Summer camps mean a lot of things to a lot of people and this one means a lot to me. You know those kids that wait at the mailbox for the registration brochure, attend the very first week of camp, are the last ones in their cabin to leave, and sing every new song they learned over and over on the ride home until they pass out or their parents scream "uncle?" Well, my name is Ashley, and I'm a campaholic. I've been coming to Lutherhill since I was old enough and spent 9 summers here as camper, intern, and staffer. I love this place so much I married it (well, I got married here anyway). So when I heard there was a wildfire coursing it's way through the area in September...I was not a happy camper. I had just left our farm 5 minutes down the road when the fire started but got all the way home to Austin before I heard the news. Now we all had to wait, hands tied, unable to help until the smoke cleared (despite some valiant renegade missions for news and recon).
I say "we" because camp is family and this place has been home. Family of intimate friends new and old, even some blood relatives, but all family of God. Not just in a trite/cliche way, but a "you're one of the people/we are bonded before Ai'wa" kinda way (don't get it? Go watch Avatar). Now it's round 2 of cleaning up this battered and bruised wilderness and they've asked for help. And when family needs you, you show up. Do I know how to wield a chainsaw, pull stumps, or put out hotspots? Can my two month old baby clear brush? Nope, but it's doesn't matter. Just show up and you'll figure it out together.
The day after the fire started:
Today:
Fire - 0, Love - 1
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