I like to make up stories about people. I observe random people at the airport while I am waiting for my flight at the gate, and create stories. The man sitting across me in a dark suit talking on his blackberry is a mafia Don strategizing about impending criminal activity in Chicago. The well dressed lady in the grey suit and black high heels is a top advisor to the new CEO of General Motors. No doubt she is typing a memo on her laptop that will chart the future of the auto giant. It is fun to make up stories. Occasionally my overactive imagination can be put to good use.

I saw one of our campers in worship tonight sitting alone. That is generally a red flag. And then I noticed something even more significant. She was crying.
She was trying really hard to hide it, but the tears would not stop. My fatherly instincts kicked in as fast as a fully automatic weapon. What is wrong? I thought to myself. What do I need to do? Should I go find her a Kleenex? Should I go track down the boy who broke her heart and do him bodily harm? The minute part of my brain that triggers rational thoughts kicked in for some reason, and I reached a quick conclusion. I should do nothing… I need to do let her work through her tender emotions, and not interrupt the process.

My fatherly instincts would not go away, so I distracted myself by making up a story about her. She has a troubled home life. Her father left the home when she was 10 years old. More recently she had a boyfriend abandon her for someone else. (Visions of bodily harm re-enter my thoughts.) She has made some really poor choices during this most recent school year. Visions of alcohol driven parties ran through my mind. And now it is all crashing in around her.

Camp is the first opportunity she has had to really evaluate where she is in life. God’s presence is very real to her this week. The classes have been convicting and the worship time moving. By the time Tuesday evening rolls around, she cannot hold in the emotions any longer. She feels compelled to sit alone and try to begin the process of unraveling the tangled web of her young life.

Most of my stories about the people I observe are strictly for personal entertainment. They are of course 100% fiction. I really think the narrative I created about the young lady sitting in front of me in worship may have more than a grain of truth to it. Her heart is broken. I think that is a fact indeed.

Thankfully she is in a safe place. Camp is a safe place to rediscover God’s powerful presence. Camp can be the catalyst for a change in life direction.
Worship with 500 other teens is powerful no matter where you are sitting, or who you are sitting with at the time. There is nothing fictional about any of those things.

I don’t know that girl’s name, but tonight, as my head hits the pillow, Psalm 51: 10 will be on my mind.

10 Create in me a pure heart, O God, and renew a steadfast spirit within me.