Four years ago at youth camp, I met Peterson. Smallest boy on his team. 14 years old. With a smile that lit up the room.
He's attended camp every year since.
Peterson's name was on the registration list to attend our second camp (we've done three back-to-back this year). But he didn't show up. I was pretty disappointed. Even more so because I didn't get to see him last year. (It was the first time ever that Niel and I missed youth camps, since we were both in the States.)
At the first session of Camp 3 yesterday, a huge smile spread across my face when I saw Peterson across the tent. He looked up, saw me, and smiled real big. My heart melted. "Little" Peterson is little no longer. He's 18. In 11th grade. He's very tall, and his voice has gotten many octaves deeper. His eyes still shine and his smile still lights up the room...
"Where were you last year?" he asked me earlier. It was nice to know I was missed...
"I'd like to be a team captain someday," he said. He has incredible potential, and I know he will make a great leader.
One of the activities is a visit to the "Music Station". Each team performs and records a song, and each young person gets a copy of it on CD. Peterson had a solo during his team's song; my friend said it was exceptionally good...
He's grown up a lot. Not quite the shy, quiet boy he once was. He's bolder, more confident. It makes my heart glad each time he seeks me out, comes over to say "hello", remembers the names of people I've introduced him to...
If all of this was for Peterson, it's worth it.
Yet I know there are many "Petersons"...
