Summer Camp Can Be A Strange Place
More proof that boys desire men to challenge them to be men of God |
I learned quickly that “intense” was not a big enough word to properly describe Carson. Nope, I discovered Carson’s intensity early and uncomfortably during the second game we played at our Southern California boys camp. Apparently the only tools you need to squeeze the character of a boy are a few well aimed balls and the promise of dodgeball glory that rests like a crown upon the head of the last boy standing.
Carson
is one of those 12 year old guys that is so naturally athletic that
it’s nauseating. His blond frame is not big, but he’s all muscle, and
every one of those muscles seems to know exactly what it should be doing
and where it should be at just the right time. Throwing ... check.
Catching ... Check. Contorting one’s body like a character in the
“Matrix” who has fallen right from the pages of fiction and into our
dodgeball court ... Check.
The problem with Carson was not his ability to control his body ... it was his unwillingness to control his temper.
Intensity
is Good. Unbridled anger erupting from his mouth and scorching the
other members of civil society around him was unacceptable. I also know
that if left to take root this kind of anger produces husbands and
fathers who disciple their families straight into a living hell by
filling their homes and the hearts of those trapped within its walls
with hopeless fear. The bruised souls and faces of women and children
are just the fruit of the violence practiced when men were boys playing
games. Games are training for life. Games reveal and they teach. And I
was not about to allow this weed to begin growing in my presence without
at least some attempt to weed it out while it was still small ... ish.
I
called him out and warned him that he needed to immediately bring his
anger under control or he’d end the game as a spectator rather than a
victor. Either he didn’t believe me, or he forgot, or he just couldn’t
help himself, but I only had time to take a few breaths and he’d already
exploded in anger all over the court again.
His
look of shock and hot indignation was almost laughable when it finally
registered that I was serious that he’d be sitting the rest of that
game. He threw the balls he held in his hands down in undisguised
disgust. As he walked over to me I think it was only my relative size
advantage that spared me from an untimely death. He was the kind of
angry that can only be given birth by surging testosterone stoked into
fury by a misplaced sense that a grievous injustice was being
perpetrated upon his 12 year old person.
My
heart sank. I knew he’d be upset but it was clear that more was at
stake. I had just made an enemy. Any possibility of building a
relationship with him was gone. His heart was now closed to my voice. I
didn’t show it but I was really sad. I stood on the hillside. He sat at
my feet about 6 feet away, breathing deeply, seething, and avoiding any
eye contact. At that point I stopped paying attention to the game and I
began to pray.
The
game passed and about seven minutes were left before dinner line-up. I
wanted to show mercy. But was that the right thing to do? I argued the
case back and forth as game time ticked away. Eventually I made my
decision. I called Carson over, told him that he was on the edge of
becoming a young man, and that Christian men must learn to control their
emotions and anger. I told him that the kind of anger that he had
exhibited would eventually grow, as he grew, into the kind of anger that
fills a house with yelling and anger and that I didn’t want him to
become that kind of a father. I finished by giving him a choice. The
ability to play out the rest of the game depended entirely on if he was
willing to confess his sin of anger without making excuses. With only a
moment of deliberation he acknowledged he’d sinned and I let him finish
the game.
I
had no clue if this confession was genuine repentance or not. In my
faithlessness I figured it probably wasn’t and I was prepared for the
distance this conflict was sure to wedge between us.
The
following day I looked to my right as the passenger door of my van
opened to see who my co-pilot was going to be. It was Carson hopping
into the seat. If he hated me this was certainly not a logical place to
put himself ... 18 inches away from his mortal enemy ... and stuck there
for the length of the car ride. I immediately checked for weapons or
some other tool of retribution, but the only thing he had on him was a
genuine smile. I turned the key and with my eyebrows raised in satisfied
surprise put the van in drive.
It
was like we’d been friends for years. Carson began to tell me about his
family, and the brokenness that characterized it. He talked about his
desire to be a godly man and father. Among other things I encouraged him
to reject our culture’s careless and harmful approach to relationships,
and he received it with genuine earnestness. Throughout the week I kept
getting encouraging glimpses that something had snapped in the right
direction for Carson. As we lined up for dinner, for instance, one of
our junior counselors told me how that evening during game time Carson
consistently encouraged the other boys and even challenged the ones who
were struggling with anger or arguing that they needed to behave more
like godly men.
This
experience with Carson reminded me once again how important creating
these teachable moments are, the importance of challenging our young men
with the obedience to which God calls each of us, and the powerful
context that camp can provide for life changing moments.
Thanks. Great story. Praise God for what He is doing in Carson.
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