Youth Camp Cometh

I've been busy getting ready for Louisiana Youth Camp. Most of the responsibility falls to my husband but he's kind enough to give me the task of finding cool videos to play during camp "goof-off" time. You know the kind...sports bloopers, funny pet tricks, etc. So I've been thinking a lot about my own youth camp experience. I know that everyone who has grown up in church has a youth camp story. In between the pranks, the mudd volleyball, the smelly hot cabins and the zip line - God tugs, bends and changes young hearts. It's as supernatural for the kids as it is exhausting for the adults. It's a staple in American Christian Culture and for good reason.
I don't know how old I was when I went to Camp Maranatha in North Carolina. Eleven, twelve maybe? Some things stand out more than others. I believe I was the only one that went from my church. Someone else paid for it. They called it a scholarship. I was one of four kids with a single mom who relied on God to meet every need. Some days we would find groceries on our back steps or anonymous money orders in the mail. I remember going to the store with my mom to buy toothpaste for the Camp. My very own tube of toothpaste. It was Bubblegum flavor....it felt like such a luxury. I felt a little guilty watching my mom scribble the cost of it down and subtracting...every penny counted. I knew my toothpaste meant a gallon of milk would have to be 1/2 a gallon or two boxes of mac n cheese would now have to be one.
I remember too the man at church who organized my venture. Herb Eplee. He came to pick me up that summer and we made the drive to Camp. My memories are fuzzy but I do remember distinctly him asking me if I had everything I needed.
"Yes," I said.
"Do you have extra money for the canteen?"
I was mortified. Extra money? What was that? If we did have any extra money it was spent on my tiny tube of Bubblegum flavor toothpaste. I was embarrassed and he read it on my face.
"It's okay," he said. He pulled over at a bank, got out and returned with some money. He tucked it into my hand.
"There now," he said. "Let's not tell your mom because I don't want her to feel like she has to pay me back. This is a gift. Okay?"
"Okay," I said. It felt so good - that crisp bill in my hand. It felt new, brand new as if my hands and Herb's were the only ones to ever touch it - like it was printed just for me - just for that moment. I went to camp and bought slushies with it. With every sip I thought of Herb. Have you ever been so marked by someone's kindness that it changes you forever? I have.
I told myself if I ever won the lottery, I was going to find Herb and pay him back one hundred times over. Unfortunately for Herb, I don't play the lottery - so it's nice to know that his reward is in heaven.
I grew up and moved away. Got married, had kids, went into ministry alongside my husband and became a sucker for every kid in need because when I looked at them, I saw myself. It's sweet, poetic irony that I'm helping to organize a state youth camp like the one that so altered my own life.
What happened to Herb? Is that what you're wondering? I wondered too. Thank goodness in facebook world, there is only one Herb Eplee.
I wrote him.
He answered:
"Rhonda...this is amazing!" he wrote. "Susie and I can't believe you remember us..."
Remember you? How could I forget?
How could I ever, ever forget?