I stepped just beyond the reach of the street light and let my eyes wander upward. In no time at all there was a crick in my neck, but I couldn't bring myself to care. I was there to greet the stars. Surrounded by constant light pollution in my everyday life, it had been years since I had seen them so vividly. There they were, accompanied by a chorus of crickets and an aroma of recent rainfall. My familiar sense of awe and empowered insignificance rushed back to me. I hadn't been positive I would ever make it back to this place, and I was even less sure about what might happen or what I might feel if I did come back. As soon as I saw those stars, I knew something divine had carried me to this place. For the first time in six years, I was home.
The week before I left for Kamp Kaleo I had to explain to several friends why I would make a 12-hour journey to spend a week in between corn fields and cow pastures. It's a valid question. It's a lot of effort to get there, and very little can beat the Chicago social scene in the summer. Sure, I wanted to give back to a place that had given so much to me, but a deeper reason sat in the back of my mind: I am in need of a little Kaleo.
Kamp Kaleo has been the one consistent place in every stage of my life. It was a fun place to visit and make new friends at in my early childhood. In junior high, it was a place where I could belong, even when the nagging sense of isolation tugged at my sleeve. Experiences at Kaleo helped me to solidify my passion and direction for my future while I was in high school. Kamp was the springboard for my future during a transitional summer of my college career. Now, as a young professional living far away from where my life started, Kaleo has grounded me in my history, been a refuge from the hustle of my everyday life, and connected me with myself and others in the holy spirit. I thought that after my six-year hiatus from kamping I would be amazed at all that had changed there. It turns out, I was pleasantly surprised at all the ways it is the same. Kaleo is still the magic I remember, providing people with exactly what they need whether or not they even know they need it yet.
The week was incredible. It was filled with everything that you would expect from Kaleo: laughter, tubing down the river, connection, hot chocolate, music, creativity, inside jokes, bullfrogs, cherry crisp, blistering heat, incredible vespers, bell ringing, grace singing, challenging moments, dewy mornings, meaningful conversation, fire circles, unexpected adventures, new and old friends, and so much more. At the start of the week, there were a few kids who made it clear to everyone that they adamantly did not want to be there. So many times, I wanted to grab them by the shoulders and tell them to just be open to the possibility of this being a positive experience. I'm glad I didn't--they needed to come to it in their own time and their own ways. Really, Kaleo needed the space to work its way into their hearts without me getting in the way. By the end of the week, those kids were the ones wishing to stay longer and making plans for next year. Kamp will find a way to get under your skin whether or not you let it.
Someone once told me that kaleo is Greek for "calling." I never would have said it out loud to my Chicago friends, but my real desire to go to Nebraska, my need for a little Kaleo, was the spirit calling me home. I may have been called because the leaders were desperate for someone to be in charge of the music group or because they wanted an able, responsible body to watch kids in the river. More than that, I think the call came from the missing piece inside of me yearning for the extravagant belonging and holy work found only at Kamp Kaleo.
