For all second year Bible Institute students, the summer before their final tests meant being camp counselors at Acorn Island, New York teen camp. It would be a final test that was meant to weed out the faint of heart.
The previous summer, I had spent at the Ranch, a more relaxed sprawling camp for kids up to age 12. We slept in the Bible institute student quarters with air conditioning and running water. Despite the goofy incidents that surrounded pillow fights and kids dipping their friend's hands in warm water as they slept, it was tolerable.
But a whole summer on Acorn Island meant rough hewn cabins, outhouses and more spiders than you could spray with 50 cans if off. And... The most obnoxious entitled brats from the 4 corners of christendom, full of zits and hormones.
There was something else that made life intolerable... The small fact that I knew I had lost my faith. Yes, me, the pastors son, now knew that he was done with all forms of Christianity. Let me explain how this had occurred.
The year was 2016 and my whole world view had changed course. I had begun this college journey convinced I would become the next pastor of my father's large urban church. Now I was questioning everything. And worse, I was showing how passionate I was about human rights and it was running people the wrong way.
The professors knew it, the school directors knew it and most of the students wouldn't talk to me. Being a famous pastors son, they wouldn't simply expel me. But they had done everything to let me know I wasn't welcome. After my op-ed in a local newspaper decrying anti-Muslim rhetoric and numerous posts supporting LGBTQ+ rights, I was marked.
You might be wondering why I stayed in this religious college and you may have already guessed it. It was for love.
Abby was going to be on the island for the summer too. Another 2nd year, she had agreed with me on LGBTQ+ rights and leaving the church. Truthfully, she already admitted she was quitting in August. But, she was from Oregon and her parents were away on a missions trip until September.
No one could speak to the double standards and inconsistencies of evangelicals like pastor's kids and missionary kids. It was everywhere in our lives. Abby and I sat for hours everyday just comparing notes. Purity rings, embellishing stories on mission trips to get funding, punishing sexual abuse victims because of their "behavior..." it was awful.
For my father, he got national recognition for his awful rants. For her father, his passionate pleas against women's rights and #metoo went viral and he had speaking gigs all over.
When I looked at her in those times, she was all I wanted. But we wouldn't get a chance until we got to the island.
My group of 10 teen boys were less awful than most as we met on the boat ramp. They were from Rhode Island and all seemed pretty normal. I was glad to see Abby had a group of the same kids. They were all friends and it gave us an excuse to be close. Recently we had taken to passing notes and each one made our next alone time impossible to wait for.
Me: "I dreamt about you last night and woke up so hard. I could feel your body pressed to mine. I wanted every inch."
It was a bit naive perhaps because I had never been with any girl before.
Abby: "when I rubbed my clit, I imagined it was you, rubbing it between your fingers. I gasped and had to muffle my voice when I came. I told people I had a bad dream." she wrote a few days ago.
Every letter got deeper and more detailed as we got closer to the island dates.
We both had to read things out loud to the groups about doing their devotions and the rules about not holding hands or hugging. I somehow managed not to roll my eyes. I led them in a prayer and kept things very loose. I heard Abby do the same. The ride over was uneventful. The day was hot and sticky but no one got seasick (thankfully.)
