Martha vs. Mary

Luke 10:38-40 As Jesus and his disciples were on their way, he came to a village where a woman named Martha opened her home to him. She had a sister called Mary, who sat at the Lord's feet listening to what he said. But Martha was distracted by all the preparations that had to be made. She came to him and asked, "Lord, don't you care that my sister has left me to do the work by myself? Tell her to help me!"

Camping always is a unique experience. There are so many things that need to be done to keep the experience enjoyable, especially when there are young children and three dogs to keep under close supervision. Making a meal is not like making a meal at home, for even when its planning is done right, finding the right items at the right moment isn't always easy.

A typcial raised-voice conversation across the campsite goes like this:

"Did anyone see the ladel?"

"Yeah, your husband just had it."

"Hubby, where's the ladel you just had?"

"What?"

"Where's the ladel? The pancakes are waiting...."

"I don't know, and I can't help. I'm right in the middle of changing a poopy diaper."

It's like a constant need-fest. Randomly for a moment here or there, someone can just sit and enjoy the company.

My father started a conversation at dinnertime on the generation of consciousness and how reality as we know it might exist as frames in spacetime. Silly dad. You have to see it from his perspective: he's been waiting a long time to have both son-in-laws (and his daughters too) in one place to have a group discussion. Meanwhile preparations for the meal, let alone child and dog control, requires that some of the adults peel off to help my poor mom. Who gets up, and who sits? In this case, my sister and I abandoned the men to the abyss of provoking thoughts to make a bijillion plates of food all customized to the least confrontational combinations for each child.

Because it is very difficult to think deeply with a lot of insane barking, yelling and screaming happening all around you (children ages 6 to zero), the two groups, the conversationalists and the workers, get pitted against one another fast.

I decided there really is no such thing as the "more important" part of camping. If I end up in a chair being served, I'll be happy, and if I don't do anything but tidy up, that's satisfying too. And I can appreciate both sides best.