A while back, Karen asked me to write some stories from Duffield. I finally have a breather, and I'm not sure where things are at with all of your planning, but hopefully this will give you some sense of what the place means for at least one person... maybe others could chime in with their stories.

When I think of the 8 years I spent as a camper, I am flooded with memories: messy creek walks, making God's Eyes in the craft cabin, singing Gray squirrel up in Janeway, jumping and sliding in the clay pits, camping at the outpost. I remember formative conversations about life and God with friends and counselors from very different theological perspectives. I also remember sneaking over to the girls' cabin to french kiss my girlfriend of the week. The guys in my cabin would stay up late telling ghost stories and we would cry on Friday night knowing we had to leave the next day. I cannot forget a sense of awe - that God was very close - as we sang our Alleluias at evening vespers.

The two years of volunteer counselling marked a transition time... shifting from being a carefree camper to being in a position of responsibility... something that I didn't always do very well. A memory highlight from this time was the moment the camp burst with light as the local teens had coordinated a synchronized fireworks attack on the camp. Adrenaline pumping, we chased them down and grabbed a couple of the guys... calling the police and forcing them to name all their friends involved. Instead of pressing charges, we invited them to a chicken dinner on Thursday, giving them an opportunity to experience some grace and spend some time with the campers we loved dearly.

The five years I spent working for the camp - as counsellor, program director, and interim director - providing a tremendous opportunity for growth. We wrapped up each summer - exhausted - knowing we had given our all to the campers. There are too many stories to tell... of miraculous kick-ball comebacks, of daily sojourns to the laundry room to wash wet sleeping bags, of moments when kids tried something they never could have imagined they would do.

For all these years, Duffield was a place to get away from the confines of school and society and revel in God's love. I marveled at the Spirit blowing through that beautiful creation, and I delighted to be a part of a community seeking to follow Christ. It was a place where grace was in ample supply... and I certainly needed more than my fair share.

On that note, I'd like to close with a story from Sr Hi Camp. Stay with me because I think this is an important story.

We were playing ultimate frisbee out on the ballfield. One of my good friends, Tim Fox, was getting a little physical with another friend, Dave Murrey. Tim was a good friend from my home church. Dave and I came from different ends of the theological spectrum and had been known to argue on more than one occasion. Tim was a big guy and occasionally liked to be in the bully role. Dave wasn't about to be pushed around, so the two of them escalated their contact as we played.

Finally, there was a stand-off. Play stopped immediately, and I ran over and jumped in between them before it got any worse. The physical tension seemed to ease up, but Dave was adamant (and rightly so), insisting that it wasn't fair and that he wasn't going to take it any more. That's when I jumped in, taking Tim's side. I let Dave had it. "Chill out! You can't leave well enough alone, can you?! You have to keep going and be a total..." With everyone watching, I spewed forth all kinds of venom. I said some horrible things - things that probably did much more damage than any of their previous physical contact on the field.

In his wisdom, Jim Patterson, our director, called all the guys over and told us to sit down in a circle. Jim diffused the tension and helped us to talk things through. The Spirit blew in from somewhere and we reconciled. Dave and Tim shook hands and Dave gave me his trademark big smile.

We were ready to get back to the game, and I was more than a bit embarrassed as the girls watched us return from our huddle to the field. But, the game continued, and I did my best not to draw any attention to myself.

We were down to the end of the game. The next point would win. Our team had the frisbee and I rushed toward the end zone. Someone flew it my way and I watched it coming, closer and closer...

If I catch this, it will make it all better. They won't all think I'm a total jerk, I thought to myself as steadied my balance.

I dove as high as I could in the air - extending my arm as far as possible - only to have to float by, just out of reach. Screwed up again. What a jerk.

I fell to the ground.

I don't know why, but I looked up... it was still floating.

I scrambled to my feet and took four or four strides before grabbing it - just before it landed - in the end zone. Touchdown! My friends cheered.

Like I mentioned, I often needed more than my fair share of Grace. And, I'm trusting that Grace will keep the frisbee floating in the air just long enough for Duffield get up and get it's feet underneath itself again.