I Thought I Covered All the Bases — I Hadn't
There is a wonderful program in my community — a headwater initiative dedicated to teaching children and families about waterways, water conservation, water safety, water preservation, fishing, and keeping our local waters clean. They are a 501(c)3 nonprofit organization, and for over a decade they have offered a free five-day day camp to upper elementary students. I attended this camp as a child. My siblings did too. It holds a warm place in my memory, and I wanted my child to have that same experience.
So I did what any diligent parent does — I made a phone call before I ever signed that registration form.
I Asked Everything. Or So I Thought.
I called the program leader and I asked a lot of questions. Bathroom safety. Volunteer backgrounds. How frequently the volunteers work with children and in what capacity. Whether they had undergone FBI background checks. On swim days, what does the changing situation look like? I also made it explicitly clear that I did not want my child's image posted on social media or used in any marketing materials.
The leader answered every question thoughtfully and in a way that left me feeling confident. I hung up the phone and checked three boxes in my head:
✔ Is my child going to be safe?
✔ Who is my child going to be around?
✔ Will there be climate change messaging I need to prepare my child for?
Check, check, check. I thought I had it covered.
Preparing My Child for a Different Worldview
As a Christian family, we hold a worldview that differs from much of what gets taught in programs like this one. I knew my child would likely encounter climate change messaging framed in a way that conflicts with how we talk about it at home. In our home, we talk about stewardship — caring for the earth God gave us. That's a conversation we have often in our household as we live in a state that favors the environment over humanity every step of the way.
So before camp, I sat down with my child and said plainly: You are going to hear some things there that contradict what Mom and Dad have taught you. That's okay. Just log it in your brain, bring it home, and we'll talk about it together.
This is not an unusual conversation in our house. Teaching our child to think critically, to filter what they hear through a Biblical lens, and to come back to us with questions — that's something we do regularly. I felt prepared.
My child went to camp. Day one, day two — fine.
A Small Conversation That Set Off Alarm Bells
On the second day, my child came home and mentioned a brief exchange with one of the camp counselors — someone who happened to share the same name. In describing this counselor, my child noted unprompted that the counselor's voice sounded like a man's, and that other kids at camp had said the same thing.
I told my child plainly that the counselor was likely a man who dresses as a woman, and that I was sad for that person because they are confused about the way God made them. My child's response was gentle and immediate — expressing hope that the person would find Jesus.
That same evening, separately, I revisited a conversation I have with my child any time they will be away from me and around adults I don't fully know:
- You are never to be alone with an adult I haven't approved.
- Nobody is allowed to touch your body. Ever.
- If someone tries, and they don't stop, you are allowed — and I mean allowed — to scream "Get the f* off of me" --at the top of your lungs.
My child, raised in a Christian home, looked at me and said they probably wouldn't say the F-word. My response was that I understood — but that people notice children who drop that word loudly and in distress, which means it signals that something serious is happening. So in that moment, it is absolutely okay.
I hate that this conversation is necessary. I hate it. But my child's safety is in my hands, and I would rather have the uncomfortable talk than leave my child without the tools they need.
So on the third day, I sent my child back to camp.
The Third Day — When the Holy Spirit Got Loud
I was a mess.
By noon, I knew in my gut something wasn't right. By 2 o'clock, I was seriously considering driving an hour just to pull my child out early. By 3, I decided to wait — pickup was soon — but I knew before my child ever got in the car that they would not be returning.
Here's what had been churning in me all day:
I had been mentally replaying every volunteer I had encountered over those first two days. And when I did, I realized that four out of five of them presented as members of the LGBTQ community. The fifth, in all likelihood, was at minimum affirming of that community.
I want to be clear about something: I don't hate these people. Sin is sin. It is equal at the foot of the cross, and every one of us — myself included — falls short every single day. Sexual sin, pride, addiction, placing anything above God — none of it is ranked. We are all works in progress and all in need of grace.
But.
My child is under ten years old. And I had effectively placed my child in an environment where every adult role model present was someone living in open contradiction to what our family believes — not just on one topic, but across the board. Climate change ideology. Gender ideology. And given the pattern, likely much more.
When I picked my child up that day and I said, "I'm glad you had a great day — you're never going back to that camp," my child simply said, "Okay." No argument. No protest. Because my child understands, even at this young age, that keeping them safe is my job. And that I take that job seriously.
What I Learned — And What I'll Do Differently
I already homeschool my child. I made that choice deliberately. I don't send my child to public school, where this kind of environment is the daily norm and parents often don't even think to ask. And yet here I was, voluntarily sending my child into a week-long program without fully vetting the people who would be surrounding them — just the logistics.
I asked about bathrooms. I asked about background checks. I did not ask about the values and beliefs of the volunteers who would be spending five full days pouring into my child.
That was my oversight. I regret so much of this experience. And it won't happen again.
As my child grows, there will be more programs, more extracurriculars, more opportunities that sound wonderful on the surface. I will not be saying yes to all of them. I will be listening much more carefully to that voice from the Holy Spirit — the one that was practically screaming at me on day three — and I will act on it sooner.
The Bigger Realization — And the Challenge I'm Leaving With You
Here is what keeps turning over in my mind beyond my own family's experience:
Where is the alternative?
Every extracurricular, every camp, every program that exists — exists because someone decided to build it. And for too long, Christians have been opting out of the culture without opting into something better. We have ceded the outdoor programs, the art programs, the science camps, the athletic leagues — and then we wonder why every available option feels hostile to our values.
Stewardship of the earth is not a progressive idea. It is a Genesis idea. Caring for waterways, teaching children to fish, cleaning up rivers and streams — none of that belongs exclusively to people who worship the creation over the Creator. We gave it to them by not showing up.
There is room — urgent room — for Christians to build alternatives. Not just for outdoor and conservation programs, but for all of it. Every enrichment opportunity our children are hungry for can be offered from a Biblical worldview. We just have to decide to build it. The knowledge, the talent, and the calling already exist inside our church communities. What's missing is simply the decision to show up and make something.
Our children deserve excellence and truth. Those two things were never meant to be in conflict.
We live in this world. We are not of it. And it is my job as a parent to know the difference — and to teach my child to know it too.
I probably will make mistakes like this again. But this one taught me something. And I hope if you're a parent reading this, it teaches you something too.
Ask more questions. Vet the people, not just the program. It's ok to hurt feelings to keep your child safe. Trust that voice. And then go build something better. I know I am.