Arrogance Crumbling: Pine Cove

In East Texas, where the pines are tall and their scent lingers, where the air is humid and the sun hides none of its heat, there is a city called Tyler. Outside of Tyler is a camp that I grew up going to, where kids waterski and ride horses and play basketball and football and learn about God.

Having grown up going there, and knowing some people who had worked there, I had always imagined Pine Cove as this place of severe conservatism. The guy counselors must be clean-shaven, have short hair, can't show tattoos or have earrings; tattoos can't be shown by girl counselors, either, and more than two earrings on an ear is frowned upon. In the morning, we sing songs to America, about how wonderful she is. This is Texas: we love America, and we are conservative.

The notion, however, that Pine Cove was a conservative mecca was very false; even in my first week there, I saw that these people (the vast majority of them) were sincere in their pursuit of God. The notion, though, was completely shattered on a weekend night. It is night and dark, and the road is not wide. Two senior staffers are in the front seat, myself in the back. In an instant, appearing on the dark road, is an unnaturally large raccoon—we slam on the breaks and I yell, "FUCK!"

Haha.

At Pine Cove, I met so many amazing people who pushed me to new heights in love and in grace, in showing people love and grace. There are so many I am not going to name any—but they know who they are, and they know that even the smallest interactions on the skate park or during crud war or writing letters and finding them in your box or crying in an empty cabin or singing the bumblebee song or that damned raccoon or getting ice cream at Andy's or going to Starbucks or destroying campers in ping pong or going to Six Flags months later or roadtripping to Waco listening to Regina Spektor or singing God of Heaven come down—all of this meant so, so much, and I thank you for it.

Someone once told me, "I just know that it doesn't feel good to judge." His words have never rung so clear. At Pine Cove, people showed me this; they lived it. At Pine Cove, I walked into an evangelical camp with a hostile attitude. I was a prick. I told people I didn't have time for them and already had enough friends. It stings me now. Like David says, My sin is ever before me.

Thankfully, God gave me the grace to cool off a couple weeks in, and by the grace of God I was able to learn so many things. Yes, it feels so bad to judge—and why would you? Because you are insecure, and I am insecure. Everyone is a story and everyone just wants to be loved all day long—we are all the same. Everyone is on the same path, trying to answer the same question, so why judge? Most of all, Jesus loves them, and so should I.

With love,
h