I Started My Period at Church Camp

I stared my period at church camp.  

(If you think this is a crass topic, then stop reading here. But everyone has periods.  Heck we all wouldn't be here without them, so get over yourself.  If you'd like to read a funny little story about an innocent childhood experience, stay with me.)  

I have the worst memory.  I seriously have a terrible memory of all things old and recent. My friends and family tell stories about things and sometimes I'm like "ohhhhh yeah" but would have never remembered that story on my own. And sometimes  I tell them they are crazy, that wasn't me and I wasn't there.  They assure me I was and I have to believe them.  But today these memories I'm about to share popped into my head on a long flight home from New Jersey and I felt the need to document them before they escaped my brain again, so this entire post was written in my notes app on my phone (please forgive typos). 

If you know me or have read one of my previous blogs about how church makes me cry, it may surprise you how churchy I really was growing up. So churchy I went to church camp and went on church ski trips.   Like, a lot.  I must have been in early elementary the first time I went to camp with Valwood Park Baptist Church.  We were members there.  My grandparents and parents had gone there since forever and so we were all in.  Sunday school, vacation bible school, camp, the whole 9.  All in.   I remember we'd go to church every week then go to my dads parents house for lunch and the Cowboys games. Often my dad and grandpa just stayed home because they didn't want to miss kick off. The Cowboys are Jesus' team, so I'm sure He was OK with that. 

My first camp experience was at a place called Mt. Lebanon.    I just googled it and found that it's full name is Mt. Lebanon Baptist Encampment. I find that a very odd name now. But I digress.  It seemed like a planet away from my little Carrollton cocoon.  We drove FOREVER to get there. Except that we didn't.   Google just told me it is in Cedar Hill, which is in the DFW area about an hour from my childhood home. Funny.  Anyways, we bunked in cabins and rotated between daily outdoorsy activities, swimming, bible studies, church services and the like.  Fun fact:  at baptist camp the boys and girls were not allowed to swim at the same time.  And they encouraged us girls to swim with shirts over our suits for modesty even though there were no boys around. My sister went to Falls Creek, the camp for older kids.  It was the dead of summer in Texas and she wasn't allowed to wear shorts.   Later I'll tell you about going to Methodist church camp where we not only had co-ed swimming, but there was a dance on the last night!  

Anyways, at one of the church services that week at baptist church camp I remember them talking about accepting Jesus as your savior and I got really emotional and went to the front when they asked if anyone wanted to be saved.  We held hands and hugged and prayed and cried and I felt like a new person. I mean, I was like 8 or 10 but I felt so new and different and amazing. Looking back, I wonder what that was all really about. I'm not sure my 8 year old self really knew what she was doing. Or if she just got caught up in all that was going on around her. Or was somehow scared NOT to participate.   I don't think I ever even told my parents about that and I never formally got baptized or anything.  Actually, when camp was over life went back to the way it was before.  I went to church because my mom took us. But I wasn't overly religious.  I was only 8 after all.  

Fast forward a few years to when I opted to start going to Holy Covenant United Methodist Church with my best friend Katy Cook.  She had taken me with her a few times and it seemed more my speed.  Not knocking the baptists. But the Methodist church service was a little more lively.  I mean, we didn't dance in the aisles or anything. But it was more upbeat. The pastor was younger.  The members more diverse.  They ended every service with the same short song that ended with the word Shalom and I thought that was so cool that a Jewish word was used so freely.  So very progressive to my 11 year old self. 

So the summer before 6th grade I went to camp with HCUMC at Camp Bridgeport.  This camp was way different than Mt.  Lebanon.   It could be that I was a few years older so we were offered a little more freedom to move about camp on our own but it was less formal.  More interactive.  And we were allowed to talk to boys.  In fact we talked all week about which ones we had crushes on and hoped would ask us to dance at the little celebration on the last night.  They converted the dining hall into a dance hall with decorations - it was all very "Wonder Years".  Fun line dancing, awkward slow dancing and very pre-teen innocent.  

There was one bad thing about this week at camp though.  I started my period and didn't really realize it.  Like no clue what was happening.  I knew about periods.  I'd had "the talk". But it never occurred to me that THAT was what was happening to me.  I'll spare you all the gross details but let me just tell you that I couldn't figure out why I was getting dirty and my underwear kept getting stuff on them and I kept showering. I must have showered 20 times that week at camp.  I told activity leaders I needed to go to the bathroom and would sneak off to the cabin to shower.  I kept it all to myself.  I didn't tell Katy and never asked a counselor for help.  I just shoved my dirty clothes in my bag and showered.  I can't imagine my parents discovery of my laundry and I don't remember ever talking  about it with them.  It was over a year before I had a period again. Thinking it was my first one for the longest time until I put two and two together and realized what was going on that time at camp. 

Sorry if you find this in bad taste. 

Actually, no I'm not.  I think it's so very sad and funny and innocent.   And also awesome that what could and should have been my most embarrassing week ever is remembered more for boy crushes and sunrise sing-a-longs at the cross on the hill.  Bless my little 11 year old heart.