Abby: End-of-Camp Goodbyes.

Every year people come from all over the world to work alongside the GoodSports team.  The most popular time of the year is, of course, summer during our camp season.  We’ve asked a few of them to share some of their experiences from the time they spent serving with us in Hungary.

Each person, each team-member, and each intern that works with us helps us to build relationships with the communities we minister to.  While these amazing people can only be with us for a short time the energy, creativity, and encouragement they bring to the field is of vital importance to GoodSports’ mission: reaching Children with the love of Christ.

This particular testimony is from Abby, a Cedarville University student.  This was her 2nd summer serving with us, and this year she was actually the student leader for the team of 5 that came from Cedarville University.  

The young lady, Mary (not her real name), Abby refers to is from Hajduboszermeny and has been a part of the GoodSports ministry spectrum for many years.  Mary and Abby got to know each other at the annual English camp held at Dorcas Camping Center, done in conjunction with Calvary Chapel Debrecen.  

Abby and her class at Dorcas working on a poster

Here’s what Abby has to say:

 It’s the worst. Tears. Hugs. More hugs. Promises of communication, remembrance, and returns. There was no way around it: camp was ending and the ritual was coming. My personal resistance toward excessive pathos and over-emotionality prevent me from engaging in the tears. However, I will not begrudge my beloved Hungarian campers of their desired hug. It may have only been one week, but yes, I did grow attached to my students. And Mary was no exception. She’s sixteen going on twenty-two. I’m not sure if she truly thinks that she can take on the world, or if she simply gives off that aura. Regardless, if I had been another camper, she certainly would have intimidated me. I might have even avoided her out of fear and intimidation. Instead, as her teacher/leader, I had a chance to spend time with her all week. She starred in our music video. She helped in class. She led the class in group activities. She even asked me questions (via a translator) about my life, my relationship with God, what’s He’s done in my life. She got baptized the day before. I loved her dearly. I respected her. Mary is strong, even if she can’t see that. And now, at the end-of-camp ritual, I have to say goodbye.

She’s standing by the car that will take her away, take her home. I’m not sure, but she might actually be tearing up. This catches me off-guard; I pegged Mary as a dry-eye, no-nonsense kind of girl. But no, she is definitely crying. I walk towards her, arms outstretched, clearly in pre-hug mode. She closes the distance between us and we stand there, embracing. I rack my brain for something, anything that I could say, in Hungarian, that might offer comfort. Only one thing seems appropriate:

“Szeretlek, Mary.”

[Pause. One of the greatest frustrations in knowing a teeny tiny fraction of a language is that, even if I can initiate conversation, I can never understand the response. It’s infuriating. I feel so proud of myself for saying anything in Hungarian, and my pride immediately deflates when I admit that I understood none of their response, “I’m so sorry, but I don’t understand. Do you speak English?” And so, after telling this sweet, strong, tearful girl, “I love you, Mary,” I simply had to wait, wondering if I would be able to decipher her response.]

“Én is.”

I smile, aware that my eyes are watering. We release each other. Mary goes to the car. We wave, blow kisses, and hold back (or don’t hold back) tears. I love learning Hungarian.

“Én is”—“Me too.”