I attended an overnight women’s retreat this past weekend. Forty-some women of all ages and seasons of life converged upon a small camp in southern Minnesota for an annual church activity. We spent time talking, laughing, and learning about one another, seeking our Hope in the Lord, and our refreshment in gummy bears and licorice.
There were many chances to make new friends, catch up with old ones, or sit in the corner and be a wallflower (whatever that is). Some of us even did a bit of heart cardio, just so we could later stuff our faces with junk food and feel justified.
I went walking with a friend and we were both soaked to the skin in a sudden downpour. But despite frozen goosebumps and a sodden appearance, we had a good time talking and listening to the wildlife around us. Well…there was an old farm dog that barked when we neared his territory—and I think we may have seen the proverbial eagle fly by with a fish in its mouth.
The camp director, named Spike (I don’t know how he got that name. He didn’t even have spiky hair), made mention of this legendary creature and soon after everyone was spotting it, like people seeing the shape of Virgin Mary in their morning pancakes or on the side of a graffiti-covered train car. I believe it may represent “flying on Eagle’s wings and being a fisher of men” or something. But that’s just a guess.
At the camp, we were given cabin arrangements by virtue of our sleep habits. If you preferred to be asleep before the dawn’s early lights, you got the Owl cabin. Lights must be out by midnight and all talking must cease and desist. If you break these rules, others in the cabin are allowed to duct tape your mouth, tie you to the center pole and flog you with pillows. If you thought staying up later than Leno or Dave’s limo driver was a good idea, you got the Bear cabin. You could party all night long with your bag of chocolate kisses and not even brush your teeth if you wanted to. If you thought staying at a Christian Camp was a safe and healthy entertainment, and you were a trusting individual with an abhorrence of all things crawly, and you really wanted to buy a new duffel bag, sleeping bag, and clothes…you got the Bedbug cabin. (No, not really. There wasn’t a cabin called Bedbug. It was called, Wolf. The bedbugs were an added bonus)
At the end of the day, we all got to drive home in our vehicles, itching and scratching. The local Laundromats made a bit of extra money that night though. So, out of the midst of our suffering we did help boost the economy. I’m not saying we’re saints—but we are Baptists being sanctified, one bad camp experience at a time.
In spite of the tiny crawly things, a good time was had by all. Even the bugs:)