Sunken Ship

Friday I went back out to camp to drive boats for the ski show. My orange indian pants blowing like parachutes in the wind, I made my way across the dock to get my assignment and a camper yelled out to me, "Cute pants, Brooke!" Instead of correcting her with a confusing story about leaving camp a week early and me not being Brooke, I thanked her instead and kept walking before she could see her mistake. Ski show went smooth and before I knew it I was on stage at camp council singing in a song group with my sister. Like I had never left. It was great to be back and have the maximum energy to participate and catch up with campers and staff. I felt like I was moving a million miles per second and talking like I had been created to hold conversation after conversation. Finally, I escaped to the empty docks where the ski show had already been cleaned up like it never happened, and the boat staff had left for a break before morning activities. Terry, my old boss (old because I don't work for him anymore, not for his old age), was working on one of the boats, so I plopped into a cross-legged lump on the back of the boat. Terry's always teaching me something new, and yesterday I watched and learned as he put a storage door back into the side wall of the boat, at the same time holding a rather deep conversation. I explained that the week had been slightly lonely, but full of much needed rest, and not a single minute of boredom. (Mostly because growing up my mom taught me that boredom could easily be fixed with her never ending list of chores.) He asked if I'd be interested in coming back to camp next week for clean up. As much fun as that sounded I agreed to come if and only if I became bored. But I went home and thought more about how nice it might be to spend one more week at camp... A few more air chair runs, barefooting-smooth water, or one last surf wave. I must have been processing it all before I fell asleep because I had a terribly disturbing dream that I had decided to work at camp next week. In my dream I went out in a boat, slightly distracted, and somehow I sunk the boat to the very bottom of the lake. I swam back to camp, found Terry, and somehow he already knew. I had expected him to be outraged, but instead he smiled and made his way with the tools he needed back out to the sunken boat. So patient and kind. Very much like Terry. 

They say that "patience is a virtue". But I never really knew what that meant before these past few months. For those of us who mess up over and over again, patience really is a virtue. It's a second chance and a third, fourth and fifth chance. You might call it grace. I've never really thought of myself as a needy person. There's very little that I need; food, water, sleep. But recently, someone, somewhere, somehow saw something good enough in me and was patient with me, encouraging me, reminding me that I was worth it. I was worth the wait, worth the risk, worth another chance. Never before in my life had I been given that kind of patience and now I realize that I need it. Now that I have been modeled this virtue, I think I'm ready, almost ready, to extend the same kind of patience and grace to others who, like me, don't know they need it, yet. Thank you. I think that's the best thing anyone could ever have given me. I also think it the best virtue one should strive for. Also, quite recently a friend texted me the link to this prayer. I think that she must have known I needed to learn this lesson on grace and patience and prayed it for me. Thank you!