Last week my sister and I went back out to camp to help with a few meals for a retreat that they were hosting. 

Do you have a place that feels like home?  Maybe even more like home than home does?  That's how camp is for me.  There are so many poignant memories on what feels like every square foot of the place that it almost hurt to be there.  But at the same time, it filled me with joy.  A joy that shouldn't even belong, if you look at it realistically, but it was there all the same.  Of course I felt like crying, turning around and expecting to see people that aren't even in the state.  Sure I was hearing the ghosts of songs from the dinning hall, worship practice from the pavilion, shouts from the field... even though the whole place was silent... silent in the way only falling snow can be silent.  It was strange how natural it looked blanket down for the winter, the lake frozen over and snow collected on the tether ball, but I think it's because the beautiful Spirit never leaves, even after the kids and summer staff are gone, it's just waiting and blessing those who stop by.   And that's why the joy meets you there, even when you want to cry, even when it held everything you wanted, and everything you had to leave.