tonight i'll sing my songs again; i'll play the game and pretend

I attempted to write this post last evening, but found it difficult to place my thoughts into words. This picture may capture them better.

After twelve summers of camp ministry, I've learned a few things about homesickness. For the sake of this discussion, I will not be referring to those twisted co-dependencies in which a mother drops her child off at camp and spends the next five days destroying the child's opportunity for fun, pre-sending daily letters sharing how depressed the family dog is without him, or harassing the camp staff with hourly calls concerning her daughter's past bouts with homesickness... and how we're welcome to send her home at any time should she miss her mother.

[Yes, this happens.]

I, for one, never understood homesickness. Camp was my favorite place in the world, and a couple staff would regularly joke about getting "campsick" during the offseason. It made me feel alive. There was never a shortage of activities for the chronically spinning mind, and camp was my one opportunity to make a million first impressions with people NOT from Bremen :) So I did the only reasonable thing an avid camper could do once he was too old: run the darn thing myself!

Homesickees took on a variety of forms: from the bookworm that never ventured outdoors to the momma's boy that had never picked out his own clothes. But most homesickees were average kids that had intended to have a good time. For whatever reason, idleness would turn to thought, thought to silence, silence to sniffles, and sniffles to sobs. In fairness to the 17-year-old camp counselor, too much is happening to pay notice to the silence before it becomes a sob. Once the waterworks turn on, the camp must eradicate the concern before it reaches epidemic status... WARNING: homesickness is contagious!!!

The best counselors could sniff it out in the early stages and reach from their experience toolbox. One-on-one time. Continual reminders of the awesome activity happening TOMORROW. Bribe another kid to "make a new friend." (I think I made up that last one.)

But often the symptoms are worst at times when nothing can be done, particularly at wakeup and bedtime. Attempting to convince a nine-year-old that tomorrow will be awesome does little when the eight hours of darkness frightens him most. My former boss taught me a trick that I later utilized myself: 1-on-1 cereal with the camp director after the other kids are asleep. It didn't work as effectively for me as it had for him, but perhaps I used the wrong sedative. Just kidding!!! I did enjoy a bowl of cinnamon life with the little ones, and it gave me an early introduction to the field that would eventually employ me. You can't replace a real dad, but you can sure as hell fake it long enough to get through the week.

I had my first taste of homesickness eight years ago. A couple friends and I attended a youth worker conference in Dallas, and it just so happened to fall on my birthday weekend. I was ecstatic that David Crowder was leading worship, and we were also treated to impromptu visits by Jars, Bebo, and downhere. As a guy with a lot of negative things to say about the Christian music industry, I was unexpectedly pleased with the cross section.

That Saturday, I was beginning to run short on funds, and a friend asked if I planned to go out for my birthday. I shared my predicament, and she said that it shouldn't be difficult to cover me with a party of twelve. Plus, HELLO -- IT'S MY BIRTHDAY!!! The weekend happened to coincide with the Texas / Oklahoma football game in Dallas, and there were Sooners fans EVERYWHERE. Every restaurant was packed to the gills, and it didn't take long for the well-organized pastors to get pissy. By the time we found a place, ate an exhausted meal, and received the bill, nearly everyone was in a foul mood. They made me feel selfish for "dragging" them into the busy streets when we could've ordered pizza at the restaurant.

I went into retreat. I couldn't understand the point of being there. God was revealing all of these amazing truths, and all I wanted was to go home... not back to Indiana, but to my Father's arms. For the first time, I recognized how out of place I felt in this world, and I desperately wanted out of it. I wasn't feeling depressed, discouraged, or suicidal; I just wanted Dad. I knew that He understood pain, abandonment, and stupid fights. He would make things better.

While the first episode was triggered by earthly insensitivity, homesickness finds me when I'm not looking for it, usually at a time of sabbath rest. When I lie before the Father, I become aware how much more of Him I want -- I'm like an infant that can never rest outside His arms. I want His touch and His physical proximity. I want to hear His heartbeat against my head.

The world does its best to distract me. I am reminded how great tomorrow promises to be, and I am sustained for a time. Another meal, another ministry, another friendship awaits. But it can never replace, and I'd be surprised if I don't feel a little homesick for the rest of this life. Like the kids that were made to persevere, I understand my place in this tent, and I recognize the service that He has for me. My Father wants His children cared for -- all of them are as important to Him as me. But I can't wait to get home, and I want to share that with you.

Even if it requires a late night cereal date to console me.