Saturday starts the same way every day does at Northern Frontier—quietly. There’s no fanfare at first, no fireworks. Just the early sun casting gold across the lake and a slow shuffle of boots heading to Leaders Huddle. We gather, as we always do, to hear from God’s Word. We pray over the day, over the campers, over each other. And we get the lowdown on the moving parts. Who’s heading out. Who’s heading in. Who needs help with what.
But then, the calm breaks.
Once we’re dismissed, the switch flips. What started slow shifts into high gear. Controlled chaos. Campers are stuffing sleeping bags, hugging cabin mates goodbye, and snapping last photos. Parents start pulling into the parking lot. Meanwhile, new boys, some wide-eyed and grinning ear to ear, are stepping into camp for the first time. One boy’s ending becomes another boy’s beginning. It’s somber and sudden all at once.
A charter bus rolls up the gravel drive, loaded with kids from New Jersey and New York. That same bus will roll out a few moments later, packed with boys who’ve just finished one of the most formative weeks of their lives. Somewhere between the packing, the paperwork, the handshakes, and the gear hauls, something happens. A camper waving one last time to his cabin, turning to climb aboard the family minivan. And right behind him, a counselor drops to a knee to welcome a brand-new face. It’s a go, go, go kind of day that’s filled with slow stillness, if only for a moment.
And then, finally, dusk comes. The trucks are parked, the cabins are full again, and the dust begins to settle. From the heart of camp rises the sound we’ve been waiting for. Campfire songs drift into the twilight air. Laughter follows. And just like that, a new week has begun.
We pray hard on Saturdays. For the boys who’ve left, that the truth of the gospel would stick to their hearts and grow into something lasting. That the stories told and the verses memorized would echo longer than any goodbye. And we pray for the boys who just arrived. That this week would be just as meaningful. That they would meet Jesus here, maybe for the first time.
We don’t call it Week 6. Not really. It’s Week One, Part Six. Because every Saturday, we begin again with the same enthusiasm with which we began.
