It’s that week in July when, as an Assistant Scoutmaster, I travel with my Boy Scout troop to summer camp near beautiful Lake George at CAMP WAKPOMINEE. It’s year number 8 or 9 for me, and I love it! Not only do I get to spend time in the great outdoors, but with one (or more) of my sons too. This year is the first camp for Daniel, and the second for John. And, I enjoy building relationships with the scouts, sharing skills and knowledge of scouting — all while representing my Lord Jesus Christ in their midst!
Not to mention that walking the trails and hills, chopping fire wood, and all the rest are good physical exertions for this sedentary pastor!
So, no new posts until week’s end.
HEY, you might just want to take a look in the “archives” (see sidebar to the lower right) or search The Breadline using the categories or tags (also to the right). I think some of my earliest posts are some of my best writing…. What do you think?
Do pray for me at camp.
Here’s one of the more interesting accounts, from my week with the Scouts at Camp Wakpominee.
Early one morning, while the troops assembled awaiting the morning flag raising, I walked over to the dining hall for my first mug of coffee. One of the staff was sending all the table-setters, etc, out of the hall, and refusing admittance to everyone. “What’s up?” I asked, hoping to still get to my coffee. There were some BATS in the dining hall, which meant no scouts could enter. “Let me in,” I said. “I know how to deal with bats.” So they let me in.
Kitchen staffers were running aorund the hall with brooms in the air, swinging wildly at 3-4 large brown bats. Quickly I explained how, back in college, I used to deal with bats in the dorms, and the weapon of choice was not a broom but a tennis racquet! A minute later they put one in my hands, and I was after the bats myself. The guys with the brooms tried to direct the bats out one of the doors or windows — or to me.
Eventually, one flew out a door, one bat was pinned against a window screen, and the last one made the mistake of flying within reach of my racquet. With a large arc, as if hitting a serve, I knocked the bat from above my head towards the fireplace, 20 yards away. He landed there unconscious. The sound of the bat hitting the sweet-spot of the racquet was followed by a cheer; the last bat was gone, and breakfast could be served.
The rest of the week at camp, while dealing with the buckets of rain, I campaigned for the nickname “bat slayer” but it didn’t seem to stick.
…more tales to follow….
After a couple of weeks vacation — one camping with the Boy Scouts and one camping with the family — it is good to be home. I thank God for rich blessings and answered prayers all the while. I could easily fill a few pages with fun anecdotes from this summer’s camping, but I will do so piecemeal (a post here or there) as I get back up to speed. So stay tuned!
Yours, by divine mercy,