Above my head, a blood moon soaks the sky in crimson tears. Below my feet, the silent grass holds its breath against the airy whims and fancies of a fire dancing in the wind. The fire is encircled by stones, the stones by people. A leader ushers these people to canvassed shelters, where they will tell tall tales and hear whispers of exploits far and near. After the questionable decisions of the day, their tents may be filled with cockroaches and placed firmly on the roots of trees, but for tonight, this is home. At least I’m home.
This Pathfinder Camporee was my first as a fully-fledged . Groups of Adventist young people from far and near gathered in Oshkosh, Wisconsin, ready to hear about how God was “Forever Faithful.” Kids, ten and up, came to their respective campsites - after endless travel from around the world - primed for a wonderfully exhausting week of fun in the gilding rays of summer.
Across the campgrounds of the camporee, there was Bible study and laughter, honors earned and pins traded, games played, and time to be free! Well, not quite. For eleven-year-old Chris, the freedom of this camporee was conditional. As with thousands of other adolescents, I realized the need to set up tents, prepare food, clean up, and get all essential things in order before heading off. But that was okay. That was supposed to happen.
Beyond the thought of chores was the fact of being in a massive campground overflowing with Pathfinders; it would have been easy to get lost. But there was nothing to worry about; already thought of that. For our safety, all younger Pathfinders were only allowed to travel under the watchful eyes of a thoughtful Teen Leader in Training (a high school-aged Pathfinder). Problem solved. Nothing could possibly go wrong.
After what felt like years of toiling away on our campsite, our club leaders finally gave us the go-ahead. All Pathfinders were allowed to explore and enjoy the activities of the camporee! We were split into groups and provided a responsible, trained teenager as a loyal guide through the dense jungles of canvas abodes and grand seas of marching drill teams. My group was composed of eleven-year-old boys and a capable teenage leader.
As soon as we came together, our little band whisked away. We met dozens of people on our journey armed with tested tactics of bartering and trading collectible. We swooped into markets with more special treats, snacks, and goodies than we could ever desire. We wobbled into the bouncy castles and flew in the ziplines of the mini carnival in the center of the organized chaos. We looked around and. Um, we looked around and.
Wait, where’d they go?
No. Wait. Breath. Someone will find you. This was all the positive self-talk I could manage to scrounge together to keep myself from exploding into a nervous wreck. Being lost in the woods was one thing; at least, as a Pathfinder, I knew what to do if that happened. But being lost in a crowd of people was completely different. I attempted using techniques I had learned for being lost in the woods, but they weren’t as effective as I had hoped. I stayed put, made myself visible, and got ready to stay in a safe place for as long as needed until somebody could save me. Apparently, we hadn’t reached the survival lesson where we learned to just ask somebody for directions to a help desk.
The seconds became minutes, and the minutes turned to hours. I moved to higher ground. No one was coming.
Hungry, Tired, Thirsty. No other words can fully capture what I felt as this realization filled the recesses of my mind. Well, no other words besides hopeless. Why would I have hope? I followed what my Pathfinder leaders had taught me, worked hard to ensure my campground was ready, and followed the teenage leader entrusted with my safety that day. And still, here I was, lost and alone. This was not supposed to happen.
But, there was one other thing I was taught in Pathfinders, something my parents had been teaching me for years. There is hope. Someone is coming. So, I called out to the One I had been taught to call, and waited.
It wasn’t immediate, but it happened. After hours of waiting, the campground authorities found me, fed me, and got me back to where I needed to be.
Now, as crickets chirp in the distance, a full moon soars in the sky. Campfire songs, once passionate and lively, slowly melt away into the blazing campfire. I can hear the voice of my Pathfinder director telling us it is time to go to bed. It’s been a tough day, but I’m here now. Someone came for me. Now I’m home.
The Student Movement is the official student newspaper of 老司机传媒. Opinions expressed in the Student Movement are those of the authors and do not necessarily reflect the opinions of the editors, 老司机传媒 or the Seventh-day Adventist church.