Salamander souls

"She's gone!" cried 9-year-old Jacob, in reference to his recently discovered, and recently deceased, salamander friend.

Jacob* attends a summer camp in northern Ohio where I worked during the months of June and July. This camp is a place for children and adults ages 6 to 22 who have behavioral learning disabilities. The most common disabilities represented are Attention Deficit Hyperactivity Disorder (ADHD), Oppositional Defiant Disorder (ODD), Bipolar Disorder, and Autism. Jacob has been diagnosed with Bipolar Disorder. He is prone to mood swings, as well as occasional bouts of energetic activity and cussing. Jacob is also one of the most enthusiastic kids I have ever met. He is excited about life and shares his love of nature and art with everyone around him.

When his third (and "favorite") salamander died, Jacob was beside himself. He fell to pieces in my arms, heaving and sobbing about what a wonderful pet she was and how much he missed her. Jacob cried to me that, "she doesn't even get to go to heaven!" When I asked why not, he replied, "Because my brother told me that salamanders don't have souls." I asked Jacob if he believed that was true. He looked up at me with crooked glasses and crooked teeth, tear stains on his cheeks, and he said, "No… I guess not… salamanders are able to be my friend, aren't they?" I agreed — indeed they were.

Jacob was one of many campers this summer who taught me lessons about loving other people and truly living life. Many of the kids who attended camp came from extremely difficult backgrounds: Some were part of the foster care system, and some had parents who struggled to cope with raising a child with disabilities. Many did not deal well with authority, and many did not understand how to interact with other kids their age. Each camper, however, brought a unique perspective to our camp.

For me, "camp" has always been connected to the church, and it has always been my home away from home. With a mother and father who are both pastors, Disciples church camp in northern Indiana was the place that I went each July for eleven years to develop my own concept of faith and God away from the specific guidance of those related to me. Therefore this summer, counseling at a camp with no viable church affiliation, I found myself constantly looking for "where I saw God" each week.

I saw God in Jacob, a little boy with a big smile and a love for living things. I saw God in Annie, a 13-year-old girl with ODD who loved being with people, despite occasional outbursts of rage due to a psychochemical imbalance. I saw God in Matthew, an 8-year-old boy with Autism who was overjoyed at the colors in even a bit of sparkly toothpaste, and who had a hug and an "I love you" ready for anyone who passed by. I saw God in Tracy, a 15-year-old girl with Bipolar Disorder and ADHD, who was a natural leader and had a huge heart for helping others. I saw God in Jonathan, a 10-year-old boy with Asperger's Syndrome who would flap his hands to show his enthusiasm, who would look at a sunset, turn to a counselor, and say with sincerity and without hesitation, "Oh — isn't it beautiful?"

I saw God, too, in the miracles of nature all around the camp. And, I saw God in my co-counselors, some of whom were experienced in this field and some of whom, like me, were new this year — all of whom cared about these campers to the point of tears.

My greatest lessons from camp, though, came from the campers themselves. I learned about new ways to care for those we perceive as the least, the last, and the lost. I discovered a very real meaning to the idea that "a little child shall lead them." For, as many children showed me this summer, it is in the beauty of the earth; the beauty of each hour; the joy of human love — with friends on earth and friends above — that we see God, all around. And, oh - isn't it beautiful?