I hate the beach. I really hate the beach. I really really really hate the beach with a passsion. Why then would I subject myself to the arduous torture of being a leader on a beach camp then? Right now I'm asking myself the same question.
I can not swim. Whilst everyone else is merrily frolicking about the water I am pinned to the golden shore like a hawk watching them. Mind you should anything actually happen I'd have to run do the beach to find someone more qualified but that still infers that I have to watch with eyes of an eagle.
The beach by its nature is highly exposed. With no shelter, the sun beats down burning all and sundry. The wind whips the sand into a hundred million leg seeking pointy jabs and further to that, it sweeps salt into the eyes of all. So between being burnt to a crisp and my eyes stinging, this wasn't fun.
Back at the campsite, the wind howled and threw an order into disarray. Tents were being uplifted and rubbish was being festooned about the place. As leader came the constant requests to go back to the beach, the emu parade and the orders from those who'd appointed themselves in power.
To top all of this off, I came back to Sydney without enough sleep and ran the VDP at church. Between being ordered all weekend, being burnt and rashed, and then feeling abnormally sick, the weekend by all accounts should be a total loss for me but there remains only one reason why I should suffer this... if this adds to the process of just one of the kids on camp giving their lives away to Christ, if my sickness can be used for the betterment of the gospel, then yet again I have no right to complain - but gee I just feel like chucking up.
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