Girls' Camp- Sleepless Nights and Profound Days

"Mountains inspire awe in any human person who has a soul. They remind us of our frailty, our unimportance, of the briefness of our span upon this earth. They touch the heavens, and sail serenely at an altitude beyond even the imaginings of a mere mortal." -Elizabeth Aston

I've just returned from my fifth girl's camp as a leader. As I try to catch up on sleep and put countless articles of smoky clothing into the washer, I look back on a delightful week with my girls. There is just nothing like girl's camp. It is the quickest way to get teenage girls to come out of their shells and to bond with one another. It is also one of the best ways to get those girls to feel the influence of the Holy Ghost. One week completely unplugged. One week among the beauty of God's creations. I remember the significance of that one week each summer in my young life, and love being a part of it now as it has such meaning in my own girls' lives.

We got up bright and early Tuesday morning and began the three hour trek into Wyoming. The ride is pleasant until the last few miles, when it is nothing but a rocky dirt road. If you didn't take advantage of the last pit-stop, then heaven help your poor bladder at this point. We pulled into camp and were greeted with enthusiastic YCL's (Youth Camp Leaders). Jessica was one of the more over-enthusiastic YCL's. 

Once camp was set up, we headed over to "The Martha". The Martha is the amphitheater, but it has been called the Martha for decades. Mention "The Martha" to any local female under age 60, and she will know exactly what you're talking about.

Jessica and Sarah came up with a charming "12 Rules of Camp" song. Rule number five being "Be Sure to Poo and Pee"! Yes, the girls had to be reminded to do this one. The biggest complaint at girl's camp is tummy aches, due to not enough water and a reluctance to use the BIFFIES. 

Our ward introduced itself with an enthusiastic Harlem Shake.

Girl's Camp in this stake is very different than the experiences of my youth. Camp was all about certifying in my day. It was all about starting camp fires and cooking tin foil dinners and knot tying. In this stake, it is all about the girls having experiences where they feel the Spirit, experiences that draw them closer to Jesus Christ, experiences that increase their testimony. 

Many would say that these girls are having a cush camp experience, with a cooking staff providing them delicious and healthy meals three times a day, and a bishop eager to start their fires for them, and their physical exertion stretching as far as a mellow two mile hike. But these girls face different challenges than girls of past generations. I prefer that these girls spend an entire week having spiritual experiences. The ability to recognize and heed the Holy Ghost is a skill that will serve them better than knowing how to create a log cabin fire or a lean-to. A valiant testimony of Jesus Christ will be vital as they navigate life, and the roots of such a testimony are often developed here at Girls' Camp.

Back in my day, you were lucky if the bishop showed up for one day of girls' camp. We had every bishop from every ward up at camp for the entire week, this year. How valuable this was after an entire month of teaching the girls the importance of the priesthood. These good men took an entire week off of work to spend it in the mountains with these teenagers. They spent the week giving priesthood blessings, starting campfires, conducting meaningful devotionals and firesides, getting pushed into the lake, and enduring manicures and facials. 

There are no finer renditions of "I'm A Little Teapot", than those performed by the Layton West priesthood. This happened to be a Mormon Tabernacle Choir version. It doesn't take long at all to get 280 young women chanting "TEAPOT! TEAPOT! TEAPOT!" And the brethren never disappoint. 

President Thompson was unsuccessful in winning the beard-growing contest. Too much of a baby face. The consequence? A makeover with full-on foundation and glitter and painted finger-nails. These men are good sports. Somehow it is not as difficult for these young girls to discuss serious matters with a bishop who they've seen sing a mean Teapot and who's allowed them to apply makeup to his face and polish to his nails.

When I was at Girls' Camp, the camp crafts consisted of painting  a piece of tree log or attempting to imprint a piece of leather. Not in this stake. The girls are offered a variety of craft projects. It's a veritable Pinterest workshop as you move from campsite to campsite. The girls were up to their elbows in modge-podge, and acrylic paint, and glitter, and ribbon, and gum balls. They all came home with fun meaningful crafts to remind them of their experiences at camp.

This is the lodge that decades of young women have enjoyed. It has come to symbolize Lake Lyman. 

And because we were the first ward to enjoy the camp this year, we were greeted by this sweet little baby owl every time we ventured to the lodge. The YCLs lovingly named him Ozzy.

Another lovely benefit of going to Lake Lyman this early in the season was frigid nights. Frigid Nights! The first night was cold, but when a cold front came in the next day, it meant a 28 degree night. I was lucky enough to be in the tent, and was therefore exposed completely to the cold. 

I felt ridiculous, two days before, as I packed a winter coat and gloves and earmuffs, per the packing list's recommendation. "I'm never going to use these!" I mumbled.

As I lay shivering in my -20 degree sleeping bag, with everyone of those items piled onto my body, I kicked myself for not bringing hand warmers. I placed the sleeping bag over my head, leaving a tiny triangle opening to breathe through. If any more cold air than that was allowed to sneak into the sleeping bag, then I was thrown into instant chills. They were long sleepless nights. Rigorous days of activity after activity with two dozen giggly teenagers, on virtually no sleep, is a recipe for a migraine. Me and every other leader wrestled with such headaches all week. Sheer will-power, Ibuprofen every six hours, and a tiny nap snuck in now and then, seemed to get us through. 

When night time came around, and I thought about climbing into that freezing tent for another subarctic sleepless night, I would begin to weep a little bit, and I would have to quickly regain my composure before one of the girls came along. There are parts of camp that are pure acts of love and service by us leaders. More than once, I was tempted to just drive into Evanston and check into a hotel, but I persevered for the girls' sake.

Two of the little Beehives in my tent started to get worked up the first night. One of the girls had had a vomiting incident the year before and was starting to complain of an upset stomach, and then her friend started to complain of the same problem. I'm sure the 25 pounds of candy sitting in her backpack had contributed somewhat to the problem. I was not in the mood to clean up throw-up at 3:00 a.m. and in subfreezing temps. I told the girls to go use the biffies. That didn't seem to help. It became apparent that this was more an anxiety issue than anything else. These girls were going to work themselves up into a vomiting episode if I didn't act fast. I kicked myself for not packing some peppermint oil.

Then it occurred to me. I had a bottle of lavender essential oil in my bag. I had brought it for myself to hopefully combat the insomnia and night terrors that like to strike at camp, but thought that it might help my little panicked beehives. I told the girls that this was a miracle oil that would instantly relax them and help them to sleep. They put a drop on each wrist, then we had a little prayer. Katelyn declared, "I feel relaxed already." And in about five minutes, they were both out cold, and I never heard another word the entire night.

I'm guessing the lavender was little more than a placebo, for it did me no good. I was up all night. All I know is that the girls asked for some every night, and we never had another problem. The mind is a powerful thing. By the end of the week, girls from the cabin and other tent were paying me a visit, pleading for a drop of the miracle oil. 

I will tell you more tomorrow. I have a renewed appreciation for those women who sacrificed so much to attend camp when I was a teenager. They left behind their babies and their home conveniences to spend a week helping me to feel the spirit and to strengthen friendships. I never knew it was a sacrifice for them. They seemed to be there because they wanted to be. And now I understand. They did want to be there. 

The cold nights and daytime headaches are worth it. It's worth it to help these young women have the same profound experiences that I had. It's worth it to see the tears well up in their eyes as they feel the Holy Ghost in such a strong way that they don't quite know how to react to such powerful feelings. It's worth it to watch some of them have experiences they've never had before. It's worth it to be that mommy figure to some girls as they get anxious at night, longing for their own mom. 

It's worth it to experience very small discomforts to help build God's kingdom by preparing the next generation. The next valiant generation who will be the future mothers, missionaries, and leaders of the church. Girls' Camp. It's an honor and a privilege to attend each year, and I will continue to do so, until the Lord decides that He needs my services else where.