Last night I attended a Court of Honor for our Boy Scout Troop. I continue to serve as the Chaplain, although I've scaled back most of my other involvement.
I gave the invocation and talked about the faith journey that each of us are on. I looked at the parents. Two who lost their son, one year older than Geoff, to a heroin overdose. One who is feeling particularly wounded by other people "of faith."
I let them know I'm not just the chaplain for the boys, but for them. God or not - if they need to talk, they can turn to me. I got some really nice smiles and nods.
A boy who just got his Eagle asked me if I'd give his invocation at his ceremony in November and I told him that if he had a sweet bippy he should bet it. Grown ups laughed.
At the end of the ceremony, a first year Scout hugged his dad. And I started crying.
I didn't really realize how very much I missed this community, these people. I just couldn't even stop myself from getting misty, and left the ceremony snack time in a hurry.
For all the value I think my son got out of Scouting, I think I under estimated the value I received. And it stung. Deeply, truly.