Her dad drove five hours to drop her off at church sleep-away camp in a mountain town. She’ll spend the week at a college campus set high atop a hill. In her bag, she packed a toothbrush, pajamas, and the Bible of a loved one we lost too soon. There will be ping pong and girl talk and white water rafting. She’ll sleep in a dorm room and bunk with friends and–I pray–grow ever closer to Jesus all the while.
This one–this child of mine–is all her own. She zigs when others zag. She is soft-spoken, but bursting with ideas. A young lady content to stay on the sidelines, but intent on being heard. Remembered. She doesn’t realize–it seems–just how unforgettable she is.
Her older sister went to the same camp last year. She called me one day, having borrowed her youth coach’s cell phone, to tell me a “God thing” story. Her own all-out testimony, shared with a passion that I would never have guessed might come from her. When we hung up that afternoon I didn’t so much as blink before I knelt right there in the kitchen, in humble gratitude for His mighty, wondrous ways.
One year later with middle sister off at the same camp, hopefully laying a faith foundation of her own. Drawing a mental blueprint of who she will be. Of how she will be it.
My heart holds its breath, waiting to hear…