August 28-31, 1969
During our 10 days of counseling at Camp Moyoca, Nate and I got attached to our high school campers, even the obstreperous ones, and both of us were glad we’d had the chance to spend time with them. For me it was also a treat to work alongside old buddies again, and for Nate it was a chance to meet them.
I also loved getting to water ski again, and both of us found it satisfying to sit alongside “our kids” at late-night campfires listening to their testimonies of new commitments to Christ.
Nate referred to these 10 days as “a spiritual experience of depth,” and I was pleased at how well he managed his cabin-full of boisterous boys. (No doubt his recent military training factored in.)
It was pure pleasure to watch him stockpile experiences at “my” camp, knowing that in years to come if I spoke of old memories there, he would understand. And one other perk was that when the last day came, a lifelong friendship with the camp director, Jim Gwinn, had begun.
Just after the camp bus pulled away carrying campers back to the city, Nate and I had to race away, too. It was his turn to stand up in a friend’s wedding, and this time the ceremony was back in the Champaign area.
Those 156 miles were becoming a regular gig for us, and we went straight from camp to the groom’s house, where Nate tried on his white tux and was brought up to speed on wedding details.
In our free hours, we headed back to our newly-rented apartment to paint, finishing the first coat and starting the second. The rooms were gradually morphing from turquoise to white, taking on a fresh, clean look.
Back home Mom and Dad were assembling pieces of hand-me-down furniture and a small stove for us. They were also donating the old carpeting from their new home (the tenant beneath us would be appreciative), and an aunt was contributing a couch.
Mom had arranged to borrow a giant van from friends, and our apartment paint needed to be dry before they arrived. So after the weekend’s wedding festivities, Nate and I painted long into the night to get the job completed, tackling those 156 miles afterwards to make it home in time for the annual double birthday party for Dad and Tom – both born on September 1st.
Everything was coming together nicely, except for one thing. My new first graders would be walking into their classroom in just a few days, and I hadn’t decorated a single bulletin board – much less made a teaching plan for Day #1.
“Be a good worker, one who does not need to be ashamed.” (2 Timothy 2:15)