Names on the Horizon

I have a thing for names. That novel I’ve written but haven’t published yet? All about names.

Names are huge. People were named in the Bible and it meant something. Something far more significant than what you write at the top of tests. Your name was your identity, encapsulating everything about you. Nowadays most people just name their kids Apple and Blue Ivy, because I guess we must really love fruit and colors and bizarre plant structures. Or maybe they just sound cool.

If I’m ever blessed to have kids, you can bet their names will be significant. You might think they’re the most boring names on Planet Earth, but goshdarnit, they’ll mean something.

During a church service the other night, I had a vision. A simple vision consisting of names. One after the other.

Jacob.

Zack.

Andrew.

Will.

Names of kids I’ll be responsible over this summer. I’ve been hired as a camp counselor in the Great Smokys. Or the Great Smokeys. One of those.

I count the task a high honor — a chance to take part in possibly changing a kid’s life forever. I’ll get to take what I learned and experienced last summer as a sorta-counselor with YouthWorks and really take it to the next relational level with these kids who will inhabit my cabin 24/7.

Some of these boys will be loud. Goodness, they’ll be a handful. And others will be more like me. Quieter. More insecure, messy stuff festering beneath the surface. Unsure about this whole camp thing their parents signed them up for. Afraid they won’t make any friends and just slip through the cracks. Just like they do at school.

When I consider the struggles I’ve endured in 25 years, I know that yes, I’ve been made stronger, and it’s made me rely all the more on a sovereign God to carry me through.

But I also consider the invaluable dose of perspective and understanding God’s given me after 25 years.

I get insecurity.

I get not fitting in, loneliness.

I get tears of desperation and questioning the will to keep fighting.

What if the biggest reason I experienced every lonely school lunch, or every mocking remark about acne, or every cry session before sleep was because this summer I’ll be gathering all my messiness and relating to Andrew in ways no other counselor could? Or to Jacob? Or Zack, or Will, or any of the dozens of other boys who will filter in and out of my cabin for nine weeks?

Wouldn’t it have all been worth it, then? Wouldn’t my pain from high school, college, and yesterday have served a mighty purpose, far beyond anything I could have imagined?

I can get scared, thinking about saying and doing the right things with these precious kids. There’s that insecurity streak in me.

But I’m reminded of a standout experience from my YouthWorks summer when this boy was crying at a table by himself. I just walked over and started talking to him, listening to his story and telling him some of my own, and praying with him afterward.

Nothing too complicating. It’s love. I’m more than capable of giving love. We all are.

Names on the horizon. I can’t wait to match up all those faraway names with faces soon enough.