Welcome Home, and Goodbye

Friday. Friday always hits me hard, because I'm just drained. Emotionally, physically... It's a hard day to get through, but it always has its ups to go with its downs.

The schedule didn't change until after lunch, when we packed up and the kids wrote their "Dear God" letters and their "Why I Like Camp" letters. Sometimes, reading those can really send it home, why we do camp, why we reach out to these kids.

Afterwards, the kids got to look at pictures and listen to camp music while we waited for the bus to get there. We also had our "graduation" ceremony, where we give our 11-year-olds their final departing gift, because they're officially too old to rejoin us at RFKC. This year, Miguel graduated. This was his first and last year at RFKC, but we know, and I'll share more a bit further down, that God did some amazing things in his life while he was at camp. April also graduated. This little girl has been to camp each of the 5 years that Columbus has been hosting it. Leaving was hard for her, which is completely understandable. She's really come to love it, even she'd never come out and say it. April's a sweet, loving little girl, and she'll definitely be missed next year.

By this point on Friday, I've normally broken down at some point, had a moment that just drives home why RFKC is in existence. I hadn't had it yet, and I thought I was going to actually leave camp in one piece. And I almost made it! Well, the moment actually came when we left camp.

Often, the kids start breaking out of their shells, and they start talking on Wednesday or Thursday. Often times, as happy as we are that the kids have reached a comfort spot with us, it's the stories they share that break us to pieces. A counselor friend of mine shared a story with me about one of her little girls, a little, tiny angel who had been hurt, and she was so scared to tell her mom about the injury, that by the time her mom knew to take her to the hospital, the injury was already healed over, and her vocal chords were affected by it. The little girl had been 4.

FOUR.

And she went back to that same home. That's when I broke, and I remembered where my kids were going, where they had come from. I can normally hold back my emotions until after the kids leave. I couldn't do it this year. I was crying before they even got off the bus. I think a lot of kids were confused, as most the counselors were emotional. The kids who were going back to great homes were even more confused. They couldn't understand what was going on, and for that, I'm grateful. But it was the kiddos who clung to the counselors instead of the parents or guardians. It was the kids who cried as they walked away, and all we could do was sit there, and hope that they were going to a good place.

And it's at that point, that point where all I can do is sob, and give one last hug, and tell these kids that I love them, that I have to release them into God's hands. Not that He doesn't already hold them. But there's literally nothing more I can do. We have a just and loving Father, whose Son said "Let the little children come to me." He invites the smallest, most fragile child into His loving arms, and praise God! He wants to hold on to them, and take care of them like no other parent, good or bad, could even imagine.

After the kids left, we shared our favorite memories of them, moments that moved us, moments that we know will stick with us and the kids forever. We also read the letters from the kids, and Miguel's was the most powerful. He thanked God for Jesus, for the cross, for raising Him again. He thanked God for camp. And he thanked God for being taught how to talk to Him. Miguel had never even heard of Jesus' name before camp.

That's why we do this. That's why we keep reaching out to sometimes-frustrating kids. God is always moving, and we can only pray that He would keep those tiny seeds alive in the hearts of our 24 kids. We pray that He will make those seeds burst and grow with such ferocity, that the kids know that it could be nothing else by His amazing power and love. I keep these kids in my prayers, hoping that this one week a year makes a difference in their lives. I can only pray that the other 51 weeks out of the year don't make my sweet little angels bitter, angry, or upset with the world. And someone, I know that God's everlasting love will shine through, and that these kids will start to see him in every aspect of their lives.

Blessings on all that you do!