Lights of Love

In college, one of my favorite assignments was given by Dr. Hakkenberg, the director of our Honors Program, in my Honors 105 class. He called it a small writing. It's basically a page-long story about something that has impacted you or a memorable experience. I am having my faculty students write them, and I decided to write one as well. After all, there are only three of them in the class, and I am supposed to be building relationships with them. I thought it would be cool to post mine, so that more people could read it. It's titled, "Lights of Love."

“We know the door is open, as it always will remain.”
-Lyrics from Peace

Friday after dinner we all start to walk down towards the Amphitheater. Campers, young and old, and staff members—we all walk across the fields and through the woods so that we can celebrate the close of another week at camp. My family and I find a bench on the left side, our usual side, and spread a blanket across the wooden seat so that the water on the bench doesn’t soak into our pants. I watch everyone else file in. Some faces I have known for over 19 years, but some I have only met this week. But that does not matter because we are all coming together to celebrate this moment.


Sitting with my family for the closing worship service is a sacred family ritual that we have practiced for many years. Though I have shared this with countless campers during my summers as a counselor at camp, nothing compares to sharing the service with my family. The service always follows the same comforting pattern: songs, readings, and an inspiring message from the camp’s director, Randy. Then, after we receive communion, the time for affirmation comes. We are instructed, as we have been countless times before, to take time to bless one another. Parent telling child, and child telling parent, where we see God in the other person.


I hold hands with my parents in turn and receive their blessing. They describe how far I have come from their little baby who was born a month early and from their little girl who dreamed of becoming a ballerina and twirled incessantly around the house. They explain how they could never stop me from leaving America for a year, and that even though they will miss me, they are so proud of me for taking this leap of faith to become a missionary.


Then it is my turn to bless, but it is hard for me to find the words to say. I am grown, a functional adult because of all of the love and work that my parents poured into me as I grew; yet, I could not find the words to thank them, to tell them what a difference their support has made. I stumbled through several sentence of gratitude, and I hope that through my tears they could understand what I could not say, but felt deep in my heart.


We then lit four candles to represent my parents, my brother, and I, and place them into our family’s wooden cross. I slowly walked towards the small pond in the front of the Amphitheater and set the cross on top of the water so it can float. In the next few minutes, the whole pond is lit up from the crosses of all the families gathered. The light is captivating and glows brightly in darkness that has settled upon us. Though each candle burns independently, all of the light is united, representing the one love and the one community we feel tonight.