Each year our church spends a weekend at a camp in the White Mountains of New Hampshire. We stay in these tiny old cabins and come together for meals in a big farmhouse. We hike, swim, canoe, kayak, walk, explore, play, make fires, cook s'mores, laugh, drink all the coffee, run, stargaze, read, hike a second mountain, run into the lake, snack, swing in hammocks, and have good long conversations. With all the transitions this year I was hesitant to drive up for the weekend, but goodness I'm glad I did. The cool night air helped me sleep, the exercise felt good, the adventure of canoeing seven miles down a river in Maine is one I won't soon forget. James joined in a huge capture the flag game and in order to get the other team's flag he crawled through a culvert pipe in the road and broke a fence jumping over it--I don't know why these things surprise me.
This is a special place. One of those places that seems to be set out of time and the daily drudge of life. Suddenly the things that don't matter, the trivial things I make priority in my life, fall away and I can see clearly again.
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