I always like to wipe off my feet before crawling into bed. I tug a damp baby wipe out of it’s shiny white package and begin to scrub the dirt from between my toes. The fairy lights I strung around my tent illuminates a daddy long leg scurrying across the thin mesh layer. I still hear my squadmate’s laughter and chatter through the thin walls I call my home. A year ago I would have thought camping for six weeks would be impossible, but now I can’t imagine not having to spit my toothpaste into a bush or shove dryer sheets into my clothes so they don’t smell. “Goodnight!” I say into the darkness. “Goodnight!” My neighbors echo. This is training camp.
It’s raining this morning. Usually I try to wake up around 7am so I have time to take a little quiet time before breakfast, but the rain that constantly pelted my tent all last night drowned out the sound of my alarm. I peel back the layers of my sleeping bag and kneel on the floor so I can dress. I shove my Bible, pencil case, notebook, and some instant coffee into my backpack before I unzip the first layer of my tent. A spider, eager to live in a dry, happy place, scampered across the threshold. We had a vicious battle, but I triumphed over the villain, and headed to breakfast, hopping over puddles that had formed that night.
Most of the squad had already assembled underneath the patio where we eat breakfast. The rain had splashed onto the tables and chairs and was beginning to flood the brick beneath our feet. It pounded the tin roof cheerfully as Gap G went about it’s morning routine. Some of us shared the hot water heater to make coffee or tea, others served breakfast. If you are one of the blessed individuals who has allergies (for me it’s red meat) you would scuttle over to the allergy table on the other patio to grab a plate of eggs and banana. Usually breakfast consists of some type of egg or oatmeal and fruit. Today, I bent my body over my plate as I hurried back to our patio so the rain wouldn’t attack my eggs.
At nine o’clock, we disperse to have Morning Devos, a quiet time with the Lord. At 10am, our first session starts in the training center. So far we’ve had training on everything from mental health to cultural ministry to forgiveness. We always learn so much. For fifteen minutes after the sessions, we break up into teams and clean the campus. Today, team Avodah had porta potties. “Abbi!” screamed Rea, “I’m gonna actually kill you!” Rea had been dutifully filling the toilet paper deficit in one of the portas when Abbi slammed her body against the side, causing a spider to fall into Rea’s hair. I stumbled in the next one over, dropping a roll into the smelly void. Via, Olivia, and Abbi were rolling with laughter outside, clutching their sides with mirth. Even Rea was laughing about it when we walked back up the hill to lunch.
During free time after lunch it was still raining, but I walked back to my tent to grab my watercolors to take up to the inside Squad Meeting Point (SMP), a room above the training center with sticky-notes plastered over the walls and people napping in the corners. If you visited during free time, you would probably see someone strumming a guitar, a vigorous round of spicy uno, or people continuing their quiet time. We don’t have our phones during the day, which means we have more time to spend with each other. At 3, we have squad time, which could be anything from fundraising training to extreme duck-duck-goose. Yes, Mom, I was viciously bruised from duck duck goose today, and no, I do not regret it. 4 o’clock is the afternoon session. At 5, we head down to dinner with our teams. Tonight, like every night, Ellie, our team leader, exclaims that spinach is her favorite leaf. Via is eating her ice cream sandwich with a swiss army knife. Abbi has decided that the mashed potatoes are too spicy, so she sings about it.
After dinner Avodah had dishes. We crammed into the damp kitchen, slathering greasy dishes with soap and spraying them with water. Rea is probably the bravest person I know: she fearlessly reaches into the tepid grey dishwater and pulls the plug. We watch the debris swirl down the drain, wiping our hands on our water-flecked shirts. Team time is next, normally consisting of Olivia bursting into uncontrollable giggles and Via saying something that surprises us all. It’s like a small group, where we share our hearts, study the word, and build each other up in righteousness.
Here I am, sitting under the breakfast patio, the rain still pounding the tin roof soothingly. The Christmas lights hanging from the rafters illuminate the laughing faces crowded around the table next to mine, where some squadmates are chatting and sharing a bag of pretzels. After I finish this blog, I will head up to our SMP and watch some New Girl before hurrying back to my tent, crouched under my rain jacket so I won’t get wet. My shoes squelch in the mud, and large drops of water cascade from the waxy leaves of the trees that shelter our campsite. Through the rain, I glimpse bouncing flashes from headlamps through the woods, and a dull scent of soaked leaves and moldy fabric wafts to my nose. Goodnight, Gap G, I’ll see you tomorrow morning.
