This summer I was a mother to hundreds of girls. As a camp
counselor at an all-girls summer camp for ten weeks this summer, I experienced
the challenges, joys, and complications of spiritual motherhood and got insight
to what actual motherhood might be like.
While
most of the girls I was a counselor for this summer were happy go-lucky and
innocent, there were some girls there in desperate need of mothering. It was in
my second assignment of the summer that I began to understand how deeply some
of my campers were hurting. My second assignment of the summer I was assigned
to middle-schoolers--- my favorite age group. I had 25 girls aged 11--14. All
of them were pretty good kids. We'd had very little problems with them and they
were energetic, fun, and enthusiastic.
As our
two week session progressed, my group became increasingly tight-knit. My girls
really began to reach out to me and my co-counselors and bonds were formed.
I had
campers begin to explain their lives to me. To begin to explain their troubles.
To begin to ask for help.
Bullying.
Parents who didn't understand. Parents who were absent. Feeling left out.
Feeling restless. Useless. Beginning to question their sexual orientation.
Beginning to question their worth. Their identity. Struggling with body image.
Struggling to fit in. Placing all of their worth in boys who asked too much.
Placing their worth in their number of friends or how much they were liked.
Placing in their worth in things that would pass.
This
camp wasn't a Christian camp. Not that that was a problem, but it took me out
of my comfort zone in a sense. Normally, when offering advice, I was prone to
offer spiritual advice along with other courses of action. But now, without
even being able to say "I'll pray for you" to my campers, I knew I
would have to change up my tactics. I felt a bit like a fish out of water.
And
each time, I tried to offer them as much comfort, support, and love as I could.
But it was hard without being able to explicitly tell the capital-T Truth to
them, especially when some of them were already buying into the lies of the
culture. It was hard to explain things without Jesus. And to be honest, I felt
a bit useless.
Since
the summer had started I'd found myself time and time again getting spiritually
frustrated. Normally, when I'm home in the summer, I'm a daily communicant. But
since coming to camp, I'd had to forego daily Mass and I'd even had to skip
Sunday Mass once or twice because I couldn't find a ride. I'd barely had time
to pray since this was a resident camp and I was working an average of 15 hour
days, and often found myself falling asleep in the middle of Compline each
night. Without being able to speak freely with my campers about religion and
without having adequate time to pray, I was finding myself drained, frustrated,
and impatient. It was not a pleasant feeling.
Your children are hurting, Lord, I found
myself praying. How do I reach them? How
can there be healing here? Mary, help me be a mother to them.
I began
to feel like I wasn't making an impact on my campers. Like I couldn't reach
them in the ways that were most deeply needed. I offered them my kindness, my
support--- but was it enough? Was letting one of my campers be team captain
when we played a game enough? I felt
like I was barely making a dent into their ocean of needs. I was fixing a flat
tire with Scotch tape.
On days
when I felt particularly drained and frustrated, I looked at my campers with
sadness.
What
hurt the most is that some of these kids didn't know how to be kids. Already they were so bogged down
with cares of the world. With difficulties and cares far too great for their
age. I was trying not to be a curmudgeon muttering about the 'kids these days'. But surely I didn't
have to deal with half this stuff when
I was growing up??? My kids were hurting. And there was only so much I could
do, because I wasn't their parent. They would be gone in week and a half's
time-- and who knows what would happen afterwards. My heart hurt for them. I
longed to provide them with something lasting. Something they could hold onto.
One day
as I was taking my girls to the health lodge to receive their nightly
medication, I trailed behind my girls listening to them banter and watching
their silhouettes walk before me against the backdrop of the setting sun. My
heart ached for love of them. They were full of so much purpose. They were so
greatly needed. So greatly necessary. All of them. They could do such marvelous,
needed, wonderful things. But I feared for them. For their innocence. Would
they ever reach their full potential if they stayed saturated in such a
poisonous culture? If no one reached out to them and helped--- really helped
them--- with all of their pressing needs? Without proper guidance, would they
ever become saints?
I hoped
so. I said a prayer right then that they would. I wanted my brave, intelligent,
good-hearted, funny, witty, wonderful girls to be saints. More than anything, I
still do.
As the
sun sank lower and my girls were finally done getting their medication, we
needed to return to the campsite. I was still pondering how to help my girls.
How to help them be kids. How to provide the love they needed. How?
We cut through a meadow in
the center of camp. The fireflies were out now, dotting the tall grass.
One of
my girls whipped around to face me. Her eyes were wide. Wider than I had ever
seen them with child-like glee. The setting sun highlighted her freckles.
"Can we take a minute and catch the fireflies?" she asked.
"Please? I know we gotta get back--- but can we catch the fireflies
first?"
The
innocence in which she asked me was so different than her usual demeanor. This
camper, whose wardrobe regularly consisted of band T-shirts and ripped jeans,
who put on a tough demeanor to ward off the other children, who seemed 'too
mature' for a lot of the things we did, who already seemed so worldly, so
jaded, was asking me for a favor--- to catch fireflies.
How on
earth could I say no?
I gave
a nod of consent, and with wild abandon, my campers ran from me and began to
chase the twinkling lights across the field.
I
watched them, laughter bubbling up inside me, a smile forming.
Though
these girls really were facing hard odds. Were facing a culture that was
weighing on them far before their time. Though they had worries, cares, and
responsibilities, too great for girls their age to manage. Though they faced
monsters far greater than I'd ever dreamed---I realized then how important it
was that they were there at camp.
While
the outside world may be rough, scary, and a survival-of-the fittest. Though
the outside world was the complete antithesis of what childhood should consist
of. Though they weren't allowed to be children in the world from which they
came--- in camp world, they could be kids. I realized then how important it was
they were here. How important camp was. How important child-like amusements
were. How important it was that here, separated from the outside world, they
could express once more the innocence they once had. They could be themselves. They
could be free.
Though
I could not provide for them exactly what I wanted to provide. Though I could
not give them the advice I really longed to. If I could not provide a fix to
all of their problems--- at least I could provide moments like these.
And for
now. This was enough.
I stood
in that field in the setting sun and watched as my brave, wounded, and scared
spiritual daughters seemed to drop all their cares and truly be children, truly
be free, for the first time in a week. I watched as they truly forgot to try to
be 'cool' try to be 'liked' try to be 'good enough'. I watched as they had fun.
I watched as they acted liked kids.
I
watched as they caught fireflies.
