It’s just a room at a camp.
Concrete floor, fourteen feet high. There a support post in the middle. The tables are six-feet long and worn. The folding chairs are metal, bent, scratched.
There’s a kitchen with a big, black iron gas stove. The water is potable, but no one likes the taste.
On either end of the main room are rooms with bunk beds. They are the metal kind, the kind that you don’t let kids sleep on.
It’s not the kind of room where you would choose to spend your weekend.
Unless you are part of the Fort Wayne Children’s Choir and you have 54 singers (ages 10-14) and you want to take them away from Friday at5:30pm until Sunday at 5:00pm and teach them trust and team and …music.
In that case, you turn this room into a place for gathering, a place for feeding bodies and hearts, a place where the chaparones meet while the kids are in rehearsal to wash and peel and decorate and arrange. This is the mom room, the home room. This is the room where a community of parents is formed.
This is the room where on Saturday night you find a 12-foot birthday cake and fancy chicken and cheesy potatoes and homemade french bread and a 35th birthday party for the Children’s choir that once again passed the “wow” test.
This is the room where Nancy takes a gift for practical hospitality and works with a wonderful team of moms (and me) to refuel and refresh the singers and adults.
It’s just a room at a camp. It’s just the meals. It’s Monday of a week full of “just.”
But with love and commitment, the “just” places come alive…and give life.
Just like Nancy does.