More than a feeling.

Any of you who grew up going to a summer camp with God at its center can probably relate to this in some way.

You arrive there on the first day excited to be there again, looking forward to the time you're going to spend there. Perhaps you're thinking of all the fun you'll have. Hanging out with friends, doing stupid things that only make sense in the current context. Perhaps you've been struggling, and you're eager to meet up with God in a way that you haven't in a while, if ever. Whatever the case may be, you're expecting a lot.

And, as usual, your time there exceeds your expectations. Did you have fun? Yes. Did you do something off the wall that you might not want to tell your friends back home, because they just won't understand? Yes. Did you come to feel closer to God than you ever have before? Yes. And you feel like a new person. Like you've changed for good. All the stupid stuff you were doing the week before is now a thing of the past. The depression you've been in has flown away, and you feel as if it can't touch you anymore.

The last day arrives, and you're sad to leave, but you're ready to take on the world. God is on your side and you feel it. Then you leave. Maybe you make it down the road a ways before anything changes, maybe you even make a few days, a few weeks if you're lucky. Or maybe you don't even make it ten feet past the gate. However long it takes (or doesn't take), these whispers start to creep in. You're not really any different. You're still this person that can't do anything but fail, and God's not going to help you. Life starts to hit you. Your home is far from enchanting. Your friends, who are still stuck in their confusion and destructive habits, are doing their best to pull you back in so they have a companion in their suffering. And as strongly as you vowed at camp that you weren't going back to what you knew before, you start to lose your willpower. God seems distant again. And those feelings you had at camp disappear.

I'll let you in on a secret; counselors can fall into this trap too.

The two weeks of camp this June were two of the best weeks I've ever experienced in my 20-some-odd years of camp going. Our staff, both weeks, worked so well together. As much as I'd like to say that's how it always is, it's not. Some years have been riddled with conflict, making the experience almost more depressing than encouraging. But I felt so close to everyone this year. Our tight-knit group and concentrated focus, I think, allowed God to move in mighty ways.

Also, I did a lot of things those two weeks that I had either never done before, or had not done in the manner that I did them this year. I had more people looking to me this year as an authority of some sort then I ever have in the past. I was a teacher, completely responsible for my own classes, with no "adult" watching over my shoulder to make sure I was doing my job and that kids weren't misbehaving. I put kids to bed at night, while women several years older than I-some twice my age-were in the room, completely following my lead, allowing me to be the "mom." I led Bible studies, small group discussions, imparted words of wisdom that have been given to me in my short twenty-two years of life. I was called upon to sing, to lead people in worship, more than has ever happened in the past. People wanted my opinion, sometimes on things that I knew a fair amount about, and other times on things of which I was completely unfamiliar, but tried my best to help with, nonetheless.

As all of this was happening, I couldn't help but stand back many times over and examine what was going on. Why did this not seem like a big deal? I've never been responsible for so many things in my life. Why didn't this seem monumental? Why wasn't I getting overwhelmed? Why was it so easy, happening almost effortlessly?

It was because of God. My weak, insecure, self was out of the way, and his strength was giving me the ability to tackle everything that came at me.

I left there feeling like a changed person. And when I made it back to my home, sitting in my bedroom, the space that is connected to me more than any other, even though it was already a week since I had left the grounds of Camp Formosa, I still felt like the person who had left my bedroom was not the same one who returned. The ties that connected me to my room were not as strong as they had once been, indicating a change.

I'm a camp veteran. Even though I was probably the least repentant of all of my camp mates growing up, that situation I described in the beginning is not unfamiliar. All too often, what feels like a change, is mostly just a "camp high." A lot of emotion, founded on good intent, but not deeply rooted. Yes, God did speak at camp, but His truth didn't really come in and replace the lies. It was just something that we latched onto for a moment, making us briefly feel good, but which we let go of as soon as things got hard.

I don't want that to be the reality this time. And as convinced as I am that something is different, experience has made me skeptical. I wish I wasn't skeptical. God, help me overcome my skepticism.

The more I think about it, though, I was probably different before the two weeks came around. Things couldn't have happened they way they did without preparation. I think God was preparing me for a long time. And those two weeks were the moment when the effects of that preparation were made known. My ability to lead was likely there beforehand, it just wasn't exposed until the moment when it was needed.

If that's the case, perhaps the change is real, and not simply noble emotion. How reassuring.