Camp Consalvi

I drove home from work Friday evening to find 14 teenagers taking over my house. My husband had originally planned a full camp out for the church youth group, complete with the all the joys of camping in Hawaii: tents, campfire songs, excessive humidity and flying cockroaches. But it didn’t work out, leaving him no other option than to bring them under our roof. Which was totally fine. Mostly. Except we had more than double the kids we thought we’d have. Which made the two of us a lot more busy than we thought we’d be. Because they all had energy. Loads of it. All cooped up in our little house.

We decided to first take them out to the pool. We barbecued. We played volleyball. And then I had an idea. Why not play an old Hume Lake camp game? In our high school years, my sister and I were awesome at this one game called Kajabe Can Can.  It is a test of strength. Endurance. Balance. Which makes it super competitive.

The rules are simple:

1. Stand in a circle and hold hands (or short ropes if you’ve got ‘em)
2. Try to pull or push everyone else into the center object (like a chair or a trash can) without touching it yourself or letting go of the person next to you.
3. If you touch it, you’re out.

It looks something like this:

See Brandon pulling that poor kid into the chair? See how his arm is bending? Limbs become like rubber in this game. Indian burns. Bruises. Head bashes. Sweat. Blood.

It was great fun.

It is also supposed to be great at tiring energetic teens out. Supposed to be. At least that’s the theory. But really? It took about 5 minutes and the kids were back on their feet playing volleyball.

Me? And Brandon?

Cooked. Done. Finished. Whipped. Pooped. Expired. How else can I say it? We just aren’t what we once were 10 years ago. We aren’t as flexible. We aren’t as energetic. We’re just past that stage in life that can get slammed into a chair and even consider getting back up to  play again.

Why does twenty-six suddenly feel old? I hear it only gets worse.

The rest of the night was spent trying to keep the youth busy, happy, and entertained despite succeeding to tire only ourselves out. We watched a movie. We played a lively game of CatchPhrase. We took them outside to do some worship on the grass under the stars. We brought them back to worship in the house because it was cold and rainy. We talked. We hung out. And at 2 o’clock, we instated a lights out policy in 10 minutes. Not because we had planned it, but because Brandon and I were no longer in a position to remain upright—although the youth seemed unaffected by the candy and the games and the late hour. Absolutely unphased.

They left early Saturday morning after a hearty breakfast prepared by Brandon and me. At 7:00 in the morning. After going to sleep no earlier than 3:30 a.m. And you know why they had to leave so early? A car wash. They were doing a fundraiser. All day. Washing cars. One less than 4 hours of sleep.

How do they do that?

And through it all, I fostered a new respect for the teen years. They are so full of life. Of promise. Of pure obstinate blood coursing through their veins. They own the world. They know the most. They have confidence and passion and curiosity. They aren’t afraid to try things. To explore their personalities. To stand out. And they’re are perfectly transparent in all of it. There is something to be said about the troublesome teen years. What a influential time in a person’s life! I suddenly appreciate the complexity of youth.

I also appreciate their flexibility. Because every muscle in my body is sore. Including some hidden ones I haven’t used since summer camp in 1999.