This past summer we tried a new campground on a beautiful lake. We pulled into our campsite just after noon
on Thursday and got our tent, tarp and outdoor kitchen all set up. It was a great place under some majestic
white pine trees.
Later that afternoon Laura’s family began to set up camp
just to the south and west of our campsite.
Fifty-three of them arrived in all.
It was good to see her family again after about a year had elapsed. Interestingly, the campers to our east and
north started arriving about the same time.
First one Harley, then another, and another, and then some trucks until
there were about fifty-five members of the Devil’s Desciples (spelled wrong
intentionally) motorcycle club from Boston, MA, occupying the rest of the
campground. For four days our little
campsite was surrounded on one side by fifty-three in-laws, and on the other
side by fifty-five outlaws. In fact the
Devil’s Desciples consider themselves one of the 1% of motorcycle clubs that pride
themselves on not being so law abiding.
They did their share of drinking, fixing their Harleys, and smoking pot. In Vermont, possession of an ounce or less is
not a criminal offence and, I guess, once you smoke the first ounce you can
possess a second ounce…and so on.
Anyway, needless to say, we got to smell our share of second hand pot
smoke for four days.
Now you might think that being a tent sandwich between so
many in-laws and so many outlaws could ruin a vacation. We certainly did not plan this. However, our son Jesse resurrected the
weekend by showing hospitality to everybody all weekend long. He was very comfortable to be with his cousins
by our campfire and to be with the Devil’s Desciples at their picnic
table. In fact, he was so accepting of
the Devil’s Disciples, that when we were about to leave, they gave him an
honorary member’s t-shirt: a black T with an ugly white skull and bright red
letters saying, “Devil’s Desciples.”
There was no giving it back. They
even threw in a black neoprene beer cooler with the same skull on it to show
how much they loved Jesse’s hospitality.
I wish I could be so hospitable. Oh, maybe you could simply chalk it up as
being Jesse’s Down Syndrome that makes him so accepting of others. But if is it Down Syndrome, I think I would
like a little of it! I often ask, “How
can I be as attractive to and accepting of others as Jesus Christ was?” I think the first step is seeing people as
Jesus sees them, not as enemies, or outlaws, but people created in the image of
our Heavenly Father and for whom Jesus came to earth.
If the outlaws, or the in-laws for that matter, got a glimpse
of Jesus Christ that weekend, it was not through me, unfortunately, but through
my son, Jesse Ryan, a man after God’s own heart.
