Lives transformed at Monte Blanco
More than mud sicks to campers
Ceci Ramsey
It was late afternoon and the teams were in position. Four, eager, shouting, competitive teams of teenagers...ready to begin the Adventure Race.
The whistle blew and they were off–scrambling up the rope ladders hand over hand, climbing up stakes stuck in the cliff, squeezing through a narrow drainage tunnel, scaling a 10 foot wall made from tree trunks, and balancing precariously to cross a log over a mud pit. From my vantage point, I could see the entire course and hear the shrieks of laughter and encouragement. The final obstacle, however, was the funniest. It was a mud pit bordered by wooden stakes. Tied to the top of the stakes was inter-crossed twine...about 2 feet from the ground. Teams had to push their way into the slime belly first and thrust with their arms and legs–alligator style–to get to the finish line. Meanwhile, teammates and game coordinators pushed the competitors down into the mud, making it even more difficult for them to progress. In the U.S., this would have been “good clean fun”; but in Bolivia, where clothing is at a premium and laundry is done by hand...the idea of getting muddy for fun...well, it just isn’t done. Right?
Wrong. After an initial hesitation and amidst catcalls and hoots from onlookers, all the competitors plunged beneath the twine, some trying to maneuver without getting their knees in the muck. (It was an effort made in vain). Everyone crawled from the pit, covered head to toe in dark, sticky mud. And laughing uproariously, almost incredulously, at what they had just done.
Afterwards, the teens slid down the cement water slide to rinse off. Still laughing. Still talking excitedly. Still showing off for one another. Still snapping frame after frame of photos. Later still, they grouped around the outdoor sinks, studiously scrubbing each spot from their clothes. Still talking. Still laughing. I knew it would be a long time before these teens forgot this particular Monte Blanco game.
But, I wondered, how about the rest of Monte Blanco? Would they remember it, too? Do the teachings, the friendships, and the Bible studies stick to the campers, or is it merely something they do at camp and leave behind as they board the bus back to Santa Cruz? A week later I was privileged to receive an unexpected answer to this line of questioning.
I was in Santa Cruz waiting at a home for the owner to arrive from town when the maid asked to speak to me. She began to cry profusely and told me this story:
“My 19-year-old daughter just returned from a retreat at Monte Blanco. She was invited to go by a church group and even though she really didn’t know anyone, she wanted to experience what it would be like. You have to know my daughter; she has had a very difficult childhood. She is depressive and angry most of the time. She was raped repeatedly by her father from the time she was about five until she was nine. When I found out about it, I denounced him to the authorities and he fled from our house. I then had to raise three daughters all by myself. My daughter resented this. She felt that it was my fault that her father had to leave. She lived with friends until last year when she returned home to live with her two sisters and myself. She generally refuses to speak to me or my older daughter; or she treats us with great disrespect. She has no friends her age and I have been worried that she might be suicidal. I have been praying and praying for help...and I am so grateful for Monte Blanco and whatever happened to her there.
“You see, she came back from camp and walked in our door, and hugged her sister and myself. This was the first time in about 7 or 8 years. And she has been talking to us and helping us at home. It is like a miracle...she has made some friends from the church group...her self-esteem has improved...and she is like a whole new teenager. “Tell me, Ceci, what did you teach her and can I be invited to the next retreat myself?”
We prayed there in the basement of the home, both of us with glad hearts for what God is doing through Monte Blanco.
Four weeks later I followed up to see if the transformation was still in effect. The maid happily reported that her daughter is doing amazingly well and continues to enjoy her new friends she met at camp. Monte Blanco. White Mountain. There is more than mud sticking to the campers. I know; I’ve been there.
And Monte Blanco is a small example of what we are doing in the rest of the nation. We are making a difference. •
["More than mud sticks to campers," by Ceci Ramsey, September 2005]
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