The Legacy of Lamp Lights and Lifelong Impact

It was 3:00 a.m., and the costume was finally done. My daughter was fast asleep, and I stood there looking at a tiny lampshade covered in sparkles. My mother, who never got to meet my daughter, would’ve loved this project. And though they never shared a moment together, somehow this one belonged to both of them.

That night, the sewing machine hummed and paper rustled quietly around me, I couldn’t shake the feeling that my mom was somehow there. In the early morning hours before Lily Stock’s Pre-K Letter Land Parade—where each child parades through school dressed as a letter—she was back in our kitchen. Not in body—the parade came ten years too late—but in spirit. Cutting, crafting, and stitching through me, for a granddaughter she never met. 

As I sat at our kitchen table, wrapping rainbow lights around the letter "L" for "Lily Lamp Light"—a costume that would be worn for no more than 17 minutes—I realized something. I wasn’t doing this because I love crafting or because I aspire to be on a TLC DIY show. I was doing it because my mother did it. Because my mother embodied the Joy of the Gospel through acts of love that lasted a lifetime.

She was the homeroom mom who somehow managed to be at school nine days a week.

The woman who stayed up all night helping with my third-grade poster project (it was about lightning bugs). The local legend who petitioned the school board and taught the Christmas story to every classroom in our elementary school, every single year. The one about Jesus, not Santa.

She chaperoned every field trip, sat front row at every practice, filmed every game, and yelled at every ref in ways that might be considered a felony.

Her presence was a force.

And now, a decade after she left this earth, her impact is still shaping mine.

As I pieced together Lily’s costume, I knew this wasn’t about felt and hot glue. This was about the power of being there. The memory of a love expressed not just in words but in glue sticks and glitter, in sacrifice and in showing up. 

And in that moment, my mom was crafting a costume for her granddaughter. A granddaughter who has her hair. And a whole lot of her attitude.

The Generational Echo of Camp

This same story echoes every summer across camps around the country. Maybe not the story of mothers and school projects, but the story of sacrifice and showing up.

It may not look like a lampshade and construction paper, but it sounds like a whistle and a “You’ve got this!” It looks like a high five at the waterfront or a late-night talk under the stars.

Just as a mother’s presence echoes across generations, so does the impact of a counselor—a mentor who called you by name and sacrificed their journey to amplify yours.

This summer, thousands of tweens and teens will have the distinct honor and privilege to wear the whistle. To put on their staff shirts, kneel to tie a camper’s shoes, and teach them how to climb, swim, pray, and lead. They’ll tell stories of Jesus and model His character in quiet, profound ways. They’ll celebrate victories, wipe tears, and promise that today—today—will be the best day ever.

Why?

Because once upon a time, their counselor did it for them.

And something about that memory—something about that feeling of being seen, known, and loved—lives on in them and calls them to give it away. That’s the power of generational legacy. That’s the heartbeat of camp.

A Legacy Worth Funding

To our friends, alumni, and partners: your support doesn’t just fund a summer. It ignites a legacy.

Every gift is an investment in moments that echo across lifetimes—moments where campers become counselors, and counselors become leaders, parents, and maybe even pre-K costume crafters someday.

Your generosity makes it possible for a kid to believe they can do hard things. To know they are loved. To experience the presence of someone who shows up.

And that presence? It changes everything.

Help us pass that legacy forward.

Because the threads you weave today may just stitch the costume of tomorrow.

It only takes a spark, and we need you to light the way.