Twelve years ago, my mother dragged me out to volunteer at a camp for adults with developmental disabilities. At this Christian camp, each volunteer would be paired one-on-one with an adult with a disability for an entire week. For twelve-year-old me, there was nothing else that could possibly have been worse than being forced to spend a week with people with disabilities. My mom didn’t give me an option and she sure didn’t give me a way out of this “terrible” situation. My stomach was in knots as I sat nervously throughout orientation. Later on in the day, the camp staff handed out the applications for our campers and under the “disability” section, there it was, written in big, bold, fear-inducing letters: Down’s Syndrome. The only experience I had with people with Down Syndrome up to this point was when I saw someone stocking shelves at the local Wal-mart or bagging groceries, and, I have to admit, once I spotted someone like that, I would always go the other way. It wasn’t because of hatred or disgust, but instead was out of misunderstanding and fear.
My hands shook as I flipped through the application that had just been given to me as I tried to prepare myself for meeting my camper the next day. I tossed and turned all night, questioning why God would put me in a situation where I was so fearful and so uncomfortable. The next morning came as the sun peered in through the window of my cabin. After breakfast and more orientation, the campers began to arrive, which made me more terrified than I could imagine. I could identify each of the campers that stepped out of the cars, but it was not by name that I was identifying them – it was by their disability – “Down Syndrome, Autism, Cerebral Palsy” – it was truly all I could see as the campers continued to arrive. Finally, my name was called as a small girl quietly slid out of the van at the welcome area. I sheepishly walked over as the camp director introduced me to my camper for the week, Schanna. I didn’t know what to say other than “hello,” but before I could get that simple word out, Schanna had already thrown her arms around my neck and had begun to embrace me with an all-encompassing hug that I had never felt before. “I can’t wait to be best friends with you this week,” she said, grabbing my hand and pulling me off to the first camp activity.
How could someone who just met me love me so unconditionally? They didn’t know my grades in school or how many friends I had or how popular I was … they didn’t know any of the things that previously defined me as a human being. By that evening, every wall of insecurity, every hedge of fear had been completely and entirely broken down by an adult with a developmental disability, and all it took was giving Schanna a chance to be my friend.
It’s been twelve years since my first week of camp. After that week, my mom no longer had to drag me kicking and screaming out to other weeks of camp. On my own accord, I attended over thirty more weeks of camp across those twelve years not only returning as a volunteer, but later as a summer intern. The past two summers, I’ve even been on staff as an assistant camp director and nothing gives me more joy than seeing first time volunteers come out to a week of camp, knees trembling, hearts aching, and seeing their walls get shattered by a population that our society completes overlooks.
God has blessed me beyond measure throughout my time at camp. He has instilled in me a love and a passion for the population that our camp serves and I am certain that anyone who gives someone with a disability a chance, will have their life changed in absolutely incredible ways. Not only have our campers taught me how to pray and talk to God openly, but they have also taught me how to love unconditionally and to freely share my faith with others. In the 9th chapter of John, Jesus is asked “who sinned, this man or his parents, that he was born blind?” and Jesus answers “Neither this man nor his parents sinned; he was born blind so that God’s works might be revealed in him.” I am so thankful that our Father in heaven has allowed people to be born with what our society calls “disabilities.” It is those people who have the power to positively impact our world and ultimately influence others for Christ. They, to me, are not the disabled. The disabled are people like me who look down on others, who doubt God’s plan for my life, who are afraid to talk about God to others and who have a hard time being vulnerable to the people around me. It is the population that our society and even our churches so often overlook, that took my hand and lead me into God’s promises and who have changed my life countless times, in unimaginable ways.
Because of my time at camp and the countless hours I’ve spent serving alongside adults with developmental disabilities, I will be attending graduate school in the fall to attain a degree in counseling with a career goal of one day providing counseling services for parents who find out their kids have disabilities – whether it’s when parents find out their child will have an extra chromosome before they’re even born or when a parent starts to notice later on that their child is presenting the signs of Autism. It is my passion and dream to help empower our society to not only accept people with disabilities, but also to minister WITH people with disabilities to help influence people for Christ, one person at a time!
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