Editor's Column by Tess Chierici Her little lips quivered before she screamed at the top of her lungs.

Back to Table of Contents | Back to Main Index Previous Editor's Columns | Send mail to The Voice Counselor receives humility in large dose After high school I worked two summers as a camp counselor at Camp Kuratli in Boring, Ore. The second year, my co-workers gave me the "Best Female Counselor" award. But the most valuable thing I received those summers was a lesson in humility. Every night after all the kids were in bed, camp counselors were allowed to leave their cabins and relax together. We took turns making sure the kids were safe and quiet. When I was on cabin watch I often threatened to take away free time and scared children who were being too loud. One night I heard giggling from a girls' cabin. The noise came from the second-floor cabin of counselor Pocahontas, who usually had teen-agers in her cabin. A smirk sneaked across my face. I was going to enjoy scaring the snot out of these girls. I tiptoed up the steps and crouched near the door. Then I slowly turned the doorknob and pushed open the door. I remained crouched as it swung open and then closed again. The giggling stopped. I repeated the same procedure, careful to remain unseen. I heard a frightened, "Pocahontas?" Heh-heh, I got them now, I thought. I flung the door open hard. A whispered debate arose as to who would check out the door. Soon I heard unsure footsteps inching toward me. I readied myself to pounce. The footsteps stopped two feet from the door. I flung the door open and jumped inside the cabin, screaming. Expecting to meet eye-level with a 12-year-old, to my horror I faced a kindergartner instead. Her little lips quivered before she screamed at the top of her lungs. "No, no, don't cry," I stammered. "I'm sorry sweetie. It's me, Grasshoppah. I thought you girls were older." By this time every girl in the cabin was screaming and crying for her mother. The screams woke up the cabin downstairs. The other counselors had to cut their break short to fix my mess. A frustrated Pocahontas calmed the girls. "Is there anything I can do?" I asked. "Thanks Grasshoppah, but I think you've done enough," she said. I felt 5 inches tall -- at least for a while. Perhaps a week passed before my pride returned. If only I had learned then that I needed to be humble, I might have saved myself a lot of embarrassment. Meal times at Camp Kuratli were a nightmare. My 9-year-old girls were loud and ignored me until I yelled. The control freak in me hated not having their full attention. On one such day, I had what I thought was a good idea. Instead of fighting over the noise to be heard, I flung a spoonful of pudding in my face. Then I kept eating as though nothing had happened. The girls slowly grew silent. "Grasshoppah, you have pudding on your face!" one girl exclaimed. "What? Where? Stop kidding around and eat your lunch," I replied, ignoring the pudding that dripped off my chin and landed in my peas. Now my girls' eyes were fixed on me. My face beamed under the chocolate pudding. My ego received an extra boost when my girls started mimicking my behavior. The commotion attracted the attention of people around us. Kids began laughing and pointing, ignoring the pleas of their counselors to sit down. The problem escalated when other counselors and campers started flinging pudding on themselves as well. It resulted in an angry kitchen staff and an out-of-control dining room of pudding-covered campers. During a staff meeting later that week, the camp director rebuked the behavior in the dining hall. I sank down in my chair, trying to hide. Captain Trimmer didn't know who started the mess, but I did. I have several stories of mistakes I made that first year because of pride over my leadership role. Jesus Christ modeled a different kind of leadership: humble service. While at camp, I learned that my first job as a leader is to provide humble service rather than promote myself. Back to Table of Contents | Back to Main Index Previous Editor's Columns | Top Of Page Send mail to The Voice| Journalism department website © 2003 The Voice. No part of this publication may be reproduced in written or electronic form without prior written consent from the journalism adviser of Multnomah Bible College. All rights reserved.