A Sad Farewell

[This is more than slightly off topic and rather lengthy, but since this is my little corner of the internet, I decided it's okay.  I probably won't even notice if you skip this post. I also plagiarized myself and took parts of this post from a post I wrote for my old blog years ago. So if it seems familiar to you, that's why! ]

Last weekend (okay, a couple of weeks by the time I finished this post!), I made what was probably my last trip to one of my favorite places in the world – JBM (Joseph Badger Meadows Camp and Conference Center). JBM is a camp that I attended as a child, and then volunteered at and worked at as a teenager into my early twenties. I did everything from being a counselor to painting fences to working in the kitchen and even served as the assistant summer camp director for a summer or two.  Even after I entered the "real world," I would take a week off of my job and volunteer at JBM for a week.  So, needless to say, I have a lot of fond memories of the place.

Unfortunately, the Presbytery that owns JBM announced this winter that it would be putting the camp up for sale. Thankfully, one of the pastors in the Presbytery is a former JBM staff member and worked hard to ensure that those of us who loved it would be able to say farewell.  And so May 2 was marked on my calendar for months and I approached the day with both dread and anticipation.

Driving up that gravel road into camp was almost surreal.  Not much had changed on the property in the 15 (yikes!) years since I worked there.  Of course, in lots of other ways, nearly everything has changed both in my life and the life of the camp.  But the old farm house still smelled the same, the paths took the same route through the woods, and the cabin doors still made the same slamming sounds.  As I walked throughout the camp, my mind was filled with memories of the time I spent there. Though there are plenty of funny stories and inside jokes to think about (and a few of those did come to mind), it was more of a general sense of reliving a period of time - a sense of remembering an old friend and the things we used to do together.  Or maybe like an old movie reel with continuous but somewhat fuzzy clips playing of faces and places - images of gathering in the industrial kitchen on staff night, silliness at the pool, traipsing through the fields and woods, quiet moments in the chapel in the pines, and hours spent on front porch cabins. It was almost like attending the memorial of a loved one - I was filled with sadness at what had been lost, but great happiness in remembering the time we spent together, both specific times and the general feeling of being at JBM.

I debated whether or not I wanted to take Liam with me to the JBM farewell.  Part of me wanted to share this special place with him, but the selfish part of me wanted to have my undivided attention to give to reliving my days at JBM.  Through a long chain of events, it ended up that he pretty much had to come with me, and I'm so glad it worked out that way.  It was so fun to see him discovering one of my favorite places - I was actually able to see it with new eyes through his wonder of hiking through the woods and questions about how camp worked and what we did there.  On our way home (and several times since) he has said "I'm so sad that JBM is closing. It is so fun there...I wish it didn't have to close."  Me too, buddy, me too!

Some (or many) of you have never been to JBM. So what does any of this have to do with you? Well, in thinking and rethinking all of this, I've realized a couple of things that are significant to my life now, and might be applicable to anyone, whether you not you've been to JBM or perhaps have a "JBM" in your life that has a different name and a different look.  

As I was anticipating my visit and pondering the good ol’ days at JBM, I was trying to figure out what made it such a special place to me. To a stranger looking around, it probably appears as a few hundred acres with a barn, a swimming pool, several other modest buildings, open fields, and wooded areas – nothing special. But to me (and many others), it is more than the sum of its parts. Looking back, it was a formative time and place in my life, in many ways. During the countless days I spent there, lots of memories were made. I could tell you stories of late nights around the campfire, silly songs and skits, canoeing down the Allegheny and spending the night on an island during a giant thunderstorm, mass producing s'mores, hours spent trying to think of indoor fun during summer rain, and meaningful devotions. 

So my first "life lesson" for myself is that memories can be made (and often are) in ordinary places.  JBM is lovely, but it's no luxury seaside retreat or exotic adventure.  Let's be honest - it was on the rustic side of the scale, with thin foam mattresses and spiders in the shower. But that didn't keep us from loving it!  I was actually a little nervous when I took Eric to JBM for the first time, because I realized that I spoke so glowingly of camp that he might be expecting more than what first meets the eye. I love to travel and I've done my share of foreign traveling, so I think I'm tempted to dream of the day when we can again go on foreign adventures or lounge on a pristine beach.  But in the meantime, precious memories can and will be made in the backyard; at the park; on the shores of Lake Erie.  I don't want to overlook these ordinary days and places in anticipation of something or somewhere "better" or "more exciting".

But, somehow, it’s more than the memories themselves that make JBM what it is to me. I also made friendships there that I still treasure today. It was an important time in my life. JBM was my first job, a place where I learned lots of new skills, from building a porch to belaying to planning and helping to lead a week of camp. In the process I learned a lot about responsibility, leadership, and decision making. I think foremost, JBM was a safe place; the first place outside my family where I experienced true community. High school can be (and sometimes was for me) a rough time on the self-esteem, but JBM was a place where I felt comfortable being myself; it helped me to come out of my shell. I had friends and mentors there who liked me for who I was, which in turn helped me to embrace who I was, quirks and all.  It epitomized the word "community". 

And so I've realized that JBM taught me the importance of creating community - friendship, acceptance, shared memories.  While my physical circumstances have changed and I no longer have weeks to spend in the woods with my friends, my desire (and others' too I suspect) is still to be connected to people: to live life together.  I want to be intentional about creating a true community in the midst of the places and people with whom I regularly interact. 

Those days and weeks of summer were seemingly endless. In fact, we often wished our time away – "how long until lights out?" or “only a few more hours until peace and quiet and a staff trip to Quaker Steak.” But soon enough, the week was gone, and then the summer. And even after the summer was over, there was the promise of another summer of fun. But like most good things, it came to an end. The responsibilities of a grown-up life came calling, and it was time to replace playing in the sun with internships and jobs.  And whaddya know - now I regret wishing those days away. I didn't know just how great of a thing I had.

But guess what? I do the same thing now!  I find myself counting the hours until bedtime, or until Friday, or until everyone is out of diapers.  Thankfully I'm more becoming more aware of this tendency and trying to break myself of it. I'm not trying to say that you should enjoy EVERY minute of EVERY day - life isn't all sunshine and puppy dogs. But when I actually stop and think about it, our summers at camp weren't all perfect either. There was plenty of rain, a little vomit, difficult campers, and poison ivy.  That barn in the picture above? I pretty much hated spending time in there, but we did nearly every day!  But in my mind, I remember my time at JBM with nothing but fondness.  I have a suspicion that the same will be true of this period of life. The sleeplessness, the messy house, and the out-of-control behavior will fade from my memory, and I will remember this as such a sweet period of time.  I must be getting slightly more wise in my old age (haha!) because I am trying to slow down and treasure those moments of sweetness as they happen - a toddler's chubby fingers in mine; deep belly laughs from both boys; the simple fun of playing a board game with a preschooler.  Because I know that one day I will wish I could return to these simpler days in the same way I'd like to revisit the days of JBM, I'm striving to enjoy them to the fullest right now. (Note that I said striving, not always successfully!) 

There is still a deep sadness within me that another generation will not grow up knowing the simple beauty and community of Joseph Badger Meadows, but I'm grateful for the memories I have and the lessons I've learned from this special place.

Whether you've been to JBM or not, I hope you can relate to something in this post. I'd love it if you'd leave a comment with your thoughts on your special place, or a favorite memory at JBM. 

PS In all seriousness, if you know of an organization in eastern Ohio or Western Pennsylvania that is looking to open a camp, let me know!  It's the prayer of my heart that JBM will continue as a place where kids and adults can experience fellowship and draw closer to God!