Creed 2011

            Every year from 2009 to 2012, I attended Creed, a summer camp that like-minded churches put on together. In 2011, as I stood in the church parking lot and waited to depart, I thought about all the wonderful, exciting events to come, but I also felt a sense of trepidation, wondering if my van ride and rooming situations would be acceptable, and what horrible organized games we would be forced to play. Right then, I had an even more pertinent concern, because the kids I stood with were aggressively debating how to say "go die in a hole" in foreign languages. Can I survive five days with these people?

I felt at peace once I was settled in a van. There were only six other youth with me, and they were all friends or happy acquaintances. We had a great time talking, laughing, listening to music, and playing dramatic mafia games. Here's a funny exchange from that ride:

Melissa said, "Stereotypes are stupid!"

"Stereotypes save time," countered Lucas.

"Fine then, you're an arrogant jerk!" 

             "Why?" he indignantly cried.

             "You're male, and you go to public school."

            Because of my dietary restrictions, I took my own food. For the first meal, I was alone in a campus outbuilding, trying to get my spaghetti to thaw and cook at the right temperature. I later journaled, "It was too late to eat outside, and I didn't have any silverware, so I used my hands and ate out of the pan. I trust that other meals will run a bit smoother." They did, and others were jealous of me for having my own food, because they disliked what the college provided.

I only had three actual friends at Creed, but the group we hung out with had expanded and combined with others into a posse of fifteen to twenty people. This was undesirable for my social needs, but suited my interest in sitting back and observing others. I wrote running commentary in my journal, recording riveting things like, "David just tried to stick a piece of Goldfish in Cory's ear" and "Now people are trying to make music by blowing on grass stems."

My journaling habits intrigued everyone. Melissa took a picture, and it's one of my all-time favorite photos of me. My shirt says, "I'm not crazy; my reality is just different than yours," which was very fitting for my time being weird in that youth group.

The camera sitting on my journal was a new purchase. My sister thought I should save up for a fancy one, but Mom said, "She wants the memories now!" I amended, "Technically, I want them later." I'm so glad to have pictures from this year of Creed, especially since it was the last trip I took with that church before my family left in the fall.

            Unbeknownst to me, my future pastor and future friends were at Creed that year. In Thursday night's talent show, their youth group lip synced and performed to "Under the Sea," and I happened to video this, never imagining the wonderful times that were coming with some of the strangers onstage. One of them was Sophie, who I saw around camp but never spoke to. We met online the next month, discovering common interests, and met in person at Creed Re-Connect in October. At the time, I wished that I had met her at camp, but now I would change nothing about our story. I love how camp provides a unique overlapping point between two chapters of my life.

This next story illustrates why my current chapter of life needed to end. Fifteen people in my group decided to play Honey Do You Love Me, a game well-described by Christian author Mike Cosper: "If you're 'it,' you have to approach a person of the opposite sex and say, 'Honey, if you love me, you'll smile.' They must reply, 'Honey, I love you, but I just can't smile.' You get three chances to make the person break by smiling or laughing, and then you must move on to someone else. Typically, winning is accomplished with techniques that border on sexual harassment."

I refused to play this game, because it was beneath my dignity. One of the guys, Grant, also sat out. I was afraid that people would act like we were pairing off, but they were too busy making fools of themselves to notice. He and I sat several feet away, making things out of duct tape and picking at grass. 

            One of the participating girls took pictures, and people freaked out over how suggestive and inappropriate many looked out of context. They insisted that she delete them, and she threatened to post them on Facebook. I wearily judged everyone.

A story that comes at no one's expense happened on another afternoon, when Calvin had just finished playing sports. His leg was dripping blood, and even though he insisted that he was fine and that it was just a torn-off scab, Melissa wanted to apply first aid. Everyone made jokes about "Doctor Melissa," and she ignored them, washing his bloody scrape with a wet paper towel.

Emily and another girl brought over a first aid kit, and since they were walking slowly, one of the guys hollered, "Hurry up! Calvin is about to die! He's lost a massive amount of blood!"

People continued making morbid jokes, like, "He needs his left arm amputated!"

"No, he doesn't," said Grant, one of the most mature people on the trip. "He needs his nose amputated! Believe me. I've read a book about this stuff."

Soon, Calvin got into the spirit of things. "My life flashed before my eyes!" he said, and he started offering his organs to people in case he didn't make it.

After that, we were required to play horrible organized games. One of them involved throwing flour at other players. I sat out on the sidelines and took pictures, feeling grateful that I was allergic to gluten and thus had a justifiable excuse to avoid the "game."

On Wednesday, traumatic camp injuries were no longer a joke. Here's a picture of me, Melissa, and Emily going down the slip 'n' slide in the rain right before Emily got her concussion. She had to go to the emergency room, as did the music guy. He had temporary amnesia. Emily recovered sooner, but still deals with the impact of her head injury. The slip 'n' slide is no longer part of Creed camp, but according to Emily, at least one person still gets seriously injured every year. "I started a trend!"

On the way home, we stopped at a Wendy's for lunch. I took this picture of Melissa, and also got one at a less flattering angle, which made it look like her straw was up her nose. She begged me to delete it. I was a good friend, so I did, even though the photo was hilarious.

You can only see a glimpse of what she's wearing, but it's the camp t-shirt from that summer. The theme was rejecting idolatry, and the shirt visualized this with a red symbol crossing out a golden calf. When we got in the vans that morning, one guy said, "Didn't we learn a whole lot about how to better worship our idols? Right now, I feel really drawn to worship this beautiful shirt."

Out of context, our shirts might look like statements against eating cow, so Melissa said at the restaurant, "We're hypocrite vegetarians. We're ordering burgers!" Later, a stranger gave someone a quizzical look and asked, "No beef?" They explained what the shirt meant, but among ourselves, we joked, "We just got out of vegetarian camp, and hurried to the nearest Wendy's!"