They Came Back Glowing, Now What? A Parent’s Guide to Carrying the Magic Home

Their stories might come in whispers or in waves— but behind every word is a week that changed them. This is how you help them hold onto it.

✨ Before They Go

You double-check the packing list. Again.

Make sure their name is on the sleeping bag.

Wonder if you remembered to pack the sunscreen—or if they’ll even use it.

You’ve been preparing them for weeks.

But if you’re honest… you’ve been preparing yourself, too.

Because this isn’t just a week away.

It’s a shift. A stretch. A big, brave step into something neither of you can fully predict.

You hope they make a friend.

You hope they feel seen.

You hope this is the week something clicks.

With campers just steps away, our staff circles up — not just for energy, but for intention. We pray. We praise. We remember why we’re here. Because every hug, every high five, every moment from here on out… it matters.

🏕️ What Camp Really Feels Like

They arrive quiet. Guarded.

Even the loud ones. Even the goofy ones.

They scan the crowd. Find their cabin. Try to play it cool.

But something starts to shift—slowly at first, then all at once.

A staff member says their name… and remembers it.

Someone tells them, “You are lovable and capable.”

And somehow, they start to believe it.

They laugh like they forgot how not to.

They cry in front of people and aren’t embarrassed.

They dance like no one’s watching—then dance like everyone is.

Celebrate Me Week isn’t loud for the sake of being loud.

It’s loud because for the first time, no one’s afraid to be fully themselves.

We cram a year’s worth of connection, creativity, healing, joy, and truth into five days.

It’s silly and sacred.

Fast and still.

Overwhelming in the best possible way.

You can’t explain it.

But you can feel it.

They did.

SpITs aren’t just about fun — they’re about freedom. Time to create, explore, laugh, rest, be. Every camper finds their space, their people, and a rhythm that’s fully their own. And we love to see it. 💛

💛 When They Come Home

They walk through the door… tired.

Maybe a little sunburned. Maybe carrying a half-zipped duffel bag and a heart that’s too full for words.

You ask, “How was it?”

They say, “Good.” Or “Awesome.” or they don't stop talking the entire car-ride home.

And that’s it.

But what they really mean is: Something big happened. I just don’t know how to talk about it yet.

They might cry at the dinner table and not know why.

They might be quieter than usual. Or buzzing with stories they don’t quite know how to start.

You may not get the full story right away.

That’s okay.

Camp doesn’t always come home in a perfect little package.

Sometimes it takes weeks for a memory to rise to the surface—

in a car ride,

in a quiet moment,

in a comment that comes out of nowhere.

Let it come when it’s ready.

Don’t rush it.

Our Week coming to an end, reflecting on what everyone just experienced all week.

💬 How to Talk to Them About It

Some kids will talk your ear off for the next week—spilling stories at the dinner table, humming songs in the shower, quoting slogan's they’ll never forget.

Others? They’ll seem the same on the surface.

But if you look closely, you’ll notice—they walk with just a little more pride in their step.

Their voice has a bit more steadiness.

They laugh a little easier.

Something shifted.

And your job isn’t to pull it out of them.

Your job is to be there when it rises to the surface.

When they do open up—whether it’s on day one or week three—what you ask matters.

Not because you need details…

But because your questions can spark memories they didn’t know they wanted to share.

Ask with care. Ask with heart.

You might say:

• “What was something that surprised you this week?”

• “I heard there were talks every day—was there one that really hit you?”

• “What was your favorite meal or snack at camp?”

• “Was there a moment when you felt really proud of yourself?”

• “Who made you laugh the hardest?”

• “What was it like around the campfire at night?”

• “Did anyone say something to you that stuck with you?”

• “Is there a part of you that feels different now?”

• "Would you see yourself coming back to be a counselor?"

You don’t need to get all the answers at once.

Some kids process with words. Some with silence.

Some with storytelling. Some with stillness.

The most powerful thing you can offer isn’t the perfect question.

It’s your presence.

So sit beside them. Ride in the car with the music low.

Ask gently, and then let it breathe.

When their stories come—whether loud or soft—catch them like they’re sacred.

Because they are.

And if all they can say is, “I don’t know… it was just really good…”

believe them.

What happened at Celebrate Me Week might take time to name.

It might come out in fragments—one memory here, one joke there.

That’s okay.

That’s real.

Because underneath all of it is a quiet, glowing truth:

They were seen.

They were loved.

They were changed.

And they just need you to keep reminding them that they can bring that version of themselves home.

✉️ That Midweek Letter

You may never know how much it meant.

But it did.

They might have cried reading it.

They might’ve said nothing at all.

But they folded it carefully and kept it close.

That letter mattered more than you’ll ever hear about.

So say it again now that they’re home.

Say, “I’m proud of who you are.”

Say, “I see how much you’ve grown.”

Say, “You were always enough.”

Let your voice echo what they heard all week long.

A quiet moment after the Love Letter — taking in the song that spoke to their speaker’s story.

🔥 Final Thought From the Campfire

Something happened at Celebrate Me Week.

Not just to them—but in them.

They were seen.

They were celebrated.

They were reminded of who they’ve always been.

Now that they’re home, your job isn’t to pull it apart or analyze it.

Your job is to help them carry it forward—so they don’t forget how it felt to be fully themselves.

They are lovable.

They are capable.

And they’re still glowing.

Let them be different.

Let them carry it forward.

Let them remember they were never alone to begin with.