The Monkeyman Confronts the Gorilla.

It can smell your fear.  That’s what I’ve learned about summer time.  As a camp director, summer looms over the rest of my year and threatens to fill every season with either the malaise of fearful anticipation, or the relief of yet another narrow escape.  It’s like a gorilla in a room full of monkeys.  There are some basic similarities between all seasons as a camp director, but instead of the playfulness of fall, winter, and spring, summer brings a dangerous propensity to pound things into a pulp, or throw them against a wall. 

Summer is terrifying.  Our camp is a relatively small, simple operation and yet in June we suddenly grow from a staff of 6 to a staff of 45.  In the space of a single property we operate a commercial kitchen, a white-water rafting outfitter, a mentoring ministry, a paintball course, two waterfronts, a ski boat, 28 buildings, and 7000 acres of trails, fields, and headaches.  Between now and September 1^st, we will host 1500 guests at our camp, and we’ll guide 2500 customers in white water rafts.

As a romantic teenager I dreamed of the day I would proudly take the reigns of a camp ministry and calmly steer it to prosperity with the confidence and self-assuredness of the Marlboro man.  Years later, when I actually took those reigns, I realized that I was more likely to steer this bronco from the perspective of a rodeo clown.  I traded in my dignity for a pair of floppy shoes and a bag of ice strapped to my rump. 

For my first few years as a camp director, I was shocked to learn that I no longer loved camp.  There were times, in fact, when I blatantly hated it.  I would put on a tough face, take my lumps, and emerge somehow in the fall; but every summer felt like surgery.  My only aim was to get through and recover.  I was living for the weekends, but between June and September, there were only Mondays. 

Have you ever noticed that in sports or almost any activity, it’s the person who is afraid who gets hurt first?  The reckless teenager who launches himself off a rope swing and hurdles toward the water with no sense of direction always comes up laughing.  It’s the poor sap who stands on the jumping platform for 5 minutes before building up the courage to jump, who belly flops off the rope and limps to shore as he chokes back the tears. 

A couple of years ago, I learned that camping works the same way.  Selfishness is one of the most deflating emotions.  If my goal is to find a break from the tumult of camp, than in the summer time I will only enjoy the moments in my day before I brush my teeth in the morning, and after I brush them again at night.  Even then, there’s a good chance that a squawking radio could interrupt my respite. 

Instead, if I throw caution to the wind, invite every challenge, and approach my day like Rocky Balboa in a title fight, then I might just stand a punchers chance. 

An underground water leak that sucks up 500 gallons per hour?  Is that all you got?

A staff member bailing on their contract 2 days before camp?  Bring it on.

A backed up septic system and live powerline break during board meeting weekend? Call me the Poopsmith. 

Have all of these things actually happened at camp? 

Yes.

Did I feel like pulling out my hair when it happened? 

Yes.

But did I?

No.

Ok, yeah, I did.  But a few minutes later, I took a deep breath and remembered that I can’t show the summer my fear.  Survival here is about attitude.  As long as I can laugh, I can still make it.  When I confront my work, I can more readily appreciate the good in it.  And yes, it means I can’t hide from the bad. 

But anyone who’se played hide-and-seek can tell you that hiding is usually more uncomfortable, more arduous, and less rewarding than seeking.  This summer, I’m going to seek the best in each day.  Because when I hide from the insanity around me, it smells my fear.