Brian Thompson traveled with his wife and daughter on a two-day retreat to a cabin on a lake with Memorial Presbyterian this past weekend. He wrote this letter home to his mother, which we will now print in its entirety:
Dear mom,
How are you? I am fine. Homesick, but I have clean sheets, I change my underwear daily and I have not been horribly mauled by a bear. (As they say in Hollywood, the night is still young and I smell like chicken and roasted marshmallows. Hopefully I will survive the night.)
It is very pretty here. The lake is very warm, and as far as I can tell, it is not filled with brain-eating amoeba. I am very concerned about brain-eating amoeba. So concerned, in fact, that I have yet to take a shower. Or drink water. Or brush my teeth. For some reason, whenever I walk up to some people and begin a conversation, their noses twitch and they take two giant steps backward. Must be some kind of camp tradition.
The mosquitoes are the size of pterodactyls, and they don’t just bite you. They approach you with a blood donation bag and ask which arm has the largest veins. It’s very disconcerting. I chose the left arm. There are also great swarms of mating lovebugs. It is like some kind of lovebug hippie commune. They stay up all night mating and partying and dancing in the moonlight. Several tried to get into bed with me, but I told them I didn’t think that would be very appropriate.
The people here are very nice and friendly. They try to hide their laughter when I trip over tree roots or put my T-shirt on backwards.
I wrote a psalm today. I don’t actually know what a psalm is, but I gave it my best shot. I entitled it, “When you peer into the universe’s navel, will you see belly button lint?” Based on what other people wrote, I don’t think I did it right. But they were very supportive. Several said, “Oh … how interesting! I bet your mother is very proud of you!” Yes, she certainly is, I told them.
There are many activities here. Water sports are very popular. We have spent most of our time on the lake. They pull you behind a speed boat on a big, inflatable raft and try to make you fall off. I wore two life jackets, a helmet and a fire extinguisher, just in case. There are kayaks and canoes and even a rock climbing wall! I wanted to climb it, but the rule is the children get to go first. What kind of rule is that? You should see these kids! They barely know what they’re doing. They flop around on the wall and complain that it’s too high. “Oh, poor babies!” I yelled. “I could be up that thing in five seconds! Give someone good a chance!” This didn’t go over very well with the camp counselors. I was asked to go sit on a bench until I calmed down and could speak like a gentleman.
The only real danger I have experienced — aside from the bears, the brain-eating amoeba and the homicidal boat driver — was during the campfire sing-a-long. We had s’mores. It was a war zone! Pitch black darkness. Children hopped up on sugar ran around with sharp, pointy sticks. Each had a hot, molten, flaming marshmallow on the end. It was like a scene out of “Lord of the Flies.” Or “Apocalypse Now.” Or “Pirates of the Caribbean.” I tell you, I have never been so terrified in my entire life. Thank goodness I had the fire extinguisher and my helmet. I saw a kid take a flaming marshmallow in the ear. He didn’t even flinch! The wilderness will do strange things to a man.
I have learned a whole lot about myself this weekend. I know that I never pack enough underwear. I know that my daughter is super brave and is very close to nature. (In fact, she even had a conversation with a squirrel about whether it will be a tough winter.) And I know that a moonrise over a lake is one of the most beautiful things I have ever seen. I was very inspired. Until a lovebug flew in my mouth and ruined it!
Hopefully I will survive my second night here. I am covered in sticky marshmallows and I’m too afraid of the water to wash it off. If the bears don’t get me, I’m afraid the lovebugs will.
Sincerely,
Your son