The Giant Forest - COMPLETED - True to life adventures of preteens.

Very Good at Being Very Bad

Sycamore didn't just get bad grades. He was pretty good at being pretty bad at a lot of things. When you think about it, it takes a certain skill to be bad at everything. Some teachers will give an "A" to a student who can get every answer wrong.

Sycamore certainly couldn't sing. That didn't stop him, however, from belting out 'joyful noises' with an emphasis on noise when he joined his friends for singing worship songs. The Bunch tried to lose Sycamore in the crowd. They winced noticeably whenever Sycamore found them. He thought they were playing hide and seek and he was the winner when he found them. He was as tickled at finding them as they were perturbed at having been found.

When the rest of the campers sang, "I Got the Joy Down in My Heart" Sycamore's version sounded more like "Eyes Gaught de Joey Dawn in Mighty Aaarts!!!" Not only could Sycamore not remember the words to songs, he couldn't keep time, stomp his feet, wave his hands or jump at the right times either. And his claps sounded more like a "Clup Clup Clup." When he stomped his feet, the rest of the kids on the same row of the bleachers would bounce! If you have ever heard a cow try to sing tenor, you'd have some idea of what Sycamore sounded like.

He didn't know any different. He sang with his heart and soul, with his elbows and knees, and his mouth wide open. He thought that if he gave singing his all like he did with his studying, he could make his friends happy.

Tonight was different. His friends were winning. Try as he might, Sycamore could not find his friends. He looked in the cabins. He looked down by the creek. He looked in the log playhouse. He checked under the field house. They were nowhere to be found.

"Uh, I wonner where's those guys gone to."

Sycamore was slow as tree sap on a cold day. But when it came to his friends he could not be persuaded to give up on the hunt. What Sycamore lacked in speed he made up for with persistence.

He ran up and back the long line of campers heading towards the Conference Center for the opening worship service, scanning each face individually, all the while staying on the move.

"I don' think dey ars here," Sycamore said loud enough for a few other campers to hear that he said something, though they couldn't make out what.

Sycamore continued to look around. The other campers figured the big fellow was just being the brute that he is. They were too busy preparing to praise Jesus to actually find out what was really going on in the small mind of this big-hearted fellow.

"I gotta fine my friends. I gotta fine my friends. Where's my friends?"

The agitation he was feeling inside started to ooze out. His hands shook a bit and his legs wanted to move him faster but he barely sped up. And then he did ... move or dragged his feet more quickly. His foot caught a tree root and he stumbled but didn't fall completely.

"Roci calls dem dah enmeny!"

Sycamore never moved fast enough that he couldn't catch himself before he fell. Sometimes he'd break exposed roots instead of them pulling him down. He just wasn't sure where his feet were taking him this evening. He was following his heart.

One of the counselors, Eclair he called himself, saw Sycamore hurry off and figured he had to make a 'pit stop.' Eclair turned, put his arm around a couple of the more popular campers and proceeded towards the center forgetting about Sycamore altogether.

"Isn't it great to be going to praise Jesus?" Eclair asked the group around him.

Sycamore thought to himself, "It'd be greater if Jesus would help me find my friends."

"Aimi likes books. Maybe she is at the bookstore or wandering off in search of some venture. Down by the sea maybe. She's a good little fishy. Roci doesn't thing anyone noses when she's maginning things. Bet she's in the trees somewhere prancing around with her nose up high and her feets doin the same. Sybil's probably got a hankering for a snack. He's probubbly never had a hunger pain in his life. And Mousi, well she's probably whispering to some scraggly dawggie that 'everythin'll be just fine' even though it won't be."

Yeah. Sycamore could put some coherent thoughts together when it came to his friends. What was beyond his capabilities, however, were to decide who to go looking for first or where to start. Who can decide who to look for first when a group of friends that you love each equally are lost. Sycamore didn't have to decide.

He heard a train whistle.

"I'll follows that tea kettle sound," he grunted. "That's got to take me somewheres. Maybe deys are havin tea."

And off he went.