grown in intimacy with Christ. They said that he was a changed man after returning, and that our dorm was as responsible for that as anyone.
We shared quite a few tears, and I received a phone call the next evening from Chris's youth pastor. He asked if I would be willing to come to their church that Wednesday to help with the grieving process. I figured it was the least I could do, so I was shocked when the church I was currently serving made it sound like a hassle for me to miss one Wednesday night. Inevitably, I didn't give them much of a choice, and I attended their memorial youth service.
Many of you may have lost someone close to you at an early age, and you might understand what a room full of fifty grieving kids might look like. It was heart-wrenching. Some parents attended as well, and it made for a very nice goodbye. It has been hard to reconcile many losses in my life, but it was clear that God was ready to reveal Himself by taking Chris.
Over the next few months, I received thank you notes from a few parents for my support, and Chris's friends spent a couple very heartfelt evenings with me at our denominational youth conference that December. In fact, the boy that was originally led by the Spirit to share at camp would pray for me the following summer as I committed my life to ministry. Few things are more memorable than young people grieving, but God divinely used Chris's life, death, and legacy to position me in a place where I could hear His call upon my life.
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