Tenderness of Thin Places

Yesterday, I visited the camp I went to as a child.  It is a holy place for me. A place where I encountered God’s presence as a child.  Not that I would have called it God back then or even have known what presence was.  All I knew was the presence of the long deep lake, the cry of the loons at dusk, children’s singing and playing. I knew presence from the tall pines, the sweet ferns, the soft sanded paths that wound through camp. I found presence in horse trots, ice-cream, naked night swims, and laughter when we should have been sleeping.  And the presences in the solitude during the quiet resting part of the day when I heard the water lapping on the stone shore, birdsong, creaks of old cabin floorboards. This was all made available to us through the nurturing and constant rhythm of each day, care of counselors who taught us how to care for each other, the radical belonging of everyone.  The safe container to be your silly, disheveled, made-up, fancy, not all together, loud and quiet self.

I have yearned for camp, for God, for so much of my life. That feeling of safety and belonging, the quiet of the forests at end of a busy day, the lake that healed my body of shame. At camp, I was free from bullying, scapegoating, body hatred.  In this place of the natural daily rhythms of rest, movement, satiated hungers, community, the body was at ease, playful, the mind a whirl of creativity and daring, the heart open and loving. Such peaceful qualities I have longed for but rarely experienced in the outer world.

Perhaps camp meant so much to me as a child because it was so different than my day-to-day life in the outer world which was filled with love and care but also watchful expectations and untold pressures for perfection and misunderstood neglect for the inner heart.  There was fighting, and chaos interspersed with peace and quiet that you could not predict. There was the sway between freedom and restriction - heart, body, mind  - while walking along a tightrope between belonging and unbelonging. 

Camp, like God, is a thin place where the now merges with the past, into the present, and then flows through me into my future. 

When I visit camp, it can feel like I am back in one of the many dreams I have had of the place. Or are these memories flooding in?  I walk the paths and am 10 years old again playing jacks on cabin steps, 12 and awkward in clothes that don’t fit right, 15 with a new courage to climb mountains and dance. 

While camp (and God) has mostly eluded me in the outer world, I have also caught regular glimpses of it along the path.  These were signposts I followed like a beacon towards my greatest yearnings and longings for safety, love, belonging, and adventure, God!  What called to me has been hiking in the mountains, swimming in cold rivers and lakes, long walks along rocky shorelines. And, the unbidden kindness of people who helped me as guides, listeners, caretakers, safe harbors.  There have been sanghas like church, yoga, therapy groups, and the heart opening caring of loved ones. God bursting through into the mundane, brutal, boring day to day world of worrying so much about the next catastrophe. 

I grasp for God and find a camplike, tender presence encouraging me to let go, dive into the cold lake, receive like the sun what is already bursting through to hold me in belonging.