One of my duties at camp was to lead worship around the campfire each evening. This was in the days when we thought nothing of combining camp songs with worship songs. “Father Abraham,” “John Jacob Jingleheimer Schmidt,” combined with “Kum Ba Yah.”

The favorite? “Pharoah, Pharoah–Oooh, baby, let my people go,” sung to the tune of “Louie Louie.” I don’t know what God thought about it, but we had fun. Anything to get the kids involved.

Anyway, since this was the last night of camp, emotions were high and we had a great time of worship–or whatever it is you call it in this setting. I sat on the corner of the stage feeling rather pleased with myself.

The speaker got on the stage to begin his message. “All week I’ve been introducing you to people who’ve had significant life experiences with God,” he said. “I’ve saved the best for last. “The person I’d like you to meet has been with us all week. Born deaf, abandoned by her family, her life had been one disappointment after another. “When she’d lost all hope, she found herself on the side of a bridge contemplating a desperate jump. Her friend came and coaxed her away. She introduced her to a relationship with Jesus Christ, and her life was transformed from despair to hope. She’s  now become a much sought after interpreter for the deaf.

In fact, on his last visit here she actually signed on behalf of the President.”

By this time I was incredibly curious: who might this person be? She’s been here all week? Who was she? I’d like to meet her.

Of course, as you’ve already guessed, I’d already met her.

She was the fat girl across the table from me. The one with the squeaky voice. The one I thought was missing a few marbles. Turns out the only fat idiot at that table was me.